Chapter 2
A proxy for happiness

The industrial economy introduced a range of linear incentives and expectations that made complete sense when they were developed. It went something like this:

Go to school & Study hard & Get qualified & Get a good job with a stable company & Have a happy life.

You'll have heard this before. It was the narrative passed onto me by my parents. They did so for very good reason: it was literally the formula for financial success during the 20th century. But it requires some reading between the lines to understand its meaning, and once we do this we can see that the script for the in-between bits has changed without notice. Particularly the last two elements:

• Get a good job with a stable company: This was a cognitive short cut for the idea that you'd have a better chance of earning more money, for a longer period of time, with greater advancement possibilities and in better working conditions, under the financial umbrella of a big corporation. It was better than smaller companies because it had more power in the market and paid more than small businesses did. It also had the respect of the market, with a personal branding benefit for those who worked inside it. You could build a career in and around your big-company experience, earn above-average wages and do better than your parents did. Oh, and don't forget, you won't be picked by that good reputable firm unless you have the necessary formal qualifications. Qualifications spelt capability.
• Have a happy life: A good job earned good money, and money was the path to 20th-century happiness. The context of this one runs deep. We need to remember the world our parents and their parents emerged from. They didn't have access to the level of material comforts we do. And I'm not talking about toys and entertainment, but household articles we take for granted today like toiletries, overflowing cupboards, pantries and fridges, pushbutton heating and private transport on demand. This line of thinking has to be traced deeply, back to the lives of struggle and hardship endured by the generations that came before us. They lived through periods of war and economic depression when the most basic material necessities were in short supply for the working classes. So money became a proxy for happiness. Because if you had enough money, you could usually buy the things you needed, and with the things you needed how could you be anything but happy? So money was their yardstick for success in life. We've all since found that money doesn't come close to guaranteeing happiness, especially in a post-scarcity society. The times have changed, but many still believe this false proxy is valid.

The plan was for life to flow in a beautifully predictable, linear fashion:

Happiness comes from money — money comes from having a good job — a good job comes from a good (formal) education — a formal education comes from doing well at school — doing well at school requires following the rules.

Once we revisit the context of the cultural environment that shaped those who taught us, both at home and at school, we can understand why they encouraged us to think that way. Of course they had our best interests at heart. But if the formula was one that didn't suit your personality, your style, your way of thinking, then you'd be ostracised and your confidence might be shattered before you had even entered the post-school money game. Subconsciously society arranged us in a hierarchy: the more schooling you had, the higher up the ladder you'd be placed. Your potential and expectations would be a function of how far you rose in the pre-work system.

Sure, there were always exceptions, but for most of us our place in the hierarchy was ordained before we even started work. Forget the fact that our schooling was a limited test of our abilities and we might have incredibly valuable skills the system simply didn't recognise. None of that mattered; what counted was how we performed in the formal system. We had to conform to the schooling mindset and method in order to be chosen. The market might never find out how good we were and what we really had to offer, because we'd never be given the opportunity to show them what we could do outside of the exam template.

The education tightrope

By now there is a good chance you are thinking I am anti-school. Nothing could be further from the truth. Education is without doubt the cornerstone of all the possibilities I've taken advantage of in my life, and probably in yours too. It's just that school is far too destination focused. Once we reach secondary or high school, our options become more and more narrowly focused. By the time we reach grade 8 we start making ‘career decisions' on which subjects we choose. Career decisions at a time when we still can't decide what we want to do on Friday night. If we stumble in a certain subject, we'll lose the opportunity to work through it. If we love a certain subject that happens to be less valued by the left-brain logic society, like art or drama, we'll be discouraged from pursuing it. If we fail in maths in grade 8, we won't be allowed to take it in grade 9, and if we don't have advanced maths how can we possibility go on to complete a reputable degree at university? If we change our mind on what path we want to follow in grade 11, we've missed out on the foundation years of subject X and we won't be allowed to change streams.

So we are forced to choose our science, arts or humanities path when we are relatively young, long before what is legally regarded as the age of reason. We are quickly siloed into our ‘chosen' trajectory for the remainder of our secondary schooling. School shifts from general to specific learning very quickly indeed. We are no longer learning how to learn; rather, we are learning how to pass tests in certain subject areas. We memorise specific information, which entitles us to continue to focus on that subject at a higher level. The ultimate goal is to pass through the final gate to formal qualification.

Let's say you want to be an accountant or an engineer — traditional industrial-era vocations. From grade 9 you will have taken the particular subjects that prepare you for this career. If you don't undertake the prerequisite subjects in your final years in school, you can't study for this career at university. If you don't have the university degree, you won't be considered by potential employers. It's equally frustrating if you become qualified in an area that doesn't turn out to be what you hoped for — just ask any lawyer you know. Most soon learn it's less about using the law to create a more humane society and more about nailing down every six minutes of billable time.

Our subject choices also have the judgemental weight of society behind them. It doesn't take us long to work out where our teachers and colleagues place us in the intellectual hierarchy. The smartest kids with the most potential are those who happen to be good at maths and science, the most valued subjects in a left-brain, logic-driven society. A small step down the hierarchy are respected humanities such as finance, economics and literature, and of course the bottom of the hierarchy is reserved for the artsy types, widely regarded as the flunkies of society, who are lucky if they can eke out any kind of career using their talents. Kids are persuaded, falsely, that most artistic pathways have little economic value and are best left as something we do on the side, in a ‘post-success' environment. Which is ironic given how companies like Apple and Nike have risen above commodity-centric competition on the back of the artistic design of their products. In any case, why should we stop valuing given talents and passions solely on the basis of their limited economic potential? An economic limitation, mind you, that is quickly being reversed.

In the foundational years of schooling we learn the basics of learning itself. We learn what our brains and bodies are capable of. With very deliberate practice we acquire the ability to read, write and grapple with basic maths. We mix things up with art and play and creativity. We make things and use our bodies as tools. We explore sport and physical activity as part of our broader learning experience. We learn to play and collaborate with others and understand the human impact of working together. By the end of primary school we've built a solid base, from which most of us could still do anything with our lives. We graduate with our sense of creativity largely intact, and with an added set of intellectual possibilities at our disposal — ready for the real game of secondary school. In secondary school the basic building blocks of learning are used to start building a life. And this is where the educational pyramid scheme really begins.

Every school year the breadth of our engagement narrows. It starts with the physical: if it involves using your hands to do anything other than write or type, it goes. (Yes, we get the luxury of an hour or so of Phys Ed, but it's regarded almost as a ‘gift' of free time.) The science people lose the chance to pursue the humanities, and vice versa. We are directed into channels where like minds learn and work together. Our former classmates with different aspirations, skill sets and worldviews disappear from our learning environment. Every time a subject we could learn about is taken away, a little of our flexibility of mind is stolen too. By the time I got to my final year of secondary school I was down to a set of closely aligned subjects, which severely limited the career paths I could take. For me it was Economics, Accounting, Legal Studies, English and Maths. My science days were over, the system had decided, which was a real shame. It wasn't until I was much older that I discovered an unrealised passion for science.

The higher we climb up the pyramid of learning the deeper we delve into selected subjects, but the more limited our worldview becomes. If there is one thing people need during times of dramatic societal and economic change, it's exposure to different possibilities and an open mind to a variety of disciplines, especially when previously siloed industries and worlds start to intersect, as they are today.

WHILE IT IS GOOD TO LEARN HOW TO DO SOMETHING, IT IS MORE VALUABLE TO KNOW HOW TO GET THINGS DONE.

Tasks are tactical; skills are temporary and maybe even disposable. Knowing how to do things can be outsourced, offshored and even automated. Narrow learning ignores the fact that understanding and working the system itself have infinitely more value and longevity.

The paperwork

Most degrees focus entirely on qualifying the student to pursue a certain career path. Over the past 200 years of the industrial era we have become a society of deeply ingrained formalisation. If you want to do something, you need to be selected and qualified, which means you need the piece of paper hanging on the wall, the stamp of approval, the ticket to enter the arena. Everywhere we go, everything we have and everything we do requires some form of paperwork to prove our entitlement or identity.

We are people of the certificate. The very first document in our life is the physical birth certificate that proves who we are and where we belong. We'll often protect and cherish this document, almost as though its loss would mean we ourselves would cease to be. When we meet others, cross borders and do business we present papers that prove who we are and our legitimacy. We belong because someone in a position of power has granted us this authority. The papers we accrue tell others that we deserve to be here, that we passed the legitimacy test.

Among the most important documents in our economic lives are our trade and academic certificates. If you want to be an accountant, the Certified Practising Accountant certificate authenticates that you have the required degree covering prerequisite subjects. Similar documents are required by prospective lawyers, medical practitioners and engineers. This is a good thing, which we shouldn't seek to change any time soon. Demanding that people doing any kind of work that has a direct impact on our health, safety and finances be appropriately qualified will remain essential in the kind of world I want to live in. However, there are many careers and jobs where formal qualifications may be desirable but are probably unnecessary. Every now and again some ambitious entrepreneurial person manages to sneak through the entry barriers without the requisite papers — a marketing director, chief architect, historian, graphic designer or app developer, for example. Sure, there are exceptions where formal authorisation continues to rule, as it should, but the list of jobs for which legitimate certification is indispensable is short. It would include: doctor, lawyer, physical therapist, optometrist, dentist, nurse, accountant, structural engineer, pharmacist, teacher, pilot … and of course most trades, though even here we can learn on the job while we study without the need for tertiary schooling.

It is easy to see why formal qualification for a career that didn't really require it became the norm, as it was then the only way we could vet people. If you weren't formally qualified, then where would you pick up the knowledge? Accessing much of the knowledge and skills might be impossible or at least difficult. You might go to the library to read up on the subject, but employers would have no way of verifying what you actually knew. Let's say you managed to become skilled in a certain area, skilled enough to know as much as someone who studied it at university; you'd still have little chance of displaying this knowledge. How would the staff hirer be able to justify choosing a skilled applicant who lacked formal accreditation over a less impressive candidate with the requisite papers?

This is where the internet comes in. Not only has it become a vast resource through which we can learn almost anything; importantly, it has also become a place to display our own abilities and knowledge. The internet itself can become a CV generator. Simply type any person's name into Google and you'll soon find their qualifications, whether they were acquired formally or through practical experience.

In his book The Inevitable, Kevin Kelly writes of our society as having lived inside the culture of the book, valuing things only inasmuch as they were ratified by the authority of authors of the written word. Our world, he suggests, was ‘a culture of expertise. Perfection achieved “by the book”. Laws were compiled into official tomes, contracts were written down, and nothing was valid unless put into words on pages … the heartbeat of Western culture was turning pages of a book.' Today, though, ‘most of us have become People of the Screen'.

In the past a piece of paper and mock-portfolio (developed in a classroom setting) that authenticated someone's visual arts degree would determine their chances of landing a role as a creative director. Now prospective employers are more likely to check out our YouTube channel, sampled and proved in the real world, to see what we have actually done. What would once be impossible to display to the market is now both easily accessed and more valued than the qualifications without which it would have once been impossible to get that gig.

THE GOOD NEWS FOR ALL IS THAT WHILE THE PAPERWORK WAS PERMANENT, THE SCREEN IS MALLEABLE — WE CAN MANIPULATE IT IN OUR FAVOUR.

Formal now or formal later?

Adult education has been a bastion for the comeback kid for a long time. For many people who lacked the maturity, desire, staying power or passion to study in their youth, night school can provide a kind of career salvation. It's not surprising that many decide to study later in life and have a second crack at getting that vital piece of paper. Time is sometimes the missing ingredient when it comes to our performance in the education system. For some reason we've all been judged as if we are a litre of milk with a use-by date, as if all our formal education needs to be squeezed in before some notional date stamped on the side of our heads, usually based on that birth certificate. It's a basic physiological fact that people develop at different speeds. We learn to walk and talk at different times, we reach puberty at different stages, and we reach our maximum height at different ages. But when it comes to school we all have no choice but to develop according to the steady, inflexible, linear timetable set by the system.

Post-school, informal learning has been how I reinvented my own future.

As a teenage boy, being accepted by my friends was way more important to me than academic achievement. I remember being excited by the prospect of learning to speak Italian at secondary school. Knowing another language would be so cool, I thought. I was so keen I studied the first chapter on my own in the summer before school started that year. But when I finally got to that first Italian class, my classmates were uninterested. They were indifferent to the point of disruption and even ridiculed the teacher. For me it was a new school. I knew only two other kids from my primary school, so I was entirely focused on fitting in. At that age, being accepted and having friends is all-important, a basic survival mechanism programmed deep in our DNA. So instead of following my original intention of diving deep into Italian, I followed the other boys mucking up the class. I squandered the opportunity to learn, and eventually dropped the subject. What a waste.

We can all probably remember something similar to my Italian experience from our immature years. A time when we really wanted to do something, but the social pressure to conform driven by the schoolyard mentality stole the opportunity from us. The shame is that most of us don't get a second chance at that lost opportunity, often because new pressures, financial and otherwise, emerge when we become adults.

I, however, did get a second chance to learn Italian. I had to: I mean, going around with a surname like mine and not knowing how to speak the language — it was downright embarrassing. So when I met my now wife (who could speak several languages, while I only had English under my belt) I was finally inspired to take action. I decided to go to night school and have another go. It's ironic that the same motivation that stopped me from learning the language in the first time (acceptance by my peers) is what inspired me to try it a second time. I personally believe peer acceptance is the biggest influence on our entire lives. Our desire to fit in with those we care about is all powerful. This is why our social circle of influence matters so much. Business philosopher Jim Rohn proposes that we become the average of the five people we spend the most time with. The best thing we can do to change our outcomes is to change who we choose to spend time with. What's fantastic is that these days we can spend that time with the world's best thinkers, people we've never met … but more on that in Part III, ‘Reinvention'.

So at the ripe old age of 28 I decided to join other adult learners and registered at the Centre for Adult Education. I soon found out that all my fellow students had similar stories to share about how they missed their chance to learn the language the first time around. And dropping out earlier was far less about their ability than about their environmental influences. Being surrounded by a bunch of motivated people who were doing this by choice made all the difference. Instead of competing to be the class clown, we were collaborating to lift each other up and learn the language. It really was an incredible experience for me because it changed my trajectory in life. For the first time I believed it wasn't too late to do anything.

To be honest, though, it wasn't as if it came easy; I did more than turn up to the lessons — I put in a lot of effort. I studied an hour every day. I did all my homework, did extra vocab drills, listened to the Italian radio station, hired foreign movies. I even went to the local Italian restaurant to practise with real Italians. I tried as much as possible to use common sense to accelerate the learning process. It's wonderful what a little extra effort can do. I hacked the learning process by embracing as many informal ways of learning as possible.

But without the Centre for Adult Education, I wouldn't have had a starting point to take off from. This would present a problem for many people. I was lucky enough to have the money to be able to afford it. Adult education isn't cheap, in terms of money or time. It cost me around $500 for the term, which included tuition fees, books, car parking and a few hours after work once a week. This could be a tough ask for anyone running a family and paying a mortgage. And if you don't live in a major city, night-time education opportunities are a lot thinner on the ground. But the good news is that this was in 2002. And, oh my goodness, has the world changed in that time. If anyone is serious about learning a language today it doesn't cost a cent, and you can live anywhere — all you need is access to the net.

Here's what's different about learning a language today and the tools at our disposal. We can find free lessons at all levels presented by generous teachers on YouTube. We can use one of the many available apps, such as Duolingo, that turn learning from a chore into a fun game. We can follow native speakers on Facebook or Twitter, and improve through brevity and frequency, with the added advantage of learning current slang. We can read and comment on blogs to practise our written form. We can use the incredible, gob-smacking Google translation AI, not just for words but for turns of phrase and longer, beyond-good translations. We can make friends with people in other countries who want to learn English or our native language as a kind of trade; Skype is a great way to do this. We can watch kids' cartoons and other TV shows online in the language of our choosing. We can pop on a set of virtual reality goggles and interact with one of the many new language programs where you are not just engaged in the language intellectually but act it out, virtually immersed in the homeland of the language. We can switch our web browser or smartphone to the language we choose to speak so we are looking at and using the language up to 74 times a day.⁵ Oh, and Siri is quite the linguist too, with 17 languages currently under her belt, which means she'll be able to ask you to repeat that again because she didn't quite get that, and for the first time, it'll be your fault!

Adult education used to be pretty hard to access. It was costly and location sensitive. In many ways it was a bit like retail: you had to hope they sold what you wanted where you lived. You had to be inside the walls to be able to get what you needed, but now the possibilities are virtually unlimited. In just over a decade learning a language has gone from a traditional, still formal classroom setting to something that's available, mostly for free, at a time and location of our choosing. And the good news is this is just one narrow example of what has quickly become true for just about any area of learning you can think of. This kind of opportunity has never been available before in the history of humanity.

Pull up your roots

For some reason we have this idea that our lot in life is fixed. We act like we are a tree, with roots that aren't just familial and social but physical. One of the most powerful things we can do is pull up our roots and go somewhere else. When life isn't giving us the nourishment we need, how about just changing location? It's what we have done as a species so well and for so long, but we have somehow forgotten this core advantage of adaptability. The company closes its doors and we search for another job where we are — we wait for it to come to us. The best advice I can give anyone is this: don't wait for it to come to you — go find it. Don't act like a tree waiting and hoping for rain, looking up to the sky in times of drought. Remember we have legs and not roots. We can move somewhere else that offers new opportunities and a more abundant ecosystem.

My new location started as a 15-minute drive from my lounge room to night-school class. Maybe you should pull up your roots and go somewhere different, with different people, to get a different experience and find new intellectual nourishment. If you are a bit shy, you can now do this virtually. From the comfort of your home you can instantly transport yourself anywhere in the world to any group of people with ideas and thinking you'd like to embrace. The first thing any of us need to do to start the change we want to see is to change location — physically or virtually. While it is possible for new thinking to create new actions, it is impossible for new actions not to create new thinking. Change places.