I’ll never forget the first time it happened for me, the first time I had that feeling of wonder at my own dormant creative potential, “Now where did that little glimmer of brilliance come from???” It was in my first d.school class as a graduate student, in the middle of the introductory design experience, crafted to give fresh designers a rapid, end-to-end immersion in the design process over the course of a single weekend.

It was called “The Ramen Project,” and the impact of the project was so profound that I’ve kept the little red notebook that contained the assignment for the last 14 years. The task seemed straightforward enough: reinvent the ramen noodle experience. It was a task for which I certainly felt qualified, having eaten hundreds of packs of Maruchan Ramen during my budget-constrained days as an undergraduate.

It seemed like the straightforward task had been unnecessarily, overly complicated, as there were all these items we had to check off the list to successfully complete the project — even if we were as experienced with the product, and thus as qualified to undertake the challenge straightaway, as I clearly was. The list of project requirements dictated that, before we started, we had to visit a ramen place all the way in Mountain View (I had hardly ventured off campus my entire first year of school), and we had to go to an Asian supermarket.

To be honest, my mind was blown from the moment I stepped in line outside of Maru Ichi in downtown Mountain View. “What are these people waiting for?” And then again, when I looked at the menu, and saw prices that looked to my Texan eye more like we were at a steakhouse. I had no idea that Ramen was served any other way than the $0.39 packets I bought at my local grocery store!

As you probably know if you do creative work, the point was to surprise students like me. To reframe what I thought was an experience I already understood. For the first time in my career, I wasn’t expected to know the answers already — or even focus my immediate attention on discovering them — but simply, to challenge my paradigm and stimulate my own imagination.

As we sat there, doing our best impersonation of a couple of anthropologists, I said to my wife, “Hey, this is kinda like what you do for your work, huh?” I was being trained in the art of inspiration and observation.

Do you know the thing that struck me at Maru Ichi that day? As I read the menu, and especially as I looked around, one thing became crystal clear: folks are all about the broth! That might sound obvious, but I’d never even sipped the broth in all my noodle chugs in college! I only ate the noodles, and then tossed the broth. This surprise planted a kernel of an insight that ended up inspiring my glimmer-of-brilliance moment.

New input, fresh thinking.

Another seemingly unnecessary requirement of the assignment was that we had to draw a bunch of ideas. The quota seemed outlandish, something like more than 50. Or maybe it was 10. But 10 was just as impossible as 500 to me at the time, and somewhat just as unnecessary…

But doodling there, somewhere between sketches 5 and 500, the light dawned on me:

“Hollow, telescoping chop sticks that double as straws!!!”

I felt like a genius!!

Now, I’m not claiming that that is actually a spectacular idea, but wow! What a feeling! “I’m a genius!!! There’s something legitimately original in here????” And then the sneaking follow-up thought, “What else might be in here?”

That’s the feeling, the gift, that I want to give everyone: there’s something legitimately original in you, too.

I’m not saying design thinking is the answer, or that everybody has to work at the d.school like I do now, or even “do design” as a profession — but everyone has the capacity to realize a breakthrough.

I’d love to hear your stories, too.

Related: Challenge The Paradigm
Related: The Discipline of Inspiration
Related: Immerse & Observe

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