Consider two teens playing a video game for the first time. One reads about the game’s format and goals, what each button on the handheld controller does, and focuses on learning what is taught via the built-in tutorials. The other just launches the game and starts pressing buttons wildly to see what happens. While the latter player may have to restart the game numerous times because they quickly crash and burn, they prefer this inefficiency to the time-sink of proactive study, which they’d argue is just another version of inefficiency. There’s no guarantee one of these players will ultimately be more adept than the other, nor will one necessarily achieve mastery faster. The difference in their approaches is more a function of their respective learning styles, personalities – and even their neurological makeup – rather than any logical, evidence-based evaluation of the pros and cons of each method.

It’s easy to transfer this scenario to the garage. There are home mechanics who consider shop manuals, manufacturer-supplied instructions, and now the extensive library of DIY videos on YouTube invaluable guides to be pored over prior to starting any project. Others consider these same resources the absolute last resort, to be consulted only after hours of trial-and-error have failed; even then, the materials will be scanned and skimmed to minimize the amount of time spent thinking and maximize the amount of time spent doing. Those of the first persuasion instead prioritize thinking in hopes of keeping the time spent doing – and re-doing – as brief as possible. As with the gamers, a specific situation might favor one or the other approach to wrenching, and each mechanic would likely argue the merits of their method if challenged.

Clearly, however, there are limits to judging these opposing positions equivalent. Nobody would want their heart surgeon to just start cutting and figure it out as they go. On the other hand, much of crucial importance is learned only through active experience. An aspiring pitcher could read a whole book on how to throw an effective curveball, but they still might be no better at it than any other newbie until they’ve accumulated lots of practice.

One factor in deciding the desirability of each approach is the magnitude of the stakes. If an airliner full of people (or merely the jet itself!) could go down because of an erroneous control input, it’s no good to have a prospective pilot try to fly the thing by randomly experimenting with all the levers, switches and pedals. Alternatively, if you’re bleeding out on the battlefield, you don’t want your medic looking up the advantages and disadvantages of all the different suturing techniques they might employ. You just want them to sew up your wound NOW! and get you on a chopper to the nearest MASH unit, where any inelegant stitching can be corrected while you’re still alive. The home mechanic who is worried about possibly breaking an expensive part the night before leaving on a big trip will be more likely to do some preparatory study, even if they typically eschew such prudence in favor of blind “adventure.” However, if the stakes are low, someone who normally wants everything mapped out ahead of time might throw caution to the wind – perhaps more out of curiosity than impulsivity – to see just how much of the puzzle they can figure out on their own.

We can see similar contrasts in the way riders learn to ride, both initially and throughout the duration of their tenure on two wheels. Those who are anxious about damaging their body or bike are apt to leave less to chance. They’ll take a more systematic approach, studying skill building-blocks in isolation and gradually assembling them into action sequences, using all sorts of instructional aids and programs to guide their progress. Those without much apprehension about injury or expense are more likely to “just do it.” Attending a literal School of Hard Knocks gives them immediate, simultaneous access to the full spectrum of data input streams. They may not be able to track or articulate all the associations getting established in their muscles and nerves, but they’re happy to bypass language and theory on their way to gaining a feel for what works; after all, that’s what really counts in the heat of the moment, right? The other group would answer “yes,” but also note their methodical drills ultimately create the same kind of muscle memory and do so more cleanly, with less “coloring outside the lines.” Ah, but how does anyone find out where the lines actually are without crossing them? Ok, but how much do you really recall about what you did right before breaking your arm, and are you willing to keep breaking bones until you happen to get it right?

Devotees of each approach consider the alternative inferior, and there are legitimate points to be made on both sides. Again, that doesn’t mean it’s always a toss-up. Aside from the level and type of danger present in the external situation, there are factors internal to the individual that lean in one direction or the other. One such variable is a person’s attention span, their capacity for sustained concentration. If they are wired in a way that supports patient, carefully meticulous efforts, they will be more likely to utilize reflective thinking in solving a problem (a.k.a. learning). If they’re not wired that way, more haphazard, motoric, experiential methods will dominate the process. When I say “wired,” I’m including both neurological and personality-based features. The former could include the presence or absence of an attentional disorder, like ADHD, while an example of the latter might be the degree to which someone has come to construe thoughtfulness as weakness, or barreling ahead as foolishness.

Of course, the line between neurology and psychology isn’t all that clear. If I have a brain that only allows me to focus for short periods of time, I may turn my liability into an asset by deciding quick initiative is a greater virtue – he who hesitates is lost! (rather than look before you leap). Depending on my history, I might also feel ashamed of my difficulties focusing and idealize and try to emulate those who do things in a very systematic way, even if I really struggle doing so. Likewise, a high-strung, anxious central nervous system might drive a person into fearful rumination, with lots of overthinking substituting for action, or propel them into impulsive activity to discharge tension. Either way, people tend to take the path of least resistance and do what comes most naturally to them, even if they recognize their approach has shortcomings.

Another interior characteristic that no doubt has roots in neurology but manifests in a person’s manner of pursuing understanding is their relative preference for explicit analysis or a more implicit, intuitive grasp. The former tends to involve linear, verbal thinking, even when physical activity is used to develop and test hypotheses. The latter utilizes a web of associations that don’t lend themselves to extrusion through language, perhaps relying more on visual, spatial or other metaphorical imagery to represent a concept; such thinking isn’t clearly articulated, yet it can be quite accurate and capture elements the other type can’t – a picture paints a thousand words. Both styles employ genuine logic, but logic of different sorts. One is based on reasoning through language in the abstract (including mathematical calculation), the other is based on reasoning through the registering of bodily sensation and the mental manipulation of imagery.

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I might conclude a bridge won’t support my weight because it’s made of materials I believe lack the requisite physical strength or it has an inadequate geometric design. I could also draw the same conclusion because it didn’t feel quite right under my foot as I tentatively stepped on it, or because it looks just like another bridge I once saw fail – no material or structural analysis required. In the first instance, I could walk you through my reasoning with words and numbers. In the second instance, I couldn’t, but I’d still be certain. Likewise, I might avoid braking hard on a low-traction surface because I know about the friction coefficients involved, or I could refrain because I detect the subtle slippage of my tire while applying pressure to the brake lever, or because I reflexively replay a scene in my mind wherein I fell before in a similar situation. In the latter scenarios, I may be able to explain my reasoning in language after the fact, but I didn’t make my choice that way.

Good teachers and coaches understand that people learn in different ways, with some more reliant upon thinking and others more reliant upon doing. There’s no point in trying to determine which way is “better,” since either might have the advantage in a given moment, and since people aren’t really all that free to choose their approach, as we all have to work with the constitution we’ve got. Fortunately, people are rarely confined exclusively to one pole on this continuum. Thinkers still take some actions, and doers still do some thinking. It can, nonetheless, be useful to know if we’re more analytical or experiential learners. On one hand, this can help us seek the kind of guidance we’ll find most readily digestible. Hence, we could ask an instructor who is primarily verbal to illustrate something for us, or request a verbal explanation for something being shown, to round out our learning experience. On the other hand, when we’re stumped trying to figure something out the way that comes naturally, we can deliberately take the other path. Maybe I really do need to slow down and follow the directions, step by step. Or perhaps this task just won’t make sense to me until I’ve gotten into it physically, so I have concrete reference points for the ideas involved. Also, if I’m trying to teach someone else something, I may need to switch approaches to be successful. Does this new rider need words and diagrams, or do they need a low-risk setting to “get the feel of it” through trial-and-error? Obviously, good instruction includes both cognitive understanding and real-world practice, but different students will need a different emphasis or sequence for optimal progress. Respect for the style that isn’t our go-to is essential if we’re to expand our own sphere of mastery and help others do the same.