Before entering the workforce, I learned at university that thinking was a transferable skill that could be honed. It wasn’t always readily clear how mulling over words and ideas could prove to an employer that I deserved to be hired, but 10 years later, not a day has gone by where learning to read and think has not been valuable. Whether it’s thinking through reading, or reading through thinking, the process of dissecting, deconstructing, and finding multiple meanings in text is my secret “party trick,” and its value to me grows greater with every passing year.

Every single bit of communication we encounter–from media, advertisers, politicians, or leaders–is trying to tell us a story. To be able to think critically about these stories, break them down, and understand them piece by piece, is crucial to navigating life with an informed mind. What is the author trying to say? Why do they want to say this here, now? Why did they use this word? Every question leads to another, creating a linking chain of thoughts that all form a cohesive picture of my own understanding.

Learning to be a critical thinker takes time, especially if you’ve grown up in an environment where “thinking too much” is discouraged. When I started to work on my ability to question through literature, and revel in my own interpretation, I uncovered a newfound confidence in how I saw the world, why I saw it the way I did, and in the consideration of other perspectives. I realised I could take any situation, work of art, or conversation, and start asking the questions that would lead me to the right answers. Just as I would with a line of poetry, I had unknowingly honed this skill of being able to break down complexity or simplicity into questions, however scattered, so that a simple idea could be made more complex, or a complex idea made simple.

This ties very closely to one of my favourite essays, The Death of the Author by Roland Barthes, that argues that the meaning of a text (and perhaps of everything) is not what the author intended it to be, but what the reader interprets. Applying that to one of my favourite poems as an example, we could analyse these four lines from The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Eliot:

“Do I dare

Disturb the universe?

In a minute there is time

For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.”

Analysing poetry, or any kind of communication, is an endeavour of questioning. “Do I dare” –who is the “I”? And why the use of “dare”? Is this an act of courage or recklessness? The use of the word “disturb” also opens up a wide range of interpretations. Is the disturbance a conscious act of doing a specific action, or is it coming from the narrator’s own sense of existential crisis? How does one “disturb the universe”? Does "disturb" carry moral weight? Is the narrator wrestling with whether it's right or wrong to cause this disturbance? The questions may seem endless, but with practice, this allows you to be critical and meticulous about every situation you encounter.

At the workplace, like with poetry, dissecting complex reports or strategies, breaking them down into manageable pieces, and analysing information enables me to identify gaps and propose solutions that may not be immediately obvious. Understanding the subtle nuances in a client’s feedback helps me tailor my approach to meet their exact needs, and drawing parallels between themes helps me find the best path forward. In situations of team conflicts, it helps me listen, ask probing questions, and sift through the fog to find solutions. Perhaps most importantly, it helps me collaborate better within a team, whether that involves brainstorming, receiving/giving feedback or taking in other people’s perspectives. In crude terms, these are clear workplace-related benefits that I’ve transferred from my literary analyses.

One of my favourite parts about analysing text is finding connections. If you read a line of poetry or prose and start to deconstruct the text, you can eventually start comparing and find threads of meaning that correlate to other pieces of text or works of art. The possibilities are as vast as your imagination, and have nothing to do with what the intended meaning by the author was. The more you do it, the more comparisons you can make, regardless of their absurdity. You could be as specific as comparing the use of the word “and” between two poems, or as general as comparing how love is being described by two authors. This exercise of finding threads of meaning, and breathing life into these narratives, is an exercise in freedom. Once you allow your mind to think freely and throw away “correct” interpretations, you free yourself from the mental constraints of “right” interpretations and “right” ways of thinking, opening your mind up to a much wider world of possibilities. This process is especially helpful for problem-solving, brainstorming, or more critical-thinking endeavours like risk assessments, when “out of the box” ideas are welcome and required.

Giving space to my own interpretations is an endeavour of self-realisation. When I give my ideas the space to breathe, and I do them the courtesy of questioning and dissecting, I know that I’m allowing my mind to exercise its ability to widen its scope of thought. It’s not sufficient for me to learn how to think; I want to really enjoy these flights of fancies and validate their existence. 

Now, when I sit in meetings, or I’m given a text to edit, or asked for feedback on a concept–all of these “thinking” skills come into action. The practice of questioning and letting ideas grow into solid concepts allows me not only to become a valuable contributor to conversations, but also to identify gaps that others may not see. I can be more decisive about my ideas and advocate for them because I put them through a rigorous process of questioning before I voice them. And most importantly, I can listen, empathise and absorb other perspectives, allowing for even more creativity and imagination to measure against an idea I have and form more thoughtful opinions.

At Rouya, our vision is centred around ihsan, an idea of excellence that encapsulates all aspects of our time, whether that be in how we work with people, the work that we deliver, or indeed how we care for ourselves. Ultimately, I find that the way I can bring ihsan (or excellence) into the work that we do at Rouya lies in fulfilling the potential of my ‘Self’ through the thinking process I learned and honed over the years. For me, literature holds the key to it all.