Ever been trapped in a meeting where someone is clearly brilliant but somehow sounds like they’re speaking a dead language? It’s painful. You see the charts, you hear the data, but your brain just... checks out. That’s the gap. Most people think having the information is the same as sharing it, but the art of explanation is an entirely different beast. It’s the difference between a textbook and a conversation that actually changes how someone thinks.
I’ve spent years watching people try to communicate complex ideas. Some nail it. Most don't. The ones who fail usually suffer from the "Curse of Knowledge," a psychological bias where you forget what it’s like to not know something. It’s a real thing, documented by researchers like Elizabeth Newton at Stanford. If you can't imagine the state of ignorance, you can't build a bridge out of it.
The Art of Explanation and the Middle Man Problem
Communication is usually treated as a straight line from A to B. It isn't. It’s more like a game of telephone played in a crowded bar.
When you explain something, you’re not just dumping data. You are performing a translation. You’re taking a concept—maybe it’s a new API structure, a tax law change, or how a sourdough starter works—and you’re mapping it onto the listener’s existing world. If their world doesn't have a spot for that map, the info just falls off the edge.
Honestly, the best explainers are often the ones who struggled to learn the topic themselves. They remember the friction. They remember where they tripped. Experts who found things easy from day one are usually the worst teachers because they don't see the hurdles; they just see the finish line.
Why Your Brain Hates "New" Stuff
The human brain is an energy hog. It wants to be efficient. When you throw a completely alien concept at someone, their brain sees a massive energy bill it doesn't want to pay.
Good explanation is basically a trick to lower that bill. You do this by using anchors. If I’m explaining a complex software "container" to a non-tech person, I could talk about kernel isolation and user-space environments. Or, I could talk about a shipping crate. Everyone knows what a shipping crate is. It protects what’s inside, it’s a standard size, and it doesn't matter if it’s on a ship, a train, or a truck—the contents stay the same.
Boom. Energy cost lowered.
The Richard Feynman Method (And Why It Works)
You’ve probably heard of the Feynman Technique. Richard Feynman, the Nobel-winning physicist, was nicknamed "The Great Explainer." His secret wasn't being smarter than everyone else, though he definitely was. His secret was a ruthless pursuit of simplicity.
Feynman famously said that if you couldn't explain something to a freshman (some say a six-year-old), you didn't really understand it. This isn't about "dumbing down." It’s about clarity.
- Write the name of the concept at the top of a page. Just start there.
- Explain it as if you were teaching it to someone who has no background in the field. Use plain English. No jargon. If you find yourself using a buzzword, stop. That’s a hole in your own understanding.
- Go back to the source when you get stuck. If you can't explain a specific part simply, you don't know it well enough yet.
- Use analogies to bridge the gap. This is where the magic happens.
There’s a story about Feynman being asked by a reporter to explain why he won the Nobel Prize in a way a normal person could understand. He looked at the guy and said, "If I could explain it to the average person, it wouldn't have been worth a Nobel Prize."
Even the Great Explainer knew there were limits. But for 99% of what we do in business and life, those limits don't apply. We're just being lazy with our words.
The Power of the "High-Concept Pitch"
In Hollywood, they use something called the high-concept pitch. Alien was "Jaws in space." Speed was "Die Hard on a bus."
This is the art of explanation at its most efficient. It gives the listener a massive amount of context for free. You aren't starting from scratch; you’re modifying a blueprint they already have in their head. If you’re pitching a new business idea, find your "X for Y." It might feel reductive, but it’s a foot in the door. Once the door is open, you can show them the complexity.
Common Mistakes That Kill Clarity
Jargon is the big one. People use it because it makes them feel like they belong to a group. It’s tribal. But in the art of explanation, jargon is a wall. If you tell a client you’re "leveraging synergistic paradigms to optimize the CX journey," you haven't said anything. You’ve just made a noise that sounds like a business person.
What you mean is: "We're making the app easier to use so people don't quit halfway through."
See? Simple.
Another mistake is providing too much detail too early. This is "The Firehose." You’re so excited about the nuances that you bury the lead. In journalism, we call this "burying the nut graph." The nut graph is the paragraph that tells the reader what the story is actually about and why they should care.
If you don't establish the "why" in the first sixty seconds, you've lost the "how."
The "Step-Back" Technique
When someone looks confused, most people just repeat the same sentence louder or slower. Don't do that. It’s annoying.
Instead, take a step back. Ask, "Where did I lose you?" or better yet, "What’s your current understanding of [Topic]?"
This is a diagnostic tool. You can’t fix a car if you don't know which part is broken. Maybe they understand the goal but don't see the process. Maybe they don't even agree that there’s a problem to solve in the first place. You have to meet them where they are, not where you want them to be.
Cognitive Load and Visuals
We live in a visual world. But most "visual aids" are actually visual distractions.
A PowerPoint slide with twelve bullet points and three charts is a nightmare. The audience can’t read the slide and listen to you at the same time. Their brains literally can’t process two streams of linguistic information simultaneously. It’s called the Redundancy Effect.
If you want to use the art of explanation effectively, your visuals should be... visual. Use a picture. Use a single, massive number. Use a diagram that shows flow. If you have to put text on the screen, keep it under ten words. If you want them to read a paragraph, give them thirty seconds of silence to do it.
The Role of Narrative
Human beings are wired for stories. We’ve been sitting around fires for 50,000 years telling tales about why the sun goes down or why the mammoth escaped.
A dry explanation is a list of facts. A great explanation is a story where the listener is the hero and the concept is the tool they use to win.
Instead of saying "This new software tracks inventory in real-time," try "Remember last Tuesday when we ran out of the blue widgets and you had to call three different warehouses? This software prevents that by showing you exactly what’s on the shelf before you even ask."
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You’ve shifted from abstract to visceral. You’ve given them a reason to care.
Context is King
Never explain a solution before you've thoroughly explained the problem.
If I walk up to you and offer you a glass of water, you might say no. You're not thirsty. But if I make you walk through a desert for three hours first, that water is the most important thing in your life.
In business, we often jump straight to the "water" (the product, the idea, the change). We forget to describe the "desert." Spend more time on the pain point. If the listener doesn't feel the heat, they won't value the cool drink.
Putting the Art of Explanation into Practice
You can't just read about this; you have to do it. It’s a muscle. The more you simplify, the easier it becomes to see the core of an idea.
Start small. Next time someone asks what you do for a living, don't give your job title. Give a one-sentence explanation of the problem you solve.
Bad: "I'm a Senior Logistics Coordinator for a mid-market shipping firm."
Good: "I make sure that when you order something online, it actually shows up at your door on time."
One sounds like a LinkedIn profile. The other sounds like a human being.
Actionable Next Steps
To truly master the art of explanation, you need to change your preparation process. It’s not about more slides; it’s about more thinking.
- Audit your vocabulary. Take your next presentation or email and highlight every word that has more than three syllables or is specific to your industry. Replace half of them with "normal" words.
- The "Six-Year-Old" Test. Try to explain your most complex project to a friend who doesn't work in your field. If they can’t repeat it back to you in their own words within two minutes, you failed. Try again.
- Use the "So What?" Filter. After every point you make, imagine the listener saying, "So what?" If your explanation doesn't answer that immediately, cut it.
- Focus on the Delta. Don't explain the whole system. Just explain the "Delta"—the change. What is different now? What is the one thing that matters most?
- Record yourself. This is painful, I know. But listen to yourself explain something. You’ll hear the "ums," the "likes," and the moments where you start rambling because you lost your own train of thought. Clarity of speech follows clarity of thought.
The goal isn't to look smart. The goal is to be understood. If you leave a room and everyone thinks you’re a genius but no one knows what to do next, you didn't explain anything. You just performed. Real explanation is humble. It puts the listener’s needs above the speaker’s ego. Master that, and you can lead almost anyone.