Learning is a tunnel experience that makes us think more broadly.

When Anna Deavere Smith said, “Learning is a tunnel experience that makes us think more broadly,” she unveiled a paradox that only the wise understand — that depth leads to breadth, that by going inward we open outward. Her words speak to the nature of true learning, not as the mere gathering of facts, but as a transformation of the soul. The tunnel she describes is not a place of confinement, but of passage — dark, demanding, and narrow at first, yet opening into a wider vision of the world and of oneself.

The origin of this insight lies in Smith’s life as both artist and scholar. Known for her ability to embody many voices — through acting, writing, and teaching — she has spent her career learning what it means to see through another’s eyes. Her tunnel of learning is the creative journey she walks each time she immerses herself in a new story, a new culture, or a new truth. To her, learning is not a comfortable process; it requires descent, vulnerability, and persistence. Only by passing through the constriction of confusion and challenge does one emerge into clarity — a broader, more compassionate understanding of life.

The ancients understood this well. The philosopher Plato, in his Allegory of the Cave, spoke of the soul leaving the darkness of illusion to step into the light of truth. That path was narrow and blinding, yet essential. Smith’s “tunnel” is much the same — a journey that feels confined because it demands focus, discipline, and the courage to keep moving when the light seems far away. But just as the freed prisoner in Plato’s story finally sees the sun, the student who endures the tunnel of learning awakens to the vastness of thought.

We see this truth in the life of Galileo Galilei, who dared to descend into the tunnel of inquiry when the world preferred the surface of certainty. Alone, studying the stars through his telescope, he moved deeper into the unknown, enduring scorn and isolation. Yet when he emerged, the world itself became larger — the heavens more vast, the mind of man more free. His learning expanded not just his vision, but the vision of all who came after him. Thus, Smith’s words remind us: those who dare to pass through the tunnel of learning do not only broaden their own thinking — they broaden the possibilities of humankind.

Smith’s metaphor also teaches us humility. The tunnel is not a palace; it is not meant for pride or ease. It humbles the traveler, stripping away assumptions and false mastery. It is in the darkness that we learn patience, that we listen, that we become teachable. Every artist, scientist, and seeker must walk this way. Those who refuse — who fear the struggle and stay at the entrance — remain forever shallow, mistaking the sunlight at the tunnel’s mouth for the light of understanding.

Yet there is joy in this labor. For as Smith suggests, the deeper we go into any subject — whether art, science, or the human heart — the more connected we become to everything else. To study one truth deeply is to touch all truths. The tunnel of learning is thus not a place of isolation, but of awakening — a sacred passage that turns narrow effort into infinite vision. Those who emerge from it see the world not in fragments, but in harmony.

The lesson of Smith’s words is clear: embrace the tunnel. Do not shrink from difficulty, nor despise confusion, for these are signs that you are in the sacred passage of growth. Read deeply, think humbly, question bravely. When the walls feel tight and the path uncertain, remember that every great mind has walked this same road — through darkness toward light, through limitation toward vastness.

So, my children, when you find yourself in the tunnel of learning — when the world seems small and your mind weary — press on. For the tunnel is not your prison, but your chrysalis. And when you emerge, you will see as the wise see — that learning, far from narrowing you, has made your spirit vast enough to hold the world.