Seven years ago, I took my first, faltering steps into the churro-scented welter that is the IAAPA Expo. The attractions and amusement park industry’s culminating event whirred with enthusiasm for the artistic disruption known as Meow Wolf and the imminent opening of Star Wars: Galaxy’s Edge. As I wound through that hectic show floor, banners bearing such venerable names as JRA, BRC, and BDR flew above elaborate show booths bedizened with flashy concept art. Slack-jawed with the stupefaction of a writer just one month into his career, I hoped someday to see my monogram mounted alongside those acronyms of themed entertainment expertise.

Last month, I took slightly more confident strides onto an IAAPA stage to share some of what I had learned in those seven years. As I sat among that panel of storytellers I am genuinely humbled to call peers, I espied the face behind one of those (justifiably) much-adulated acronyms sitting in the audience, seemingly enrapt in our musings. This gentleman has designed paradigm-shifting entertainments longer than all the panelists onstage have walked the Earth. A question quietly nettled me as I sweated in the humming glare of that conference room projector: Does this make us the “new” experts?

Later that week, I was privileged to attend a panel featuring a dear colleague, one of those rare persons whom the term “genius” aptly describes. While immensely talented and artistically prolific, her résumé is not the acronymous alphabet soup that most themed entertainment “experts” boast. And yet, as she alighted the stage (after her typically incisive commentary), I saw the most celebrated and recognized theme park designer of the past half-century sprint from his seat and stand in line to ask her a series of zealous follow-up questions. My puzzlement returned. What do the students of this art form have to teach the masters – the “old” experts?

I have long regarded expertise as a peak to be summited, a proud promontory where the climber is rewarded with a vast, unobstructed perspective of his chosen field. This year I learned that true expertise is not a monolith you surmount; it is a fertile and fastidious garden that you continually cultivate. As soil demands a diversity of crops for a consistent yield, the expert’s mind thrives on fresh insights to remain innovative. New gardens may be grown from the seeds of the old; but the old must be replenished by the fruits of the new. Seven years ago, I traversed the IAAPA show floor hoping I would one day be admired as someone who “knows best.” After taking that vaunted stage, I have learned that it is far more valuable, in this industry, to be someone who “knows different.” The disparity between an “old expert” and a “new expert” is the size of the garden, not the quality of the harvest. Whether you’re a veteran of the ploughshare or attempting to sow your first seeds, you play a vital part in the ecosystem of expertise. Grow with industry, care, and curiosity.