It sounds like the opening to some kind of Dadaist joke — what does Highlander, a 1986 film about immortal warriors, have to do with innovation? The answer is: The movie's most famous line about immortals, "There can be only one," also applies to the number of true innovations a new product can have.

I learned this last week, at UX Week 2009, a four-day event dedicated to user experience design, hosted by my company, Adaptive Path. On the last day, we focused on the future of user experience, looking at new ways that people will interact with technology. Two presenters separately mentioned that your product have only one innovation per release.

Matt Webb, a product designer with the consultancy BERG, shared the work he did on Olinda, a prototype digital radio created for the BBC. The radio leverages what Matt and his colleague Jack learned from years working on the Web, and included APIs, social networking capability, and modular construction that enable extensibility. While clear that Matt is very fond of Olinda, he recognizes why it didn't capture the broader imagination — there was simply too much to explain. "It's a radio, that allows you to see when six other friends are listening to the radio, and you can buy hardware modules that plug into it, and you can reprog — hey, why are you walking away?" Had it just done one of these things, you could explain it much more simply, "it's a radio that shows you what your friends are listening to."

In his talk, Matt in turn pointed to a sage post from Justin Hall, a video game designer who recently wrote about how he shut down one Firefox-based game, and launched a Facebook game. In his post, Justin advises:

Be selective with your innovation. Keep as much of your product predictable, so people can find their way to the gem of awesome that you have pioneered. Too much innovation means you'll have to individually teach each user how to love your product and you don't have time for that.

It was another speaker, Robin Hunicke, a Game Designer and Producer at thatgamecompany, who actually introduced me to the phrase "The Highlander Principle," which I find to be a memorable way to keep this in mind.

From 1999 to 2000 I worked at Epinions.com, which offered user-generated product reviews. Epinions was massively hyped, and seemed destined for big things. Not only was it an early user-generated content (UGC) site, it also had social networking capabilities. And the ability to rate not just products, but other people's reviews. And you would receive personalized recommendations based on your behavior. And reviewers received a cut of the advertising revenue their posts generated. And all of this at a time before Friendster (much less MySpace or Facebook), Amazon allowing you to rate other customer reviews, or Google AdSense.

Epinions never reached its potential, and I think it's because we were trying to do too much. We weren't aware of The Highlander Principle, and our innovations were too numerous for most users to appreciate. I also think it demonstrated our own internal lack of focus, and inability to prioritize, to do one one new thing really well. We tried to spread our bets, and that diluted the experience.

There can be only one.

A few weeks ago my wife Eleanor and I escaped for a few hours to go mountain biking in Panthertown Valley, North Carolina. Several times during our ride we stopped to admire the incredible views and warm our faces in the sun. The perfect day, we thought.

As we coasted down the last few feet to the parking lot, we had to squeeze through the space between a tree and a short but wide metal post. Eleanor made her way first, leaned on the post for balance, and then glided down toward the car. My turn. I reached out for the post and paused, watching Eleanor.

Suddenly I felt stabbing pain everywhere. Little blades piercing my body. All over my arms and legs, on my back, through my clothing. It was a second or two before I heard the buzzing, felt the brushing, and realized what was happening. By then it was too late. Hornets. A swarm of them. The post I was holding was hollow and inside was their nest. Eleanor must have rustled them up when she passed.

I sprang off my bike and ran, flailing, thrashing about, slapping myself until it seemed like the hornets had gone. I was covered in stings, about a dozen of them.

Then, the dreaded question: was I allergic? I hadn't been stung since I was a boy, when I had a mild reaction. What would it be like now, especially with so many stings? Would my throat swell up? Would I stop breathing?

The nearest pharmacy was 15 minutes away. The nearest hospital 25. We threw the bikes on the car and drove off. The stings were red and swelling. I sensed a lump in my throat. It was hard to take a deep breath. Was my fear getting the better of me? Or was I going into anaphylactic shock? Eleanor drove faster.

The mind is an amazing tool. We can use it to think through complex problems and intuit subtle emotions. We can dream up dazzling ideas and make them happen.

But occasionally our minds take over. We imagine the worst, feeding our fear with fantasies and, sometimes, creating a future that fulfills our nightmares.

A friend of mine, a senior leader named Charles, was convinced he was being driven out of his company.* When he wasn't invited to a meeting, was left off an email list, or was told his work could be improved, he saw it as proof of a plot to discredit him.

Charles spoke with his boss, the CEO, but she didn't see it. You're doing a good job, she told him, I value and respect you. But it didn't help.

When he was left out of another meeting, one to which his boss was invited, he took it as evidence that she was sidelining him too. Now it was clear to him that everyone — his colleagues, his own direct reports, even his boss — was trying to push him out.

"Your boss doesn't have to try to push you out," I reasoned with him. "She's the CEO. She could just fire you if she wanted to." Of course, that didn't help either.

His boss asked him to meet with her, planning to tell him he was achieving his goals and doing well. But Charles vented for 20 minutes about how everything he did got twisted, subverted, and manipulated.

The CEO left the meeting thinking there was no solution except to fire him.

Charles didn't simply confirm his fears, he manifested them. His mind envisioned a world and then created it. He isn't paranoid or schizophrenic or crazy. He's just human.

We do this all the time. We think someone is angry with us, so we respond aggressively to a gesture and they become angry with us. See? We were right all along. We think a customer isn't going to give us business so we don't pursue them and they don't renew our contract. We knew it! Our neglect was justified.

What can we do about it?

As Einstein said, we can't solve a problem using the same thinking that created it. In this case we can't solve the problem using any thinking at all. Because thinking is the problem. And sometimes it's virtually impossible to change our thinking. Better just to stop thinking altogether. But what should we do instead?

Pretend. Act as if.

When the CEO called Charles into her office, he should have listened, thanked her, and, defying everything he thought was happening to him, acted as if he were a valued member of the team. Then, the next time he wasn't invited to a meeting, he should have asked to be invited, saying he'd like to help with the project at hand.

What should you do with someone you think is angry at you? Ask them about it. If they say they're not, then act as if they're telling the truth. Respond generously to anything they do. Pretend you believe they meant well. An unresponsive customer? Keep calling.

Will you be living in a fantasy world? Maybe. But you might already be living in one. Why not choose the fantasy that works for you instead of against you?

The mind is so hard to control that sometimes, when it runs off in rampant fear or anger or frustration, you shouldn't try. Just accept that it might be playing tricks on you and invent a work-around.

As the hornet stings turned into red blotches and welts, I couldn't control my fear that I was going into shock. The harder I tried, the worse I made it. As soon as we got to the pharmacy, I popped two Benadryl capsules and bought a portable Epinephrin shot. I didn't need to use it. But my mind relaxed and my breathing improved simply knowing I had it.

*I've changed a couple of details in this story to protect people's identities.

One fine winter Saturday in San Francisco, I had the good fortune of joining the Board of Trustees meeting of the Wikimedia Foundation, the nonprofit organization that supports Wikipedia. My colleague, Daniel Stid, and I entered our first Wikimedia Board discussion seeking to determine whether and how Wikimedia might develop a strategic plan and how we might be helpful in that process. Very early on in the discussion, Board member Stu West shared a metaphor that set the tone that day and everyday hence: "Have you ever skied at Jackson Hole in Wyoming? Well, there is a sign at the top of the mountain that is both enthralling and terrifying: 'Our mountain is like nothing you have skied before! Give this mountain the special respect it demands!' Wikimedia is that mountain."

Mr. West's metaphor is more than accurate.

Why were we — representatives from the Bridgespan Group — even talking strategy with the Wikimedia Foundation board? Wikimedia has achieved incredible things without a strategy after all. But as the board, community members, advisors and staff considered their vision, it was clear that a range of strategic opportunities and challenges needed to be confronted in advancing toward their vision. For example: How to prioritize growth initiatives that involve reaching every single human being? How to make ever increasing amounts of knowledge freely sharable? How to cultivate a healthy, growing and diverse community of contributors? How to enhance quality of knowledge? How to ensure Wikimedia has the resources and capabilities to sustain its work in perpetuity?

Over the coming months we hope to provide readers of this blog with a window into this unprecedented endeavor from a range of perspectives (volunteers, staff, board members, strategy consultants, external advisors and more). We're essentially going to blog the Wikimedia strategic planning process pretty much as it happens. We think our innovations (those that work and those that flop) will generate new ideas, lessons and approaches for organizations and movements as they look to tackle strategy development and consider the question of how one "organizes" a massive global movement. We also want to tap into your expertise, perspectives and creativity for the benefit of this strategy work.

Our early thinking is that the broad direction of Wikipedia should ultimately be owned and developed by the social movement that powers it. Over the next six months, a series of task forces comprised of community members and external advisors (to bring in new perspectives) will be analyzing, discussing, recommending action on a range of tough strategic issues and figuring out the roles, responsibilities and resources needed to achieve Wikimedia's vision. In fact, an open call for participation launched Monday, September 21, to attract volunteers. We will soon find out if there are volunteers inside and out of the community ready to roll up their sleeves.

But that's just the first step. How might one develop a strategy that could provide direction to such a complex and connected organization without losing the voice of its millions of community stakeholders? Well, to be honest, we aren't exactly sure, but we are determined to give this Wiki mountain the special respect it demands, and we think the following core principles will be a guide:

• Anchor on the vision: Wikimedia has a powerful vision ("a world in which every single human being can freely share in the sum of all human knowledge") that serves as a touchstone for the strategy process
• Do it the Wiki way: Open, transparent and evolving deliberations that trust in the constructive spirit of diverse volunteers to bring powerful expertise and perspective
• Use the best of nonprofit strategy know-how: Drive dialogue and decisions from facts and rigorous analysis of options; Focus on the most critical decisions that will drive large scale impact; tackle questions that require "values" choices explicitly
• Presume good faith: People are engaging with Wikimedia in the best spirit of volunteerism and contribution to social good and will act with the best motives
• Learn and change: Try stuff, If it doesn't work stop, and try something else

What do you think about the basic outline of this process? From your experience with Wikimedia, what strategic issues come to mind?

Barry Newstead is a partner in The Bridgespan Group's San Francisco office.