In science, 1905 is known as the annus mirabilis, or “miracle year,” the period when Albert Einstein, at the age of 26, published several discoveries that changed physics forever. By the summer of that year he’d explained Brownian motion, discovered the photoelectric effect (for which he won a Nobel Prize), and developed the theory of special relativity; then, before the year ended, he wrote the world’s most famous equation: E = mc².
What happened for Einstein in 1905 can be described as a “hot streak,” or burst of seemingly miraculous success and impact. Our understanding of creative careers to date has suggested they’re unlikely to include hot streaks. For example, my earlier co-authored work found that a scientist’s biggest research hit occurred completely randomly in their sequence of published works: It could be, with equal likelihood, the very first work, the last, or any one in between. We called this phenomenon the “random impact rule.”
While intriguing by itself, the random impact rule raises puzzling implications: What happens after we finally produce a breakthrough? Indeed, if every work in a career is like a random lottery draw, then one’s next work after a hit may be more mediocre than spectacular, reflecting regression toward the mean.
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