Translation isn’t just a matter of finding the right words. It’s a way of seeing.
Good translation comes from curiosity about a subject from more than one angle. Not just what someone says about themselves, but how they’re seen by others. How they move through their world. What feels consistent over time, and what changes depending on who’s in the room.
Think about a good documentary. It doesn’t rely on a single voice or a pre-determined outcome. It is investigative in nature, spending time with the subject and with their neighbor, a childhood friend, a colleague, and even someone who disagrees with them. The result isn’t a cacophony of perspectives. Its depth is held together by throughlines. By the time the story is told, it feels easy to understand.
That ease is earned, not imposed.
The layers of a good story are flattened when translation skips that work. Content gets chosen because it sounds right or travels well, rather than because it fits what’s actually there. Meaning is adjusted to meet expectations rather than carried across important contexts. The result can sound clear while still not being the whole truth.
Translation without flattening doesn’t aim for total coverage or perfect alignment. It looks for coherence with what matters. It pays attention to what holds across perspectives and what doesn’t. It allows contradiction to remain visible long enough to understand how it's changing the story. By staying close to a subject's texture, proper translation creates language that feels natural, relatable, and trustworthy. Not because it’s simplified, but because it’s grounded. Sometimes the insight arrives quickly. Sometimes everything clicks. And in other work, it may simply take some time.
When translation is handled with curiosity and care, ideas aren't just understandable but also shareable without losing themselves in the process. That’s the difference between explaining something and translating it.