I traveled to Philadelphia for no other reason than to attend my future school’s anniversary summit, for which I paid the $25 student registration fee. I think at that point, I wanted nothing more than to catch a glimpse of what it was like to be at a business school that had graduated some of the finest corporate leaders in the world. In my seventeen-year-old head, I glamorized the infinite number of rules and doctrines protected by the institution that was Wharton – the pristineness of one’s pronunciation of “fin-ANCE;” business cards containing a vernacular of their own (‘Associate,’ ‘Vice President,’ ‘Partner’); the handshakes between wrists tied with silk knots.

I remember sitting through panels and sessions on private equity, leadership, global banking. Hell, I took notes on terms and opinions that made no sense to me. As a pre-frosh, this is the illusion that a place like Wharton feeds you – that you have a duty to know the things bankers know and speak the language that bankers speak as soon as you matriculate. (You only realize later that bankers themselves rarely know what they seem to know, or what they are saying. The financial world is just as cryptic to them as it is to you.)

I also sat in on a panel for women. It was about work-life balance, if anyone in the room believed there was such a thing. I very distinctly remember that conference room. There was a stage in the front, and several women in stylish suits exchanged stories about their children, their marriages, and how they “made it all work.”

In the middle of one of these anecdotes, an audience member stood up – a small, fragile woman, older, with that kind of laser confidence that I one day wanted to achieve. Her hair was pulled back into an intricate and flawless creation. She wore a well-tailored suit with gold buttons. She most definitely said “fin-ANCE.”

Her presence was astonishing. While interrupting the panel, she spoke about her own experiences as a mother, wife, professional, and leader – almost re-iterating the story of her entire career over the span of twenty minutes. (As to not reveal her identity, I won’t quote the details of her story.) She spoke piercingly about the role of women in the workplace. “Women don’t help each other because we don’t want each other in the board room. We don’t like having competition,” she exclaimed. “And that is the biggest part of the problem.”

Anyone else would have said “pardon me,” “I’m sorry for interrupting but…”, “please allow me” – or just stayed a silent member of the audience. But no, her words were the most important in the room, and we were damn lucky to be hearing them.

I remember approaching her and a group of women who had spoken on the panel. She, the one with business cards full of special vernacular. I, an awkward seventeen-year-old with no achievements to speak of except a handful of high school essay contest awards. She chatted graciously, the handshakes, the “yes, let me connect you”s – until her eyes landed on me and slid from my uneven bangs to my polyester sweater to my open-toed shoes – and back to the people who mattered.

—————

Years later, I saw her again at a prestigious dinner hosted by Wharton. I chaired the Dean’s Advisory Board at that time and sat at the mostly-empty student table with a couple of other MBAs and undergraduates. She had the same hair, same suit, same way of gesturing with her delicate hands.

It’s peculiar how beautiful some people look in the spotlight, and how disappointing they are off-stage. Leaders in particular. There are two types of leaders: those with compassion, and those without. Another distinction: those who live their values, and those who only talk about them.

Many of my friends today are and will be incredible leaders. These roles come with a lot of questions: As leaders, what will we care about? Who will matter to us? And when we speak, who will be speaking: the leaders or ourselves?

It has been a little over a month since I started working “for real” in a quiet city called Bellevue. I live two blocks from my office, and it’s a ten minute door-to-door walk if I leave at the right moment and walk at the correct pace so that I catch the crosswalk light as it turns white. Otherwise, it’s about fifteen minutes.

I also live within a block of a day spa, fantastic espresso, Top Pot Doughnuts, Korean BBQ, and Overlake Medical Center.

Here’s the thing about working on high tech problems in a city like Bellevue. It’s easy to let oneself sink into a comfortable alcove — where most of what matters is fulfilling your promises and presenting slide decks that give answers to questions people have asked.

It is significantly harder to be restless, to peer outward at questions that haven’t been asked, to be envious of and inspired by other people, products, and ideas. In a place like Bellevue, one has to make it a daily habit. So that’s what we shall have to do :]

All it takes is a small square device that plugs into your smartphone (or iPad) and allows you to swipe a credit card, plus a free application that allows you to keep track of transactions. After Matt dropped me off at the Sheraton, he asked me to punch in the amount I wanted to pay on his iPhone.

I’ve heard a lot about Square, but this was my first time seeing it in action. Matt had heard about Square from other pedi cab drivers in Denver — a highly connected and amicable community that generally supports rather than competes with each other. In general, Matt is satisfied with the product–other than the fact that it often takes several swipes for the card to register.

Square processes over $2 million in payments per day, according to Business Insider. The company snags just 2.75% of that value as a transaction fee.

For me, this is a fascinating encounter. At first glance, a product like Square seems difficult to scale. Its audience is highly fragmented, the market competitive. And yet, with such a compelling solution and simplicity of adoption, the product seems to evangelize itself among small, close-knit communities — like that of pedi cab drivers in Denver. And by distributing through the Android Marketplace and Apple’s App Store, Square has created an automated, self-service process that allows vendors to sign up in a jiffy.

My prediction is that it will continue to spread like wildfire among small vendors who only require a basic POS system. My only question is: How large is the transaction volume in that market, and can Square expand outside of yard sales and food trucks?

Each person has a handful of small-yet-critical experiences that have influenced the direction of his career. My handful goes something like this.

——

In third grade, I wrote a lot of poetry in class. I created rhythm and rhyme around nearly everything. As the teacher walked by to check on our workbook progress, I would hide the lined pages in my desk—the metal kind with plenty of space and a small groove that cradled one’s pencil.

During one parent-teacher session, the trio (mother, father, and Mr. B) came to the consensus that I was good with words and bad with fractions.

My parents placed me in Super Saturday programs on writing and a summer seminar called “Crafting the Essay.” There, my first creative non-fiction piece was about discovering the Caramel Frappuccino at Starbucks and the joy it brought to my life. Deep, I know. I awkwardly forced a lot of big words into that essay, against their will.

In middle school, my dad bought me a microscope and set of test tubes and glass slides. I launched head first into my future career in biochemical research—no doubt influenced by the parentals. In IB Chemistry class, I discovered that I was clumsy (still am) with a Bunsen burner and did not mesh well with memorizing aldehydes.

I spoke up in class (without being cold-called) for the first time during my sophomore year, in an English class discussion of Lord of the Flies. I had just moved to a new school and wanted to change my ways. In my previous school district, I had a perfect attendance record and did everything I was told. I neither loved nor loathed any subjects.

In high school, I skipped class to hear Madeleine Albright speak at Georgetown University. In a too-big, polyester blazer and pink sweater, I lined up to ask a question, but the Q&A period ended before my turn. She had a reserved grace and wild accomplishments. I decided that I, too, wanted to live an Exceptional Life—one in which I defined my own influence.

Also in high school, I volunteered to petition in Times Square for anti-malaria funding from Congress. I worked in the heat for four hours straight and a pigeon shat on my head. I decided that straight-up advocacy work was not the career for me. My influence was better exerted through other means.

In my junior year of college, a Partner from the Boston Consulting Group’s New York office called me and told me that the firm would launch my career like no other. I told him that I was still interviewing with Google and Microsoft. Fine companies, he said. If you survived BCG’s interview process (the most rigorous for college hires, he claimed), you will surely get offers at both.

But let me tell you, he said with the allure that no ambitiously uncertain university student can resist; the allure of a promising, can’t-go-wrong future tied up with great exit options. After working here, there is nothing you can’t do, nowhere you can’t go.

——

As we grow older and mature, these experiences that shape our careers are increasingly within our control.

In elementary school, my mother meticulously researched the reputations of all first grade teachers at Klondike Elementary, and fought to place me in the class that best met her stringent criteria. The circumstances that created us and our interests belonged in the hands of caretakers, instructors, parents, mentors—who took the initiative to show us who we might become.

Now, it’s our job to create those circumstances. The decisions are ours, not theirs.

How do we cope with this newfound responsibility?

I, like many of my friends, was scared of decisions and of making the wrong ones. In the grand decision tree of life, I didn’t want to end up trapped at the end of one branch, unable to move onto the next node.

In these situations, the approach is often to select the least common denominator option—the one with the least perceived risk, the least anticipated regret, the most hypothetical guarantees.

While this was and still is a tempting choice, the most defining experiences of my life have been the result of impulsive leaps and twists in the road. As a young person, now is the time to experience some more of those. After all, there is more than one way to build the career I want in the future – whatever it may be.

Based on my limited experience, the decision we make has a smaller impact on our lives than what we make of it (a point well explained by Professor Adam Grant at graduation). Finding the right mentors, creating challenging projects for ourselves, taking risks – these will define us from now on.

——

I didn’t end up in New York City.

I needed to work in a place of great ambiguity, so that I could discover more of those poetry-writing, Madeleine Albright experiences that would bring me out of my comfort zone into new, unfamiliar territories with no map, no algorithm or process to guide me.

And at those times when I realize my ability to succeed in murky situations—to design a solution from scratch that works, however insignificant it might be to the bigger picture; to make bold decisions and take responsibility for the consequences—I am more confident than ever that there is nothing I can’t do, nowhere I can’t go.

TED (and its parent organization, the Sapling Foundation) seems like one of those indisputably Good Things.

Its mission is simple: “Spreading Ideas.” In a democratic country, what could be more agreeable?

Enter Nassim Taleb, esteemed author of The Black Swan and Fooled By Randomness. (He  lectured on campus last month–right in Huntsman Hall!–but both the main room and the overflow room were full when I had arrived, ten minutes before the lecture started.)

At the top of his website, which lists all of his past and upcoming talks, he notes:

(No, I am not interested in being one of the “thought leaders” quacks or TED-style circus performer. I am interested in intellectual exchange & spreading my idea(s), not in peddling goods and services [and not in NETWORKING]. I get thousands of invitations a year and pick those that gather thoughtful and thinking audiences, preferably poor in funding. I donate all academic honoraria to universities and research centers, with the exception of those offered by business schools (which I use to invite my friends to dinner)).

———–

Knowledge used to be earned, not found. Not keyword-searched or stumbled upon or clicked on or even lightly browsed.

Our generation can barely recall the times when one would pore over volumes and volumes of text to derive one insight. We (they?) had to consume all of it–all of the academic disclaimers, the contextual details, the unedited tangents, attempted humor–in order to earn those nuggets of knowledge.

Now, knowledge is only a string of keywords and a click away. We can obtain what we want in the form in which we want it. A list? Bullet points? A 300-word maximum article? Or an entertaining video? Do we still appreciate the origins of that knowledge, the process and rigor invested in developing it? And do forums like TED and websites like Wikipedia extend or hinder that appreciation?

———–

In high school, I introduced a modest website called Wikipedia to a few classmates.

Back then, there were only a smattering of articles on things like Paris or the Cold War. They weren’t nearly as detailed as they are now, but they were more comprehensive and certainly easier to read than encyclopedias or other reference books.

The school librarians had a fit. During our class workshops on online research, they gave us countless tirades against the “biased” or “unreliable” source that Wikipedia was to them. They hung up gigantic laminated posters warning against the use of Wikipedia in the library computer lab. God forbid, students would bypass legitimate means of research and resort to the “easy route.”

That year, I published an article in my school paper: “In defense of Wikipedia.” I refused to believe that something that aggregated knowledge that elegantly could be “illegitimate.” Quote (dated March 23, 2007):

Despite these advantageous elements, people continue to criticize Wikipedia as an illegitimate source of “authority” because anyone with an Internet connection can modify articles.

Well, what is authority?

Clay Shirky, an adjunct professor in New York University’s graduate Interactive Telecommunications Program (ITP), argues that authority is a social concept, rather than an inherent characteristic. “A PhD is an authority figure because we all agree that the work that goes into getting a doctorate (itself a social fact) is a legitimate source of authority,” says Shirky.

However, even articles by renowned intellectuals contain arguments and inherent bias, thus shifting the student’s perspective a certain direction before they have a clear grasp on the objective facts.

The purpose of Wikipedia is not to give authority to a certain person; instead, it aims to expand human knowledge by providing legitimacy to the entire system. In last month’s Valor Dictus article, a quote stated that students should pursue “real articles by real people.” In fact, the Wiki system epitomizes this ideal. After all, what’s more “real” than the open academic debate that Wikipedia offers?

But does it encourage more open debate? Our ability to get the gist of evolutionary theory without reading The Origin of Species, or a obtain comprehensive timeline of world history without reading the documents that shaped foreign policy?

Out of the millions of people who have watched TEDTalks, how many have looked beyond the 18-minute video–doubted it, criticized it, investigated it? Started a conversation? Questioned, thought about implications? Take the number of unique commentators on any video and divide it by the total number of views. How much true intellectual engagement has it sparked?

Is new media–more accessible media–making knowledge too easy? Giving us the illusion of knowledge without true understanding and inquiry? What metrics can we use to test this hypothesis?

Giving is rewarding. And you’d be surprised–there’s a lot that you can give without costing yourself much at all. Lending your expertise on a subject, connecting an acquaintance to a friend. There’s nothing more rewarding than developing relationships and taking a chance on someone who needs your generosity.

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Here’s a small story to illustrate the power of generosity.

During my junior year of high school, I embarked on a mission to create my high school’s first Economics class. I had no exposure to theoretical economics whatsoever, but after reading a few books on development–e.g. Jeffrey Sachs, Muhammad Yunus, I really wanted to learn more.

Getting a class approved at my large public high school was tough. There was no formal process for doing so; you needed resources and a lot of money for textbooks and a new teacher. It was a huge administrative undertaking. To win over the administration, I printed descriptions of the course and handed them out to students. I asked for hall passes from my teachers to petition classroom to classroom. (Needless to say, I was an even bigger nerd in high school than I am now.)

Still, I ran into roadblocks. There simply weren’t enough students who were willing to change their pre-college schedules in order to take the class. The fixed cost of creating a new class was high, and the typical class size at my high school was 25-30 students. In April, the Chair of the Social Studies Department informed me that the class would be canceled, and students were already being placed in their second choice classes.

As a high school student, I was very involved in human rights campaigns and decided to take a page out of advocacy’s book. I sent emails to any relevant professional whose contact information I could get my hands on–from professors at George Mason University to individuals I had met at conferences in DC.

Only one individual–an Ivy League graduate, Marshall Scholar, former banker and consultant, and at the time, a CEO of a major non-profit organization–responded. Here’s the frantic, somewhat entitled email I sent him:

Tue, Apr 25, 2006 at 7:00 PM

Dear —,

Recently, I’ve run into a problem at my high school. In January, I petitioned for the Social Studies Department to offer an IB Economicscourse for the 2006-2007 school year. The Administration agreed to do so, but I was just notified that the course was dropped due to lack of interest. Despite the fact that 18 students signed up for the course, my school is so large and our staff is so limited that the minimum number of students for an elective course is 25. Now, I’m trying to convince seven more students to switch to IB Economics so that the course can be reinstated. However, this would cause a good deal of inconvenience for the counselors. I was hoping that in order to sway their decision, you could send an e-mail to my principal, explaining the importance of economics in promoting a global perspective, which is one of the goals of my school’s International Baccalaureate Program. My friends and I are already writing letters to the Administration dictating our personal reasons for taking Economics, but since you have experience with both economics and global education, your insight might be more convincing.

My principal’s name is Mr. —, and his e-mail is: —@fcps.edu

I’m sorry to bother you with this request, but my friends and I are determined to take this course. If you’re able to, please send Mr. — an e-mail by this Thursday so that he can consider it when making the final decision regarding the Economics course.

With appreciation,
Mindy Zhang
Robinson Secondary School

Sure enough, the next day, my principal received a lengthy email explaining the importance of economics in providing a global education, citing Friedman’s The World Is Flat. After some more begging and pleading, the IB Economics course was re-instated with just under 20 students in the course. I took the course, loved the material, and decided to apply Early Decision to the University of Pennsylvania’s Wharton School.

———————————————–

Although at the time, I didn’t have any resources to return the favor, I’m now more than willing to do anything in my power to help this individual. Though it was a small gesture to him, it impacted the direction of my life.

Recently, I was reflecting on this experience and wondering why this individual even took the time to help me. My boyfriend explained that “proactive people enjoy helping other proactive people.”

Five to ten years from now (or even today), if you received a similar email from someone seeking a small act of generosity, would you take a chance on that person?

Give what you can. Making a huge difference in someone else’s life only takes a pinch of generosity.

It’s difficult to imagine how little I knew as a freshman roaming the halls of Huntsman, sitting through writing seminars and OPIM lectures. The Wharton curriculum has taught me how to solve problems, how to peer into the gears of organizations and individuals, and how to make things happen. (Note: I will discuss primarily the Wharton curriculum in this post. Although I am ultimately a Penn student, I am most familiar with the Wharton curriculum and it has had the largest impact on my undergraduate education).

I now know a lot more but still very little. Luckily, however, the curriculum has taught me how to learn – how to enter an unfamiliar field and adapt quickly, how to find and dissect knowledge, how to analyze foreign situations. As a freshman, I couldn’t even fathom how to start a company, conduct a research project, or pilot an initiative. Every opportunity was a maze with no start or end, and I was only comfortable pursuing those straightforward, linear career paths with clear milestones. Now at least I have the ability to find a starting point and use my resources to do essentially anything I want.

While all of this sounds great, I must reflect on what it means to have an undergraduate business education and how the Wharton learning experience might change for the better.

What is an undergraduate business education?

Wharton faces the challenge of providing many kinds of education – to graduate students, undergraduate students, and executives. Each audience is at a different stage of learning and therefore has a different set of needs.

For undergraduate students, Penn provides the foundation for future learning. Through an undergraduate education, students cannot simply pursue a field a specific field of study. They must explore and debate ideas across all spheres of knowledge, learn to think and express, cultivate a flexible mind and multiple ways of looking at things, formulate their own beliefs, develop self-awareness and an awareness of the world around them.

That leads us to the question: What is the purpose of an undergraduate business education? Should Wharton simply let the broader Penn institution take care of the “undergraduate” part and focus on providing the “business” education? What a dilemma for undergraduate business institutions around the world.

What are the components of a Wharton undergraduate education?

My belief is that as such a significant part of a student’s overall curriculum, Wharton should provide the “undergraduate” in the context of “business,” which it currently aims to do. Let me emphasize that Wharton aims to create leaders, not [insert profession here]’s. Therefore, the Wharton curriculum must allow undergraduates to grow in all the ways mentioned above, while giving them the mental “models” needed to succeed as leaders in business and elsewhere. I’ve listed some of these fundamental “models” below:

1. Understanding gears of an organization – What are the different roles, components, and metrics of an organization and its environment, and how do they affect each other?
2. Problem identification – Given an understanding of those gears, how can you pinpoint the problem and drive toward a solution?
3. Understanding concerns of different stakeholders – For any decision or change to be made, can you think from the perspective of different people who are affected? Can you reconcile these different perspectives and act on your empathy?
4. Analysis and evaluation of information – How can we extract insight from data and reduce biases in interpretation? How do we distinguish useful information from irrelevant information? How can we use this information to make optimal decisions?
5. Decision-making under ambiguous circumstances – What ethical and interpersonal considerations do we need to take into consideration when making decisions? How can we approach situations when there is no clear right or wrong answer?
6. Creativity – In what ways can we challenge the status quo and look beyond our organization for new approaches? How do we adapt to change?

Many people I’ve spoken to believe that hard skills (knowing accounting rules, finance equations, marketing metrics) are the biggest differentiators for Wharton students. The rest can be learned “on the job,” they say.

Of course I agree that these fundamental “models” can be learned and developed while working. But at the same time, developing the maturity to better understand these “models” is the greatest advantage for Wharton students who aspire to be leaders. In fact, I’d argue that the hard skills are easiest learned on the job. But having these essential “models” ingrained in you during your undergraduate education –it shapes your mindset moving forward. You enter graduate school or the work force or your own venture with a set of perspectives that few people your age have acquired.

While some Wharton undergraduates derive pleasure from reducing their significance to a salary or a set of formulas entered into the rows and columns of Excel spreadsheets– let’s take a moment and get real about our education.

Most of us have had the maturity to derive far more from our education than the basic skill required of an entry level investment banking position (i.e. not much). Perhaps we didn’t fully appreciate all of our core courses at the time, but if we take a moment to reflect on the curriculum as a whole, it truly has provided us with a set of valuable perspectives –lenses through which to view the world—that will serve us well in the future. We really are equipped to take on anything.

What Wharton needs

Wharton is good at teaching the “what” and the “how.” But what about the “why”? I’ve outlined a few things that I think the Wharton undergraduate curriculum could use more of. (Note: There are many other cultural and non-curricular changes I can think of, but I’ll focus on curricular changes here.)

1. Why is statement X correct (or rather, not false)? This may seem painfully basic, but all Wharton students should learn the fundamentals of research and experimentation. Statistics courses should contain a section on research and interpretation of information: how to determine the reliability and validity of a study, the difference between legitimate and questionable data (because we all know that you can make the numbers say anything), basics of experimental design (control group, constant variables, etc.), and how to identify common biases in interpretation of data. If we’re going to be business leaders, making decisions with information, we need to know this stuff and not take “information” that is handed to us for granted. It’s scary to meet people who will take any research report as fact in making decisions.
2. Why do I hold this belief? Regardless of whether you’re libertarian or socialist, believe in lower taxes or increased welfare, an educated individual should have developed a certain belief based on careful inquiry and thought. An educated person should also be able to justify and defend his or her perspective with values or evidence. With all the group papers and projects, objective analysis and case studies on other people’s beliefs, Wharton has removed the pressure to develop and defend our own value systems as individuals.Whartonites need a course that challenges them to consider their own values. For a long time, that course has been LGST 210: “Corporate Responsibility and Ethics.” First of all, LGST 210 isn’t a required course; students can take BPUB 203 and LGST 101 in its place. Furthermore, does every student walk out of that course knowing that they have peered into their value systems and thoroughly evaluated them, emerging from it a better decision maker? And even beyond LGST 210, professors should question the assumptions that students make about the world and how it should function. They should be saying to students, “Hey you! As an individual, why do you believe the things you believe?” If they don’t stop the complacency, who will?
3. Why is business conducted the way it is today? All students in the Huntsman Program are required to take a seminar called “Comparative Capitalist Systems,” which chronicles the history of economic growth and expansion. A similar course should be required to all Wharton students. How can we begin to question existing assumptions about business when we don’t know how those assumptions have evolved throughout time?
4. Why do certain ideas fail? Certainly, Wharton hopes that its students will change the world someday. We may not all be entrepreneurs, but we will all face change and innovation. Although Wharton undergraduates are extremely averse to “fluffy” stories, we need to hear more of them through case studies, guest speakers, and our professors. More importantly, we need to hear about and learn from the failures of organizations who focused on internal growth at the expense of adapting to trends, the failures of great ideas that faced roadblocks in implementation and getting buy-in from the right people.

In general, I’d like to see the Wharton undergraduate curriculum focus more on developing students’ understanding – of themselves and their own beliefs, of the world and how it might change. Wharton needs more inquiry, individual reflection, and a rigorous emphasis on “why.” Perhaps then we’d all attend our lectures and do the readings instead of relying on course slides and cramming to get by.

—————————————————————-

Ultimately, what is a Wharton undergraduate education worth? Is it really just base plus bonus for our first job, or does its influence extend across our entire career?

Let’s all take a step back from the technical “skillsets” that we’ve acquired through the likes of ACCT 101 and FNCE 203, and think about the even more valuable lenses (or rather “models”) we’ve developed – lenses that we can flexibly use to interpret and change what we see.

Then, our business education becomes more than just set of static set of textbook formulas and corporate jargon. It is in fact a foundation for thinking better, acting better, doing better in this world.

image from gapingvoid

I will always make time for people with ideas.

Have you ever had a manager who never seemed to have time for you, who was never proactive in helping you work through your ideas, who was 15 minutes late to every 20 minute meeting and checked his or her Blackberry in between snippets of conversation? I aspire never to be that manager.

Over the summer, I listened to Jonathan Rosenberg (then VP of Product Management) speak about the importance of making time for ideas. Working from home is a proliferating practice, and it’s toxic, he said. When you work from home, you don’t critique, debate, and cross-pollinate ideas from the person at the desk next to yours. And that is where great projects, like Android and Gmail, come from.

But people are busy. Can we realistically make time for everyone and everything? My philosophy is that we all make time for the things that we prioritize. If you are in an industry where success depends on exploration of new ideas, above and beyond exploitation of existing ones, making time for ideas is damn important.

It’s easier said than done. When you’re churning deliverables and rushing deadlines, it may seem impractical to sit down and chat about a potential tweak that doesn’t directly affect this quarter’s earnings (on which your performance is evaluated, by the way). Yet the leaders who make a true difference are those who are willing to listen. Not only listen but also pour time and resources into people’s good ideas (whether it’s introducing that person to someone valuable in implementation, or suggesting a place to start researching or improving the idea, or giving that person stage time in front an audience to pitch the idea).

What is the opportunity cost of not making time? Lost potential, opportunities that never gain momentum; static mental models, and decisions made only with information you know exists.

This concept applies to ideas outside of your direct team or organization, too. It applies to people you meet at conferences, coffeeshops, and classes. Devoting enough time in your busy schedule for ideas exposes you to new opportunities everyday–opportunities that keep you aware, inspire you, and prevent you from making decisions in a vacuum. Make the time!

I’ve been fascinated by the art of storytelling since I took a creative communication course two years ago. Stories are enormously powerful in crafting a brand, pitching an idea, persuading the masses, and connecting people who wouldn’t otherwise have anything in common. In this beautiful talk by Sarah Kay, internationally renowned spoken word poet, she says that from her experiences, interesting stories are born from four intersections:

The first list that I assigned [to my students] was 10 things I know to be true. And here’s what happens. At a certain point you would realize that someone has the exact same thing, or one thing very similar to what’s on your list. And then someone else has something the complete opposite of yours. Third, someone has something you’ve never even heard of before. And fourth, someone has something you thought you knew everything about… but they’re introducing a new angle of looking at it.

This is where great stories start from.

These four interactions between what you’re passionate about and what others might be invested in.

The ability to form a human connection is perhaps one of the most under-appreciated talents here in business school. And yet, it’s what distinguishes a strong individual performer from a leader who can empathize, rally people around a vision, and inspire the best in others.

2010 is the year of the e-book for several reasons:

1. Big, fat new market entrants – including Apple and Borders.
2. Manufacturers spitting out devices – both tablets and dedicated e-readers.
3. Irresistibly cheap devices – check out the $139 Kindle (way below the launch price of $399 in 2007).
4. E-books across any device – Barnes&Noble, Amazon, Borders, and Kobo Books now have e-reading apps for your laptop, Android phone, iPhone, Blackberry – so that your reading experience can be synced seamlessly across all of your screens.
5. More publishers embracing the agency model and putting their titles online.

I recently bought an iPad and have since started using the iBooks application. I have to say that despite my attachment to paper and the scent that comes with it, I could really get used to this whole e-books concept. A couple things I loved about e-books (and in particular, iBooks):

1. I can fill my bookshelf right away. The Apple iBookstore allows  you to download free “samples” (first 25-or-so pages of the book), and read through them. Once you get to the end of the sample pages, you’re prompted to purchase the book.
2. I can browse pre-curated lists. Now, with auto-generated recommendations, I don’t have to skim the entire Business section of the bookstore to find 1 book that interests me. Apple’s e-books selection is, however, pretty limited – especially when compared to other e-book resellers. I’ve started seeing the same set of 15 books recommended over and over again.
3. No more heavy crates of books! Probably the bane of my father’s existence when helping me move into my highrise dorm each year. Besides, I’m constantly moving from place to place, and it’s nice not being tied down by hefty hardcovers.
4. It’s a great user experience. In the world of e-reader devices, there’s a huge debate between people who love multi-tasking devices (e.g. the iPad and other tablets) and people who prefer dedicated, reading-only devices (e.g. the Kindle and other readers with e-Ink technology that’s good for your eyes). I definitely lean toward the former. I could never imagine flipping pages with a button, and e-Ink devices tend to be painfully slow. The iPad’s touchscreen surface helps me interact with the e-book as I would with a real book – I can “flip” the pages and watch them “turn”.

My iBooks shelf so far...

All in all, owning a dedicated reading device is helping me read more in all situations – while in bed (because I can recline with the iPad in hand – and I can’t with a laptop), during breakfast (no need to hold the book open with a bagel in hand), and between meetings.

Why Apple is different

Most e-book sellers – including Barnes & Noble, Borders, and Amazon – are creating desktop reader applications, so that users can read e-books on their laptops or desktop PCs. They’ve even churned out apps for Android phones, Blackberries, and iPhones.

The only major player who hasn’t hopped on the app-creating frenzy – is Apple. Unlike iTunes, there’s no iBooks app for the PC or even the Mac. At first glance, it seems like “the more devices, the better.”

But by tethering the  iBooks to the iPad, Apple is once again pushing a bundled experience – and saying to users that the e-reading experience belongs on the iPad (similar to how music belongs on the iPod). It’s light; it’s portable; you can recline and interact with it.

The media loves mocking Apple for being a control freak about its user experiences.

It seems, however, that Apple is almost always right about what the masses want. After all, how many users know exactly what they want, enough to demand a customizable experience?

I’ve noticed that Apple consistently offers a friendly, turnkey “experience bundle” – that makes technology so un-intimidating to the average American that it is inevitably pushed toward mainstream status.

Is the lack of customization and compatibility ideal? For a lot of us, perhaps not. Is it realistic given user behavior? Absolutely.