Wake up! You have to get a job!
Since early September we have focused almost exclusively on academics: prepping for class, mastering the case method, fiddling with excel models, that sort of thing. Okay, so that's not entirely true. We have been turbo-socialising too - in my case this involved regressing to undergrad habits and antics but with less sleep. But by and large our professional energies were directed towards learning.
Soon, however, I was rudely reminded that I have to get a job post-HBS and that I should start thinking about it now. The first wakeup call was having to rewrite my CV for the HBS resume book. How did I want to pitch myself? As a general manager? A financial wizard (impossible in my case!)? How can I demonstrate my entrepreneurial spirit? Which bits of my experience are more "impressive" than others? Befuddled, I drafted something respectable and clicked submit.
But I had little time to draw breath. On 5 December, the recruiters were unleashed. My inbox started filling up with dinner invitations, coffee chats, and ads for company information sessions. I complained to Careers Service that I has getting recruitment spam; they told they would investigate (in other words, grow up and get used to it!). Hordes of suited and booted HBSers trekked over the Larz Anderson bridge to the Charles Hotel to munch on mushroom puffs and swig chardonnay.
The Best, Big, Bold, Bad-boy Firm, looking for...
Curious about the hype, I went to one of the bulge bracket investment bank's presentation. The room was full of pin-stripe suits, canapes, and bubbly wine. The ubiquitous Harvard Business School hoodie was out, and slick shirt-tie combos were in. We were given the manadtory 20-minute "hurrah" pitch from the Senior Vice President for Corporate Greatness, and offered a thick book full of nuggets of advice on how to get through the grueling interviews.
Then potential recruits began an elaborate dance with recruiters, asking questions ("describe your company's culture? What would I be doing as a summer intern?") and receiving disturbingly saccharine answers. I soon figured out that the aim of these little 1-2-1s was to get your hands on the recruiter's business card so that you could send a follow up note the next day ("Hi Jim, it was great to meet you last night at the Charles. I was really fascinated by ...."). This was shameless networking at it's best.
Anyone for Satre or Camus?
As the tempo of the recruitment drive reached a frenzy - 15+ presentations a day, numerous coffee chat emails, dinner invites from Wall Street's finest, war stories of how a classmate had secured a great lead into a top PE shop - I discovered an interesting corollary: HBS was offering group therapy sessions.
Until now we've spent most of our leadership class learning about organisational behaviour, thinking about how to manage upwards/downwards/sideways, and pondering what makes a great leader/manager.
Last week we transitioned into the "personal" segment of the course. I was asked to solicit feedback from colleagues, peers, friends, and family to find my "reflected best-self". I was given a selection HBSers' memoirs coming to their 10 and 20 year reunions, and challenged to write my own fictional memoir 10 years out of business school. What would I have accomplished by 2019? How do I define success? What trade-offs would I have made? And what would the consequences be?
It is easy to see how this exercise combined with the relentless stream of recruitment activities can quickly lead to a severe bout of existentialist angst: what is life all about? what is my passion? do I want to make money or enjoy myself? can I do both? how am I going to change the world?
I applaud HBS for forcing us to think about these issues, but in actuality some questions just don't have simple, pat answers. And what might be the right answer now, won't necessarily be so in five years time. So instead of lying awake night worrying about whether I'm really a leader "who will make a difference in the world", I'm going to fall back on a simple way of making decisions: (1) stick to my passions and don't do anything which I know won't enjoy day in, day out, (2) think of my life in 2-year bite-size chunks - know where you are going, but don't plan 10 years out because life will get in the way, (3) if I would shudder to see it in my biography or on my epitaph, then I won't do it. And I'm going to remember that success, like leadership, can be defined in many many different ways.
02 December 2007
28 October 2007
Bill and Mohammed
Loving Bill
One of the biggest privileges of being at Harvard is the myriad of opportunities to listen to extraordinary individuals speak about their experiences in business, politics, and social ventures.
A few weeks ago I drove out to Lowell (MA) with a group of politically-minded HBSers to attend a Democrat rally for Nikki Tsongas. It was two weeks to election day and her rival, Republican James Ogonowski, was gaining on her in the polls. The Democrats decided to wheel out the big guns to energise "the base" in the final days of the campaign and get the vote out. And for Democrats there is obviously no bigger gun than 42 himself: Bill Clinton.
The President was running late. An hour and a half late to be precise. His jet had broken down somewhere down in New Jersey but rather than pull out, he had hopped in a car and was bombing up I-97. The organisers played for time and brought numerous nobodies onto stage to keep us amused. We knew Bill was close when they introduced Deval Patrick (current Governor of Massachusetts). Patrick's staccato eloquence was forceful and electric, but it was no match for Bill's fireworks.
The President ambled onto stage in a dark suit, white shirt, and gold tie. Larger than life his perfectly coiffed white hair framed his slightly beet face. The crowd was on it's feet, hooting, shouting, cheering, clapping, thumping. Eventually, he waved his hand and the cacophony subsided. He ambled over to the podium, took a sip of water, and began.
It was a low energy performance; he looked tired, a bit crumpled, and a little harried. He started out in a quite cadence, his folksy drawl enmeshing us in a subtle rhetorical embrace. It was intimate, as though he were having a one-on-one conversation with each person in the hall. He wandered through a random collection of anecdotes recounting stories of people he'd met and places he'd visited. I wondered where he was heading, but slowly it dawned on me that he was weaving a critique of America since 2000. As he saw it, since 2000 America had undergone a great ideological experiment which favoured radical theories over pragmatism, and sweeping revolution over incremental change. The administration had cowed its people with fear of terrorism, nannied them with a bulging and inefficient state, and mismanaged everything from the economy to the environment. Whilst I didn't agree with all his analysis entirely, I was compelled to listen.
He penchant for mixing wit and charm made it captivating. At the end, he told us it was up to us to demand change. The crowd was ecstatic. They were on their feet; they obviously loved it. Or did they just love Bill and all that he stood for?
Amazing Mohammed
Not long after seeing Bill, I went to see Mohammed Yunnis, the legendary founder of Grammen Bank and 2006 Nobel Prize winner, speak at the Kennedy School of Government. He held forth for over an hour about how to construct a new world of social businesses. His thesis: humans all over the world are entrepreneurs and innovators with huge potential. All that they need is the opportunity to unlock that potential and they will break free from poverty.
He began with the tale of how he started Grameen Bank in 1974 in the midst of a terrible famine in Bangladesh. His first loan was just $27 to a group of villagers who lived next to the university where he lectured on economics. "How is it that we teach all these fancy theories," he asked his students, "when they are meaningless to the villagers starving on the other side of the wall?" It's a question he continues to ask and tries to answer on a daily basis.
For over an hour he inspired us to create a different world where businesses are harnessed to deliver social ends. It's a unique blend of philanthropy and business: investors in social businesses are asked to lend interest-free capital to get the business off the ground and once it's up and running, the investors are paid back and all profits are reinvested in the business. "People ask me how you could get anyone to invest in such a crazy idea. I tell them that people are even crazier than that. I say, well each year these same people are giving millions to charities and they know they will never see their money again. I'm only asking them to give me a few dollars for a couple of years, and then I promise to give it back to them."
There was no limit to his ambition and vision: he has convinced Intel to form a social business with Grameen to deliver IT to rural Bangladesh, he set up a joint venture with Danone to sell nutrient-rich yogurt to Bangladeshi kids, and he wants to set up a social stock market to allow millions of ordinary people to invest in this new form of venture philanthropy. Given his charisma, charm and conviction, it's hard not to believe that even his most crazy-sounding ideas have a good chance of success.
One of the biggest privileges of being at Harvard is the myriad of opportunities to listen to extraordinary individuals speak about their experiences in business, politics, and social ventures.
A few weeks ago I drove out to Lowell (MA) with a group of politically-minded HBSers to attend a Democrat rally for Nikki Tsongas. It was two weeks to election day and her rival, Republican James Ogonowski, was gaining on her in the polls. The Democrats decided to wheel out the big guns to energise "the base" in the final days of the campaign and get the vote out. And for Democrats there is obviously no bigger gun than 42 himself: Bill Clinton.
The President was running late. An hour and a half late to be precise. His jet had broken down somewhere down in New Jersey but rather than pull out, he had hopped in a car and was bombing up I-97. The organisers played for time and brought numerous nobodies onto stage to keep us amused. We knew Bill was close when they introduced Deval Patrick (current Governor of Massachusetts). Patrick's staccato eloquence was forceful and electric, but it was no match for Bill's fireworks.
The President ambled onto stage in a dark suit, white shirt, and gold tie. Larger than life his perfectly coiffed white hair framed his slightly beet face. The crowd was on it's feet, hooting, shouting, cheering, clapping, thumping. Eventually, he waved his hand and the cacophony subsided. He ambled over to the podium, took a sip of water, and began.
It was a low energy performance; he looked tired, a bit crumpled, and a little harried. He started out in a quite cadence, his folksy drawl enmeshing us in a subtle rhetorical embrace. It was intimate, as though he were having a one-on-one conversation with each person in the hall. He wandered through a random collection of anecdotes recounting stories of people he'd met and places he'd visited. I wondered where he was heading, but slowly it dawned on me that he was weaving a critique of America since 2000. As he saw it, since 2000 America had undergone a great ideological experiment which favoured radical theories over pragmatism, and sweeping revolution over incremental change. The administration had cowed its people with fear of terrorism, nannied them with a bulging and inefficient state, and mismanaged everything from the economy to the environment. Whilst I didn't agree with all his analysis entirely, I was compelled to listen.
He penchant for mixing wit and charm made it captivating. At the end, he told us it was up to us to demand change. The crowd was ecstatic. They were on their feet; they obviously loved it. Or did they just love Bill and all that he stood for?
Amazing Mohammed
Not long after seeing Bill, I went to see Mohammed Yunnis, the legendary founder of Grammen Bank and 2006 Nobel Prize winner, speak at the Kennedy School of Government. He held forth for over an hour about how to construct a new world of social businesses. His thesis: humans all over the world are entrepreneurs and innovators with huge potential. All that they need is the opportunity to unlock that potential and they will break free from poverty.
He began with the tale of how he started Grameen Bank in 1974 in the midst of a terrible famine in Bangladesh. His first loan was just $27 to a group of villagers who lived next to the university where he lectured on economics. "How is it that we teach all these fancy theories," he asked his students, "when they are meaningless to the villagers starving on the other side of the wall?" It's a question he continues to ask and tries to answer on a daily basis.
For over an hour he inspired us to create a different world where businesses are harnessed to deliver social ends. It's a unique blend of philanthropy and business: investors in social businesses are asked to lend interest-free capital to get the business off the ground and once it's up and running, the investors are paid back and all profits are reinvested in the business. "People ask me how you could get anyone to invest in such a crazy idea. I tell them that people are even crazier than that. I say, well each year these same people are giving millions to charities and they know they will never see their money again. I'm only asking them to give me a few dollars for a couple of years, and then I promise to give it back to them."
There was no limit to his ambition and vision: he has convinced Intel to form a social business with Grameen to deliver IT to rural Bangladesh, he set up a joint venture with Danone to sell nutrient-rich yogurt to Bangladeshi kids, and he wants to set up a social stock market to allow millions of ordinary people to invest in this new form of venture philanthropy. Given his charisma, charm and conviction, it's hard not to believe that even his most crazy-sounding ideas have a good chance of success.
17 September 2007
16 September: Aldrich 110
Academics at HBS is like a New York Cheesecake
The first two weeks zip past. In just seven days we've deconstructed Quaker's failed acquisition of Snapple in the late 90s, stepped into Erik Peterson's shoes (an HBS grad) as he grappled and failed at a mobile phone start-up, and chatted to Shane Inglemann, a South African with a grand vision of giving every child a "lapdesk" in the next 5 years.
On three-case days, I sometimes feel like my brain suffers from the the academic equivalent of triple vodka red bulls; the three 80-minute sessions back-to-back leave you feeling high, tired, disorientated and a little bit grouchy.
In our first week, numerous professors intoned to us about the beauty of the HBS experience and the case method. "Each case is an 80 minute marathon, and if you consider the 700+ cases that you'll do in your 2 years here, then this is a marathon of marathons". My other favourite was the onion analogy: "Each case is like an onion, on your own you will only peel off the outer layers, but in our class discussions we'll peel back the layers one at a time to get to the nub of the issue". (Of course, they didn't mention that our eyes would water in the process, or that I'd take the analogy one step further and fancy myself slicing right to the core with one of my Samurai-sharp Global knives.)
Here is an analogy that I think is much more apt: the HBS academic experience is like a good old fashioned New York cheesecake. It's well formed in appearance, but certainly not rigid. It's carefully constructed, but there is always the looming possibility that it could go awfully wrong, ending up very different from the way it was planned. When you taste it, the flavour is subtle, the texture smooth and entirely moorish. And when digesting it you realise just how rich it is (and wonder why you ate so much or how you are going to have another triple helping tomorrow).
OG to NG
The Section is at the heart of the first year of the HBS experience. The incoming class of 900 students is divided up into 10 sections of 90, each one a microcosm of the wider cohort. Initially Section G - my section - seemed like a room full of smart people sitting in a horseshoe formation, hiding behind embossed name cards, and lobbing in the odd insightful comment. Then I discovered that we are actually dazzle of statistics (representing 28 countries, speak two dozen languages, etc etc) and a bunch of remarkable, interesting, and funny individuals.
But for all the pretensions of academic high-mindedness that the section is supposed to embody, I found out on Friday that the classroom experience is much more than net present values and through-put times. For almost two hours last year's section G - the Old G - inducted the New G. I learned that section life involves section flip-cup (an American sport?) tournaments, section retreats (to discuss issues such as spirtualism, capitalism, and alcoholism), and section love (of the romantic variety I'm told). There will be ample opportunities for me to do embarrassing things (no change from usual) and for everyone to document it.
I also saw that the OG had formed an incredible bond. The shared experiences both in and out of the classroom were on display and the genuine friendships palpable. For us - the incoming and slightly lost NG - their energy and enthusiasm was utterly infections, to the point where we took it upon ourselves to get the party started on Saturday night. So, ultimately, the section experience will be as much about shaping a unique culture with its own norms, jokes, rituals and quirks, as it will be about eating cheesecake.
The first two weeks zip past. In just seven days we've deconstructed Quaker's failed acquisition of Snapple in the late 90s, stepped into Erik Peterson's shoes (an HBS grad) as he grappled and failed at a mobile phone start-up, and chatted to Shane Inglemann, a South African with a grand vision of giving every child a "lapdesk" in the next 5 years.
On three-case days, I sometimes feel like my brain suffers from the the academic equivalent of triple vodka red bulls; the three 80-minute sessions back-to-back leave you feeling high, tired, disorientated and a little bit grouchy.
In our first week, numerous professors intoned to us about the beauty of the HBS experience and the case method. "Each case is an 80 minute marathon, and if you consider the 700+ cases that you'll do in your 2 years here, then this is a marathon of marathons". My other favourite was the onion analogy: "Each case is like an onion, on your own you will only peel off the outer layers, but in our class discussions we'll peel back the layers one at a time to get to the nub of the issue". (Of course, they didn't mention that our eyes would water in the process, or that I'd take the analogy one step further and fancy myself slicing right to the core with one of my Samurai-sharp Global knives.)
Here is an analogy that I think is much more apt: the HBS academic experience is like a good old fashioned New York cheesecake. It's well formed in appearance, but certainly not rigid. It's carefully constructed, but there is always the looming possibility that it could go awfully wrong, ending up very different from the way it was planned. When you taste it, the flavour is subtle, the texture smooth and entirely moorish. And when digesting it you realise just how rich it is (and wonder why you ate so much or how you are going to have another triple helping tomorrow).
OG to NG
The Section is at the heart of the first year of the HBS experience. The incoming class of 900 students is divided up into 10 sections of 90, each one a microcosm of the wider cohort. Initially Section G - my section - seemed like a room full of smart people sitting in a horseshoe formation, hiding behind embossed name cards, and lobbing in the odd insightful comment. Then I discovered that we are actually dazzle of statistics (representing 28 countries, speak two dozen languages, etc etc) and a bunch of remarkable, interesting, and funny individuals.
But for all the pretensions of academic high-mindedness that the section is supposed to embody, I found out on Friday that the classroom experience is much more than net present values and through-put times. For almost two hours last year's section G - the Old G - inducted the New G. I learned that section life involves section flip-cup (an American sport?) tournaments, section retreats (to discuss issues such as spirtualism, capitalism, and alcoholism), and section love (of the romantic variety I'm told). There will be ample opportunities for me to do embarrassing things (no change from usual) and for everyone to document it.
I also saw that the OG had formed an incredible bond. The shared experiences both in and out of the classroom were on display and the genuine friendships palpable. For us - the incoming and slightly lost NG - their energy and enthusiasm was utterly infections, to the point where we took it upon ourselves to get the party started on Saturday night. So, ultimately, the section experience will be as much about shaping a unique culture with its own norms, jokes, rituals and quirks, as it will be about eating cheesecake.
26 August 2007
I survived boot camp: 26 August
I had been warned that Analytics - HBS' pre-MBA statistics/finance/accounting boot camp - would be "pretty intense" and it was. The two weeks passed in a blur of meetings, classes, review sessions, study groups, and prep time. I ran from one location to the next, clutching wodges of paper and juggling case studies in my head. We prepared 2-3 cases a day, typically spending about an hour or two preparing for each one. Sometimes it was straight forwards, other times I stumbled around in the dark trying to get my free cash flow model to spit out the right numbers. More often than not, I gave up.
Luckily, I quickly learned that solo-work is only half the prep. Real progress is often made in your learning team. I was assigned to Team 40 who turned out to be a godsend. They shared nuances and insights that I'd completely missed, helped me find the right answer, and laughed with me when I wanted banged my head against the wall. Together we made sure we knew enough survive "cold calls" - or at least not to break out in a cold sweat in the anticipation of one - and hopefully even contribute something intelligent and useful in class. The classes themselves are 80 minutes of debate, reflection, and learning. The professor is part teacher, part facilitator: she/he guides the conversation, inspires students to teach each other from their own experience, helps summarise and then directs us towards the right answer.
But it wasn't only the academics of Analytics which was intense. If anything the social induction was more hectic. I must have introduced myself a hundred times a day (and repeatedly to people who I'd already met a few hours before!). I worked hard to perfect my "resume chat" and can now tell "my story" in about 30 seconds flat and elicit theirs with equal efficiency. Everyone has turned this micro-exchange of personal life, job history, and HBS aspirations into a fine art, not for the networking effects, but so that we have enough context to allow us to get stuck into the substance.
Somedays I felt like a lobster in a pressure cooker. I went running to zone out. I listened to music before falling asleep. And enjoyed the feel of icy lager hitting my parched throat late in the evening after a few hours debating cases. By the end my brain hurt (how much can you stuff into it?) and my body craved sleep (5 hours is not enough). But I thrived on the constant stimulation and the challenge of the new. If Analytics was an indicator of the next two years, it's going to be an interesting trip.
Luckily, I quickly learned that solo-work is only half the prep. Real progress is often made in your learning team. I was assigned to Team 40 who turned out to be a godsend. They shared nuances and insights that I'd completely missed, helped me find the right answer, and laughed with me when I wanted banged my head against the wall. Together we made sure we knew enough survive "cold calls" - or at least not to break out in a cold sweat in the anticipation of one - and hopefully even contribute something intelligent and useful in class. The classes themselves are 80 minutes of debate, reflection, and learning. The professor is part teacher, part facilitator: she/he guides the conversation, inspires students to teach each other from their own experience, helps summarise and then directs us towards the right answer.
But it wasn't only the academics of Analytics which was intense. If anything the social induction was more hectic. I must have introduced myself a hundred times a day (and repeatedly to people who I'd already met a few hours before!). I worked hard to perfect my "resume chat" and can now tell "my story" in about 30 seconds flat and elicit theirs with equal efficiency. Everyone has turned this micro-exchange of personal life, job history, and HBS aspirations into a fine art, not for the networking effects, but so that we have enough context to allow us to get stuck into the substance.
Somedays I felt like a lobster in a pressure cooker. I went running to zone out. I listened to music before falling asleep. And enjoyed the feel of icy lager hitting my parched throat late in the evening after a few hours debating cases. By the end my brain hurt (how much can you stuff into it?) and my body craved sleep (5 hours is not enough). But I thrived on the constant stimulation and the challenge of the new. If Analytics was an indicator of the next two years, it's going to be an interesting trip.
10 August 2007
Apartment 219: 10 August
Well, after a short interlude in London and Switzerland, I'm on the move again. I'm sitting on the floor in apartment 219, a few papers scattered around me. There is no furniture, just a chocolate brown carpet and whitewashed walls. In case you are confused, I'm not an inmate at Wormwood Scrubs but a student at Harvard Business School. And although, there is nothing to show that I actually live here apart from a few clothes and the bed which I bought yesterday, slowly I will buy knives, forks, lamps, a kettle, and other things to turn this into my home.
I'm living on campus, just 2 minutes walk from the Spangler building (think club house with food, drink, social life, etc), 2.5 minutes from the Arbuckle (where we'll be grilled three times a day), and within spitting distance of Shad Hall (the gob-smacking gym).
Everything is in exquisite condition: the grass perfectly green and manicured, each building's red brickwork immaculate, and not a sign of flaking paint on the gleaming white spires. I'd imagine that you'd need an army of workers to weed, groom, polish, buff, and scrub 24 hours a day to get it to look like this, but if such an army exists I haven't seen it (yet). Without the hub-bub of students (the bulk of whom arrive in about 3 weeks), the campus has a surreal quality. It's almost like walking around a movie set, I'm never quite sure if it's real or not.
On Thursday morning, horribly jet-lagged, I woke early and went for a run along the river. Lone rowers sculled silently, slicing through the flat water whilst teams of four powered past with coaches barking orders through megaphones. This scene of university athleticism was fairly unremarkable on its own. But what struck me is that in Durham the coaches raced along the tow path on their bicycles dodging people, dogs, and large rodents. Here in Cambridge they have their own mini motor-launches allowing them to cruise alongside the boats whilst reading the Wall Street Journal.
Analytics - a 2 week boot camp that HBS run to teach non-bankers/consultants about financial modeling, statistics, regression analysis and all other kinds of weird and wonderful analytical tool - starts on Sunday. I've been told it's going to be "pretty intense", by which I'm guessing mind-boggling and grueling would be a more apt descriptions. I'll let you know.
I'm living on campus, just 2 minutes walk from the Spangler building (think club house with food, drink, social life, etc), 2.5 minutes from the Arbuckle (where we'll be grilled three times a day), and within spitting distance of Shad Hall (the gob-smacking gym).
Everything is in exquisite condition: the grass perfectly green and manicured, each building's red brickwork immaculate, and not a sign of flaking paint on the gleaming white spires. I'd imagine that you'd need an army of workers to weed, groom, polish, buff, and scrub 24 hours a day to get it to look like this, but if such an army exists I haven't seen it (yet). Without the hub-bub of students (the bulk of whom arrive in about 3 weeks), the campus has a surreal quality. It's almost like walking around a movie set, I'm never quite sure if it's real or not.
On Thursday morning, horribly jet-lagged, I woke early and went for a run along the river. Lone rowers sculled silently, slicing through the flat water whilst teams of four powered past with coaches barking orders through megaphones. This scene of university athleticism was fairly unremarkable on its own. But what struck me is that in Durham the coaches raced along the tow path on their bicycles dodging people, dogs, and large rodents. Here in Cambridge they have their own mini motor-launches allowing them to cruise alongside the boats whilst reading the Wall Street Journal.
Analytics - a 2 week boot camp that HBS run to teach non-bankers/consultants about financial modeling, statistics, regression analysis and all other kinds of weird and wonderful analytical tool - starts on Sunday. I've been told it's going to be "pretty intense", by which I'm guessing mind-boggling and grueling would be a more apt descriptions. I'll let you know.
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