“You know what’s wrong in the way you’re approaching things, Minna?” my high school guidance counselor mused as we were poring over my university applications. I was startled, girding myself against the uncomfortable truth hurtling my way. “You think life’s all about book learning. You will eventually see that books will only take you so far: people will teach you much more. And only people will be able to open doors to new worlds for you. So put yourself out there a little more.”
The seventeen-year-old me scoffed at this notion. After all, high grades were my way up and out of everything I had known: an unsettled home life with divorced parents on two continents, combined with a deep sense of dislocation from four international moves in my childhood. Surely this guidance counselor had no idea what she was talking about; I was set on holding onto my high grades as a scaffold to help me build a more solid foundation for my own life.
Once I started at McGill in the fall of 1989, my guidance counselor’s unwanted advice became my golden truth: only other people can lift you up.
Like most students, I lived in my own rented apartment starting in freshman year. What an enormous challenge it was to figure out even the most basic aspects of life, like how to pay bills, shop for groceries and cook meals. Not to mention insulating single pane windows against the glacial winters!
But quickly, we freshmen realized that we were all going through the same challenges at the same time. None of us had any extra resources to speak of – so we would exchange kitchen scissor haircuts, split a coveted muffin from the corner cafe, or enlist anyone we knew to help move our meagre belongings from one tiny apartment to the next. These experiences created strong friendships forged in our shared bewilderment at the challenges involved in surviving on our own, challenges we navigated together in our journey toward adulthood.
My classmates at McGill were from all over the world, and they were bright. My perspectives widened and deepened over discussions with professors and fellow students, especially when classmates would allow me to read their essays. So, this is the way another person would analyze the same issue I have been turning over in my head. How could they see it with so much vibrancy and subtlety; express their perspective in a way that allows me to share their experience as if it were my own? The privilege of reviewing my classmates’ academic work allowed me to understand that texts, or what has been given to us as “truth”, is only our shared starting point. In the end, what matters more is the way we interact with knowledge and build on it. This holds for all disciplines, and especially for business. Nothing new is ever created just by mastering the established facts; only fresh perspectives lead to innovation and change.
By the end of my studies at McGill, I had known two significant relationships, both with fellow students who could have felt – like me – that their wings were not strong enough to carry them. But instead, both ended up taking leaps after graduating that were almost unimaginable, moving far away from Montreal to grab hold of new opportunities. Their willingness to take the leap helped me trust my own shaky wings, and soar upward out of the blue and into the black.
I moved from Montreal to Berkeley to finish my Master’s thesis in Poetry, and ended up staying in California for two decades to build a rewarding career helping technology companies expand into new countries. My academic training in literature served me well. It allowed me to communicate complex business issues succinctly, synthesize multiple points of view with ease, and eventually take my place among the executive ranks of many successful technology companies, such as LinkedIn, SurveyMonkey, Nextdoor and Roblox. And just as my guidance counselor had advised, at every transition point in my career, it was always other people who introduced me to new opportunities – never a job posting; never a door I could have opened on my own.
My advice to young people today is that the process of becoming – of knowing who you really are and what you are meant to contribute to the world – is long and often painful. Gone are the days of predefined career paths. Instead, most young adults graduate without a concrete idea of what they should do next, and what doors to knock on. Do not agonize about it too much, but walk through the door that presents itself to you at the time. And then, no matter what – give it your all. If you find that you are unhappy, at least you now have a network of professionals who trust you as someone who works hard and acts with integrity. The goodwill and respect you have generated will open new and often unexpected doors.
It’s part of the normal discovery process to make several course corrections in your 20s, allowing you to hone in on what career suits you best. To begin this process, you just have to take your first wholehearted leap, and once you do, gratefully hold onto the hands that will reach out to guide you along the way.