At Startup Weekend Mobile, we (the attendees) were asked to pitch a company in 60 seconds. But before we even got to that, one of the presenters asked us to state, in just one sentence, the "grand dream" that underlay our company. What did we want to stand for?
This is a useful exercise for life, not just Startup Weekend. Recently, I had a dispiriting conversation with a friend. Despite being young, handsome, (over) educated and (probably) very rich, this friend of mine is totally depressed and lacks a sense of purpose.
I was going through a similar funk (well, minus the personal wealth) a few months back, and confessed my achievement anxiety to another friend. "I have done nothing with my life," I complained, riven, over a dinner of otherwise good food. He - an extremely respected young journalist - very kindly patted me on the shoulder and said, "Anika, achievement anxiety is only a problem for people who don't have enough real problems."
Ha. But I would modify his comment: achievement anxiety is only a problem for those whose risks aren't equivalent to their talents/passions.
Penelope Trunk, who dispenses unique career advice on her blog, has a long post in which she disputes the notion of "career passion," saying that the ideal to strive for is "engagement."
Of course, I don't know if I agree with Ms. Trunk that there's any vast gulf between the two. In reading a biography of Meryl Streep, one thing leaps out at me: yes, Ms. Streep graduated from the Yale School of Drama. But she never went the "Hollywood route;" she never played the dumb beautiful blonde of horror film legend.
In fact, I read an interview once in which Streep mentioned how, as a young actress, she was once called to audition for such a role, that of a voiceless, numinous young female. The director took one look at her, looked back at the talent scout and said, "Why did you bring me this ugly thing?"
Of course, Streep's story smacks of the self-disparagement common among those who are now so famous they can't admit it without sounding gauche. Meryl Streep was never ugly; I challenge anyone to look at a picture of her from her younger days and tell me that there is any real difference between Meryl Streep and Blake Lively.
This story - the callous director, the underwhelming looks - is Streep's creation myth. It is self-serving and illuminating in equal measure; it reveals the scope of her ambition but also the ideal she has long striven to define herself against.
One of the young celebrities I admire most, Brit Marling, famously turned down a job in investment banking to write beautiful, passionate and evocative films. When she graduated as valedictorian of her Georgetown class, she gave a speech about how students who got perfect grades probably weren't taking enough risks. The stories of Marling's early passions are now de rigueur and vaguely annoying. (Of course, Marling's beauty is breathtaking, and perhaps Streep, Marling, Tina Fey and others are part of a tradition that goes back to Cleopatra, who famously had coins minted with an uglier image than her actual face because she wanted to be taken more seriously as a statesperson, but I digress. And there is the larger question in here about the general hypocrisy of pretty girls playing ugly when ugly girls could do the job without having to act, but, again, that's a digression.)
I'm a sucker for graduation speeches. Two of the most famous speeches in recent history were given by JK Rowling - at Harvard - and Steve Jobs - at Stanford. Rowling was rejected from Oxford and wrote history's best-selling books on dinner napkins. Jobs' recently published FBI file mentions, among other things, his enthusiasm for LSD.
The difficult thing to accept is that those who make unconventional - and risky - choices aren't always rewarded. They may struggle for months, years and decades. One of my favorite poets, the deeply intellectual and passionate Kathleen Graber (and btw, her poems are a tribute to what intellect, when married to deep conviction, can achieve) has spoken publicly about the financial difficulties that have accompanied her choice to write for a living. It's one thing to be passionate, it's another thing to be homeless. But one of her books was a finalist for the National Book Award and anyway, no one who reads this blog is at risk of homelessness anytime soon.
We all go through funks - sometimes they last for years. My entire undergraduate career was one, especially compared to what came after. To the extent that I have a passion for what I do, it has been defined by work, not by education. Perhaps that is inevitable.
I feel, often, that I belong to a generation that has been given every tool to succeed, while simultaneously being nurtured in a mistaken belief that the means are the end. And they're not. If we have one failing, it is this encapsulated dream of an "easy life," whatever that means.
Ad nauseam, we hear that with great risk (can) come great reward, that people are distinguished not by their ability but by their appetite for risk. (I happen to believe, of course, that they are distinguished by both, but that "ability" is malleable. Appetite for risk, on the other hand, seems more intrinsic.)
One of my friends is one of the bravest people I know (when confronted in an alley by a would-be assailant, she beat him to a pulp). Once, a year or two ago, I asked her how she lost her fear. "I signed up to run a marathon and thought I couldn't do it - but I did."
The best advice a would-be entrepreneur can get is: know what you are good at.
The best advice I never got is this: do things that you are bad at, too. Sign up for things you think you cannot do.
I have already learned so much from the things I have failed to do.
This is a useful exercise for life, not just Startup Weekend. Recently, I had a dispiriting conversation with a friend. Despite being young, handsome, (over) educated and (probably) very rich, this friend of mine is totally depressed and lacks a sense of purpose.
I was going through a similar funk (well, minus the personal wealth) a few months back, and confessed my achievement anxiety to another friend. "I have done nothing with my life," I complained, riven, over a dinner of otherwise good food. He - an extremely respected young journalist - very kindly patted me on the shoulder and said, "Anika, achievement anxiety is only a problem for people who don't have enough real problems."
Ha. But I would modify his comment: achievement anxiety is only a problem for those whose risks aren't equivalent to their talents/passions.
Penelope Trunk, who dispenses unique career advice on her blog, has a long post in which she disputes the notion of "career passion," saying that the ideal to strive for is "engagement."
Of course, I don't know if I agree with Ms. Trunk that there's any vast gulf between the two. In reading a biography of Meryl Streep, one thing leaps out at me: yes, Ms. Streep graduated from the Yale School of Drama. But she never went the "Hollywood route;" she never played the dumb beautiful blonde of horror film legend.
In fact, I read an interview once in which Streep mentioned how, as a young actress, she was once called to audition for such a role, that of a voiceless, numinous young female. The director took one look at her, looked back at the talent scout and said, "Why did you bring me this ugly thing?"
Of course, Streep's story smacks of the self-disparagement common among those who are now so famous they can't admit it without sounding gauche. Meryl Streep was never ugly; I challenge anyone to look at a picture of her from her younger days and tell me that there is any real difference between Meryl Streep and Blake Lively.
This story - the callous director, the underwhelming looks - is Streep's creation myth. It is self-serving and illuminating in equal measure; it reveals the scope of her ambition but also the ideal she has long striven to define herself against.
One of the young celebrities I admire most, Brit Marling, famously turned down a job in investment banking to write beautiful, passionate and evocative films. When she graduated as valedictorian of her Georgetown class, she gave a speech about how students who got perfect grades probably weren't taking enough risks. The stories of Marling's early passions are now de rigueur and vaguely annoying. (Of course, Marling's beauty is breathtaking, and perhaps Streep, Marling, Tina Fey and others are part of a tradition that goes back to Cleopatra, who famously had coins minted with an uglier image than her actual face because she wanted to be taken more seriously as a statesperson, but I digress. And there is the larger question in here about the general hypocrisy of pretty girls playing ugly when ugly girls could do the job without having to act, but, again, that's a digression.)
I'm a sucker for graduation speeches. Two of the most famous speeches in recent history were given by JK Rowling - at Harvard - and Steve Jobs - at Stanford. Rowling was rejected from Oxford and wrote history's best-selling books on dinner napkins. Jobs' recently published FBI file mentions, among other things, his enthusiasm for LSD.
The difficult thing to accept is that those who make unconventional - and risky - choices aren't always rewarded. They may struggle for months, years and decades. One of my favorite poets, the deeply intellectual and passionate Kathleen Graber (and btw, her poems are a tribute to what intellect, when married to deep conviction, can achieve) has spoken publicly about the financial difficulties that have accompanied her choice to write for a living. It's one thing to be passionate, it's another thing to be homeless. But one of her books was a finalist for the National Book Award and anyway, no one who reads this blog is at risk of homelessness anytime soon.
We all go through funks - sometimes they last for years. My entire undergraduate career was one, especially compared to what came after. To the extent that I have a passion for what I do, it has been defined by work, not by education. Perhaps that is inevitable.
I feel, often, that I belong to a generation that has been given every tool to succeed, while simultaneously being nurtured in a mistaken belief that the means are the end. And they're not. If we have one failing, it is this encapsulated dream of an "easy life," whatever that means.
Ad nauseam, we hear that with great risk (can) come great reward, that people are distinguished not by their ability but by their appetite for risk. (I happen to believe, of course, that they are distinguished by both, but that "ability" is malleable. Appetite for risk, on the other hand, seems more intrinsic.)
One of my friends is one of the bravest people I know (when confronted in an alley by a would-be assailant, she beat him to a pulp). Once, a year or two ago, I asked her how she lost her fear. "I signed up to run a marathon and thought I couldn't do it - but I did."
The best advice a would-be entrepreneur can get is: know what you are good at.
The best advice I never got is this: do things that you are bad at, too. Sign up for things you think you cannot do.
I have already learned so much from the things I have failed to do.
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