Year One in the Books!

I've been thinking about this post the past week. My first year of MBA life came to a close, and I know my ten readers are on edge, clamoring for me to relay my insights and inspirations. Unfortunately, I could not document them immediately, as I began the break with an approximate sixty hour journey that would have been seventy hours had I not made the last minute decision to change my 7 AM flight to 4 PM. One thing the last year has taught me is that I do not do well with 5 AM wakeup calls. The trip included a night in San Fran, where I enjoyed tacos - because Ann Arbor's Mexican game is not strong - and catching up with a friend; a night in Shanghai, where I first applauded myself for not getting ripped off, then got dropped at the wrong hotel, then meandered around the dark streets until I found the correct hotel; and a lot of sleeping in uncomfortable positions. Finally, I landed in Chiang Mai, the beginning of my second tour de Southeast Asia during the hottest time of the year. The first four days, my body was heavily rebuking me for the last eight months - or, more succinctly, the last three weeks - of school by means of a horrendous cough and head cold. Thank you, Julie, for tolerating a level of snoring disproportionate to my size.

Now, sitting on the porch of our incredibly inexpensive but luxurious villa in the South of Thailand, listening to a tropical storm pass through, having finished Dreamland: the True Tale of America's Opium Epidemic, seems the perfect time to finally reflect. When will my newfound knowledge of the spread of OxyContin, prescription painkillers, and black tar heroin come in handy? I'm sure it will arise in cocktail conversation at some point. And when it does, I will be at the ready with a fifteen minute synopsis of how a small, enterprising Mexican town's new take on drug dealing coincided with the perfect storm of Big Pharma, the pain revolution, the deindustrialization and subsequent job loss in the Rust Belt, the rise of WalMart, and of course, health insurance, to wreak havoc on, not the ghetto where heroin once reigned, but the middle to upper white middle class, with Ohio being at the heart of it all.

For my next book, Julie suggested I consider a romance, a book peppered with phrases like, "throbbing manhood." I told her the only time my reading would encounter throbbing manhood is if it was a medical journal on erectile disfunction or STDs. I don't mix reading with pleasure.

Fair warning: this post may be more verbose than usual. The last seven weeks of school, Ross first year students participate in MAP - Multidisciplinary Action Projects* - around the world. It's a great way to experience group work, as you are on a team with three to five other students, tackling a consulting-type problem, although with much fewer resources and likely lower expectations on the sponsor's end. I realized during the project how little group work I have actually done throughout my career. I was the marketing department at VividCortex, and in client work, while I may have been on a team for the same client, there was generally a clear delineation of power and responsibility, so this project pushed me in different ways. Among them was my communication style, which, believe it or not, can be seen by some as, "too much talking." Shocking, I know.*

I think I did a fair job adjusting, though as I type, both my brain and fingers are relieved to be free from the shackles of stifling structure. They want to sing, dance, and break into the Phoebe run.* With that caveat, let's recap year numero uno.

I had a lot of firsts. First Wolverine football game. First Wolverine t-shirt and subsequent first time my parents seriously considered disowning me.* First keg stand - which, I'm surprisingly good at. Terrible at slap cup. Pretty good at keg stands. Finally, the fruits of those second period study hall Nalgene-chugging competitions with Bobby Doyle are showing. First time I made it to every class in a quarter - only one quarter, but I did do it.

I got rejected a time or two. By a venture fund, for peer coaching. Ross Diaries. The German immersion class. Pretty much any serious spot I tried to obtain. How am I not qualified to go to a country hailed for beer where beautiful tall blondes roam the street? Probably because I'm Polish. I've managed to get over it as I sit here with views like this.

I didn't get rejected from the bus, though, and you better believe Nips Navs will be vying for best white girl moves on top of that sucker every Saturday home game. I also will be helping direct Follies, the b-school version of SNL, where my sarcasm, knack for shameless humiliation, and song writing abilities can really shine. I think if I'm perfectly honest with myself, my talents are best suited there and not on venture funds.

I had to make some big decisions. I volunteered to ref the MBA2 games which are an opportunity to showcase the extent to which your athleticism has continued to deteriorate over the course of two years with the competitive vigor of a post pubescent teenager. Section two was going for a two point conversion, and I had already made a controversial call against them. The quarterback threw a dart, the receiver caught the ball in, questionably, the back corner of the end zone, bobbled it as he fell, and secured the ball as he came to the ground. To make the judgment more difficult, someone had thought it okay to step in between me and the end zone. I went with my gut. Incomplete. I then had five angry men in my face, demanding my first born child's birthright.

I also had to decide which internship to take.

I acquired some nuggets of knowledge. Although let's be honest, much of my homework was done watching NFL at Hopcat, my go-to sports bar that isn't quite as good as Citizen's, but has some phenomenal crack fries.

I had a few accomplishments. Like getting the arbitrary award of best laugh in section five.

I met some wonderful, lovely people. Ones who made me laugh, who encouraged me, who stretched my thinking, and who could belt out every nineties classic with me. I also met a few I care never to see again. But definitely more of the former.

The time has affirmed much. While the generation of Seinfeld lovers is fading, those who appreciate a reference to yada yada, the soup Nazi, or the Elaine dance are true gems. You should never be bummed about not being included. You should just invite yourself. And anywhere you go can feel a bit like high school, so it's best to smile a lot and not involve yourself with frivolous aspects of the experience.

I hate winters in the Midwest. They begin tolerable enough, but around day thirty of no sun, as my skin becomes translucent, I question my decision to leave the mild months of sun and chill in Virginia. Then I remember how much I love being closer to family.

Mostly, though, it has affirmed my decision to pursue grad school when I did. When I left Charlottesville, I quoted Andre Agassi's book, Open*: "Get yourself tired. That's when you'll know yourself. On the other side of tired." My six years had solidified that.

There were times that were harder than others. But even during the week in Winter A when I desperately wanted recruiting to end, and the week in Winter B when I seemed to be an endless stream of sobs, I never once questioned who I am, what I value, or why I'm here.

And I'm freakin pumped that it ain't over yet.

* Very high letter to syllable ratio with this acronym
* I'm also too sarcastic from time to time.
* May I just say, I think it interesting that in situations where one style of communication is less structured than another, it is generally assumed that the less structured style should adjust. I think both styles have their place and advantages. What if, instead, the structured communicator listened to the unstructured communicator and put a framework around what the unstructured communicator said?
Also, the Phoebe run is my ten second burst when I want to feel absolutely uninhibited. It has been done on many streets, many university quads, and a winery or two.
* I kid, I kid. I'm too cute to disown.
* Read it!