reflections from my first quarter of business school_
field notes from a buzzing, colorful season of my life
Fall quarter ended quietly — not with a big, sweeping revelation, but with a handful of moments that kept replaying in my mind. When I started business school at Kellogg this August, I expected playful chaos, academic anxiety, and frameworks for navigating career exploration. What I didn’t expect was how charmed I’d feel by learning again, by loosening my grip on perfection, and by rediscovering parts of myself I hadn’t realized I’d tucked away.
These were the moments that stayed with me.
1. The joy of learning
My greatest source of wonder this quarter was realizing how much I missed being in the classroom and learning alongside others.
In corporate environments, learning often happens in isolation, and even collaboration can start to feel like an echo chamber. The classroom, by contrast, feels fluid and unconfined. My classmates arrive shaped by different industries, cultures, and value systems, and the friction between them animates everything. Disagreement is welcome. And, admittedly, I find mischievous joy in playing devil’s advocate.
In undergrad, I sometimes held back in discussion, worried about saying the wrong thing. Years of product work reshaped how I engage with ideas. I’m less attached to being right now, and more interested in tracing the full shape of an argument.
Two courses, in particular, grounded those fuzzy, electric feelings.
Accounting never came easily to me, despite a prior introduction in undergrad. Yet through his disciplined and empathetic approach, Professor Georg Rickmann made the material feel unexpectedly accessible. It became the class I’m most grateful for, not only because it challenged me, but because its lessons cut across business functions and helped me better support my family in everyday decisions.
Strategy, taught by Professor Craig Garthwaite, carried a different energy: no laptops, hundreds of pages of reading, cold calls… and the possibility of being put on the spot if you weren’t prepared. Intimidating on paper, but in practice, his expectations sharpened the room. The material ranged widely, from case studies on entertainment conglomerates to the ethics and economics of the fashion industry.
Even in a cold-call classroom, something earnest emerged. Business students, it turns out, love the sound of their own voice. Hands reached eagerly into the air. Mine included.
Learning feels most alive when it’s shared, slightly uncomfortable, and shaped by difference.
There’s also the quieter joy of spontaneous agreement: the moment you realize a classmate sees the world the way you do, or shares a parallel curiosity. It carries the childlike wonder of making a new friend on the playground.
All of it together — the friction, the dialogue, the connection — creates a gentle, addictive kind of rush. One I didn’t realize I’d missed.
2. Everyone’s on a different schedule
Another realization this quarter was that what matters deeply to you may not matter at all to someone else. People find meaning on different timelines, with different tradeoffs, and none of them are inherently more correct than the rest.
There’s no way to maximize every dimension of the MBA at once. Academic excellence, social life, recruiting, exploration, rest — something always gives. This quarter, I chose to prioritize relationships, staying engaged in the classroom, and laying a foundation for professional exploration. I showed up and did my best, but I didn’t spiral if I missed a homework assignment. That was new for me. One area I consciously deprioritized (and have, thankfully, returned to since winter break) was health and fitness.
Watching friends navigate these tradeoffs reinforced how personal the experience is. Some are balancing families. Others are working full-time alongside coursework. Some are here exclusively for a degree in a frame, or for a moment of pause in their life. There’s no single way through.
The most grounding shift was learning not to compare my path to anyone else’s. Comparison turns reflection into self-criticism. It’s far more productive to evaluate what uniquely matters to you (what are you trying to get out of the MBA?) and to shape the experience around that.
For me, that’s meant drawing energy from the seemingly never-ending stream of social events; exploring venture capital through Entrepreneurship & Venture Capital club and a VC fellowship; indulging my curiosity for tech and AI through self-directed research and the AI Club; and attending speaker events whenever I can, because I’m energized by listening to other people think out loud (my favorite this quarter was Suchit Dash of Dubsmash, acquired by Reddit). I build my financial foundation through coursework and career interest groups. I coffee chat professors, working professionals, and classmates alike. I like learning what others are building. And I like connecting people working on similar things.
I’m proud of how I’ve oriented myself.
Learning to prioritize ruthlessly is something my product career taught me. Letting go of a perfect time split wasn’t apathy — it was agency.
3. On first-time cool
Before starting the MBA, I wondered whether I’d feel out of sync because of my age. I entered the program younger than many of my peers, whom I imagined would be in later, more settled stages of their lives and careers.
What this quarter clarified instead was that maturity certainly doesn’t arrive on a schedule. And insecurity is a remarkable driver of behavior.
Early on, a former mentor texted me, “Have you encountered first-time cool yet?” I laughed, realizing I knew exactly what he meant.
In environments like business school, social dynamics condense quickly. Everyone arrives with a clean slate and the chance to reintroduce themselves. When belonging and validation feel newly attainable, it can invite overperformance — a need to signal, assert, and draw boundaries around who belongs where. The behavior can read as exclusion, even when it’s driven more by self-protection than malice.
I noticed how some people moved through the program already decided — keeping their circles tight, their impressions fixed. Calculating. Calibrating. It struck me as a lot of effort for a period and place that’s meant to be exploratory.
What became clear was this: I don’t want to spend my time performing or decoding performance. Those dynamics feel beside the point. One of the privileges of being back in academia is access to ideas, perspectives, and people you wouldn’t otherwise encounter. I’ve found immense joy and ease in staying open, warm, and genuinely curious with new people.
4. Wearing the sequin skirt
Growing up in New York City, I’ve always felt free to dress how I wanted — boyishly baggy, colorfully shimmery, angsty and moody. Fashion was a form of self-expression and, in many ways, self-discovery.
Somewhere during undergrad, that part of me softened. A quiet voice suggested it might be easier to blend in and default to a kind of suburban casual. One that’s perfectly fine… just not me.
Coming back to school this time, I made a small but meaningful promise to myself: I wouldn’t abandon that side of myself again. I’d wear the sequined skirt to class if I felt like it.
Staying true to myself turned out to be grounding — and, unexpectedly, connective. My outfits became subtle invitations, giving people a reason to say hello.
5. It’s never that deep
This quarter softened my sense of what’s actually at stake. In the moment, things can feel much bigger than they actually are. But, unless health or well-being is involved, very little is the end-all, be-all.
Moments that register as missteps or embarrassments don’t linger the way we expect them to. The best we can do when we encounter them is to notice them, sit with the discomfort, and keep it moving.
I left fall quarter feeling confident in how I’m choosing to move through this chapter. As winter quarter begins, the uncertainty feels inviting.