Be a "First Follower"

One of the highlights of the Harvard Social Enterprise Conference was the keynote address by Premal Shah, President of Kiva, who played this hilarious and insightful YouTube video by Derek Sivers about the importance of being the “first follower.”

Did you watch it? I love that video, and the idea that the “first follower” transforms the “lone nut” into a leader. I know many social entrepreneurs would identify with the idea of the “lone nut:” as one successful but unconventional entrepreneur told me, “In the beginning, everyone told me I was crazy.” Michael Brown, Co-founder and CEO of City Year has also said, “Quitting [my prestigious job as a clerk to a federal judge] to work on City Year was, to my family, the equivalent of running off and joining the circus.” But not only have these successful entrepreneurs had the courage to “look ridiculous” in the beginning, they have recruited and embraced great teams of people who are equals in their mission, and who play critical roles in driving their organizations forward.

The most effective organizations are also adept at attracting those next dancers: the “champions” of the cause who add to the momentum of the movement and push an initiative to the tipping point. As Derek Sivers, the video’s commentator says, “The best way to make a movement, if you really care, is to courageously follow, and show others how to follow.” It is inspiring advice to magnify our personal impact: not all of us have to invent the next great social innovation—we just need to find those innovations, get behind them, and become "champions" who connect others to the larger vision.

Here’s one way right now to become some of the first followers of new, innovative ideas for social good: vote with your dollars for your favorite idea in the Unreasonable Institute’s Unreasonable Marketplace, where aspiring social entrepreneurs are competing for access to great mentors, capital, and training to make their idea a reality. There are only 22 days left to decide which ideas will move on. Who will you follow, and why? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments section.

Come on, you know you want to—can’t you see how much fun those dancers are having?

My Brain Has Been Drained

Let me break the ice of my posting freeze with this: I am thrilled. The last few months after quitting my job have been rough, but it’s paid off: I have an exciting new job in a field (social entrepreneurship) that I am fascinated with and passionate about, in a new city (Boston) filled with amazing opportunities to learn and grow, and while I’ve just scratched the surface of living here, already I’ve met many interesting, committed people. Right now life feels like an endless adventure. There’s just one problem—I’m not in Detroit.

My determination to conquer an ingrained fear of a city I had grown up outside of, to become part of a human bridge between the city and its estranged suburbs, and to resist the brain drain sucking young talent out of the state of Michigan led me to Detroit. Despite vehement objections from many people I love, I followed my gut to Detroit, and I wasn’t disappointed—I fell in love with the city. It’s hard to articulate why I love it so much, but suffice it to say that beyond the post-apocalyptic metaphors of a city destroyed is a collection of hidden gems and a strong, determined, and welcoming community of people who see potential where others see despair. Now, despite the difficulty of parting (at least for a while) from a city I’ve grown deeply devoted to, I’ve followed my gut to Boston.

It makes sense that I was drawn to Boston to continue my practical education.  As a hub of social entrepreneurship and innovation (and the birthplace of City Year), Boston has been beckoning me for the better half of a year—I knew that I could learn things here that I would be hard pressed to learn anywhere else. Since I was seven or eight, visiting my sister at MIT, Boston has been a place of practical learning: it was here that I fell in love with public transportation, with green spaces in the middle of bustling cities, and the boldness of the American Revolution. It seems fitting that I’ve returned here, because it was on that trip to Boston when I had a serious “moment of obligation:" the moment I first “saw” a homeless person, and realized what being homeless meant. I don’t have many vivid memories from when I was seven or eight years old, but I remember sitting in a restaurant booth with my family, my head buried in my arms, trying to hide my face as I sobbed—my young mind trying to comprehend why she didn’t have a home while I did.

Yet while I’m here, Detroit is constantly on my mind. I can’t help but feel like a hypocrite, a brain sucked to the coast—exactly as I was determined not to become. It’s not that I have doubts about being here—no, not at all. Like I said, I’ve followed my gut—and I’d like to think that by investing in my growth and development I will eventually be much more useful to Detroit (and hopefully society as a whole) than if I’d stayed out of stubbornness.

But while I’m half a country away, I’m not content to just sit back and say, “See you later in life, Detroit—hope things have gotten better for you then.” I’m determined to stay plugged in to Detroit and its future—to be as useful to, and supportive of, all the great work that is happening there as much as is humanly possible. But how can I be useful from six hundred miles away? Can I do something from where I am right now to help heal the deep social divisions that still impede the entire Detroit metro region from making progress? I know I can send money, but is there any other way I can make a difference from afar? What is the best way to make an impact when you aren’t working in your own backyard? These are the questions I’m grappling with as I transition to an east coast life—and the questions I know I will continue to struggle with in the coming years. I have a few ideas—stay tuned for those—but in the mean time, any ideas you have would be greatly appreciated.

Kicking Off A Year of Idealism

People who refuse to believe that something can’t be done are unstoppable. I’m going to see sixty-three of them today, and I’m inspired just thinking about it. They are forsaking money, prestige—and, I might add, their own personal sense of fashion—to take a road less traveled. Often working the hours of an analyst at an investment bank for a stipend just above the poverty line, there are 1,500 young adults nationwide committing to serve their communities and its students. Who are they? City Year corps members.

I can’t help but be excited for them—a year ago, I was in their boots. And I know their lives are going to be changed. During my year, I co-led the Young Heroes team, a team that worked with middle school students who devoted their Saturdays to doing community service. At the end-of-the-year Heroes Graduation Ceremony, one of my Young Heroes read a poem he wrote about what it means to be a volunteer. It was a poem about self-sacrifice, and hard work. He stood on the stage of a large auditorium, in front of team leaders, parents and his peers, and with the confidence, timing, and eloquence of someone far beyond his years, he told us what it meant to be a volunteer. I had goose bumps. When he finished I leapt to my feet, bursting with pride and joy. He inspires me.

After most of the families had gone and we were finishing cleaning up, we saw a woman with a problem: she had run over a large rock, and her car was now perched on top of it. Lodged in front of a rear wheel, it was so large that the back of the car was off the ground, and the point of the rock jutted up into the underbelly of her SUV. It was late—we had had a long day, but we were determined to help. We tried and tried to move the rock—a helpful parent even tried to tow it out with his car, but the tough rope he used just snapped from the strain. But we weren’t to be beaten. With a jack to get a bit of gravity on our side, some strategic planning, and a cry of “1-2-3!” we picked up the car, and lifted it off the rock. As the woman gratefully thanked us she asked, "So who are you guys? What is City Year?" We felt like superheroes.

Most of the year didn’t feel that way. Most of the year was tough—so tough—and thankless. I cried more in that year than I usually do in five or six. Some days just getting out of bed felt impossible. But in the mornings I found strength as we said the City Year pledge: it reminded me of what I believed in—of what I was there to do. It’s the same pledge that I’ll watch them take today:

"I pledge to serve as a City Year member
to the very best of my ability,
to honor the rules and expectations of City Year,
to respect my colleagues and the people and
communities we serve,
to provide excellent service,
to lead by example and be a role model to children,
to celebrate the diversity of people, ideas and
cultures around me,
to serve with an open heart and an open mind,
to be quick to help and slow to judge,
to do my best to make a difference in the lives of others,

and to build a stronger community, nation and world,
for all of us."

To those courageous people that today are pledging a year of their lives to service: you are a hero. And you can do anything. So go out there and do it.

The Violence Gap

Violence is real—but more real for some of us than others. Serving as a corps member with City Year Detroit, it became clear to me that the thing I had most taken for granted growing up—the thing that made my childhood experience so much different from that of many of the kids we worked with—was not never having to worry about food or having a roof over my head. No— rather, it was feeling safe: feeling safe going to school, feeling safe to go outside and play, and feeling safe in bed at night.

When I’m in Chicago, I stay in a neighborhood where I don’t have to worry about gun violence at all. Yet Chicago is the same city that houses four out of the twenty-five most dangerous neighborhoods in America—including number two, where in one year your odds of becoming a victim are estimated at one in four. This is same city where from September 2007 through December 2008, 508 students were shot—a little more than one child for every day—and where 37 children died from shootings during the last school year. This is the same city where less than a week ago, honors student Derrion Albert was beaten to death on his way home from school.

Derrion Albert’s death is horrifying. It’s brutal. It’s tragic. When deaths are reported as statistics, they are some how easier to swallow, because the humanity of each number—of each precious human life—is hidden behind the language of math and reason. But when a video relentlessly shows the violence that kids in these neighborhoods must regularly face, we have no more excuse for closing our eyes to the alternate reality that exists mere miles away from those same safe neighborhoods where violence is rarely heard of. Children exposed to violence—as victims or as witnesses—must find a way to process their feelings, either by becoming “anxious, fearful or withdrawn” or by learning to use violence themselves, adding to the vicious cycle of community violence.

I would like to believe that Derrion Albert’s death would have made the news if someone didn’t have the brutal, graphic footage of it happening, but I’m not sure it would have. Gang violence and its innocent victims are tragically all too common. Some might say that’s because in violent neighborhoods, violence is no longer “news”—it’s the every day reality, and so isn't "newsworthy." One study found that homicides were more likely to win media coverage if the victims were white, particularly young or particularly old, women, of high socioeconomic status, or killed by strangers. This also seems to ring true for Chicago robberies: robberies in the affluent Lincoln Park neighborhood were given much more media attention than those in other parts of the city.

Yet while I understand that news outlets seek unique and unusual stories, media coverage shapes how a city defines its most pressing problems, as well as the discussions on how to address them. The fact that violence in these neighborhoods is largely ignored essentially means that we have accepted these "death pockets" as inevitable parts of a city landscape, when our greatest asset should be that we know where they are. Violence, scattered in a random pattern throughout a city, would be much harder to confront than localized violence. Shouldn’t the mere fact that violence in these neighborhoods is, in a way, “predictable” give us an advantage in trying to stop it?

Constant fear of being a victim can affect your entire life. I quit my job because I spent my whole day dreading going to work, fearing the walk home through an unsafe neighborhood in the middle of the night. That fear and dread seeped into every aspect of my life. Because I had the resources to quit, that was my reality for only a month. But for the kids who go to school and live in these dangerous neighborhoods, it is an unending reality.

So, my question now is this: what can we do about it? “Nothing” can’t be the answer.

Can Inner-City Public Boarding Schools Be the Bridge Kids Need to Walk Out of Poverty?

I was struck by an article I read yesterday in the New York Times Magazine: “The Inner City Prep School Experience,” by Maggie Jones. Can an inner-city public boarding school be the bridge kids need to walk out of poverty?

The school, run by The SEED Foundation, is public, so they can’t select their students. Instead, kids fill out an application, and are then chosen by lottery. If selected, they will live at the boarding school throughout the school week from 6th grade until they graduate.

This model is intriguing because it attempts to tackle, in one way or another, the complicated web of influences that trap kids in poverty. While most people will agree that education is the way out of poverty, many people fail to see how many different factors influence both the quality of education a child receives, as well as that child’s ability to use her education to advance her opportunities in both the workplace and life. Usually, public schools are up against a lot more than limited funds--although having no money exacerbates the situation. Kids not feeling safe going to and from school, little parental involvement (many times because parents are working multiple low-paying jobs and don’t have the energy or the education to help their children learn), little access to books or computers, and a lack of successful neighborhood role models are just a few of the social factors that inhibit achievement.

Yet what excites me so much about this idea is that its approach seems to address many of those "x factors."  It is an approach of building bridges from the world of poverty to the world of the middle class, and of creating relationships and support networks that help kids step out of their comfort zone to experience the world outside of their neighborhood, and see the possibility of a different life for themselves.

Here are a few reasons why I think this is a potentially great idea:

1.  It is able to teach, in a concrete way, that leaving poverty means learning to navigate an entirely different world. Living in poverty requires skills and knowledge that people growing up in middle class or wealthy homes don’t have.  Children growing up poor know the “hidden rules” of poverty that they need to play by to survive. But likewise, children growing up in poverty don’t learn the “hidden rules” of the middle class—the rules of school and the workplace—that they need to succeed in the world outside their neighborhood. (Dr. Ruby Payne’s research about the “hidden rules” of social classes and their effect on students can be found in her work, A Framework for Understanding Poverty). Immersion is the quickest way to learn any culture, and being immersed in a boarding school culture, a culture based on the “hidden rules” of the middle class, can prepare students to succeed in the world outside of poverty. As Jones writes in her article, the “ongoing transition, from school to home and back again, symbolizes the school’s unwritten requirement of its students: to juggle and to navigate two different and often conflicting worlds.”

2.  The school is located within the neighborhood of most of the kids it serves, but provides structured opportunities to go other places. One of the hardest things for many inner city kids is leaving their own neighborhood. Their neighborhood encompasses most, if not all, of their entire social support network, and while it might be dangerous, they know how to navigate it.  For teenage boys in disadvantaged neighborhoods, people from other neighborhoods aren’t seen as potential friends, but rather, potential enemies.  This means that leaving the neighborhood is normally a dangerous endeavor, and one to be avoided.

3.  It stabilizes the environment during the school week and allows kids focus. If kids live at school, they don’t have to stress about what is going to happen to them when they walk home, or how they are going to find a place to focus with the TV blaring, or who might be coming over to visit.

4.  It creates social networks of kids from the neighborhood that are trying to achieve in school and go to college. In the teenage years especially, peer relationships have such a large effect on decision making. Some research shows that in violent neighborhoods, older peers have even more influence over the choices teenage boys make.  Who your friends are guides how you define yourself, and gives you a network of people who support you when you are making tough decisions--like deciding to stay in school when everyone else is dropping out. 

5.  It sets the stage for meaningful relationships with adults and “near-peers” who can guide them in more than just academics. Kids can hear public service announcements all day long without effect—but when someone they trust and respect tells them something, they listen. With kids living in poverty, often those voices are peers who might have learned the same misinformation that they did. With a school like this, they have active mentors to teach critical life skills and give good advice.

Of course, there are a lot of unanswered questions with this model. As the article says, SEED has struggled with keeping its students.  There's also the dilemma that only those who "win" the lottery get the opportunity to attend.  And of course, there is always the argument that the money spent on a boarding school should go to improving the rest of the city’s public schools. But would that money spent on traditional public schools have the same impact? I’m not sure. On the whole, I’m inclined to believe that as a boarding school, it just might have greater potential to take on the “x factors” of education that traditional public schools have been unable to address. What do you think? Please share your thoughts in the comments section.

Skills Case Managers Need That I Don’t Have—But Do You?

If you want to make a real, tangible difference in someone’s life, consider being a case manager. Case managers are on the front lines, fighting in the trenches, on almost all of the most intractable social issues of our day.  That’s why whenever I launch my social venture, I will definitely want experienced case managers to be involved in the design and development. But I learned quickly that I’m not cut out to be a case manager: there are at least two “soft” skills I definitely don’t have. So if you are thinking that case management or a career in social work is for you, take a moment and consider if you have the following intangible skills:

The ability to take verbal abuse from people you are trying to help

I am a pretty forgiving person—mostly because I find it counterproductive to waste energy holding on to negative feelings—but I don’t usually take flak lying down. I also tend to accept too much responsibility for things that I have very little control over, so when people take out their negative emotions on me for something I am absolutely positive is in no way, shape, or form my fault (which usually also means that I have no power to fix it), I can get pretty annoyed and frustrated. I learned this when I was a cashier at a family owned plant nursery: I would bend over backwards to serve anyone who walked in the store—once I got a free plant because a customer called to tell my manager how helpful I was—but when customers were just outright nasty about something I had no control over, my sunny disposition died a quick death as it was all I could do to bite my tongue and keep my head down.

Yet as a case manager, enduring people being nasty to you while you’re trying to help them is practically in the job description. And really, how can you blame them? When people are under intense stress—as they often are when they are meeting with a case manager—they need an outlet. I can hardly judge them for shooting the messenger—I can’t imagine what I would do in their shoes—and they have enough to worry about without stopping to think about who pulls the strings in the tangled mess of bureaucratic organizations that have influence over their life. In their eyes, you are part of the system, so it might as well be you. But to be effective, you have to be able to let it roll off your back—you can’t take it personally, or it will interfere with your job performance. Instead, you have to be able to deflect and redirect those emotions into productive outlets.

The ability to care without getting too invested

Burnout is a significant problem for people who do case management. When an organization has enough resources—which most social service organizations usually don’t—smart organizations try to avoid burnout by limiting case loads. But you can bet that when funding shrinks, the numbers start to creep—or leap, as in the present economy—back up. Yet even with a small case load, the job is inherently working to support and empower people who are in distress—so even when you control the numbers, working with even one person is emotionally draining work.

To be a case manager, you have to care about your clients to do a good job, but since you see so many cases, you have to be invested without getting sucked dry. You have to care enough to support your clients, to challenge them to change their behavior, and to fight for them, but you can’t get too invested or else you’ll burn out—and that’s no help to anyone. You have to accept that you single-handedly can’t sponsor or adopt all the kids who need families or a safe place to stay, or pay the medical bills for all the people who can’t anymore. You have to set boundaries, and respect them, if you want to last. 

Needless to say, I was terrible at both these things, but if you aren't, go for it. If you also have patience for dealing with frustrating government bureaucracies, as well as large amounts of paperwork, you might be a perfect candidate. Social work is one of the most noble and underappreciated professions, and if it's right for you, you can change someone's life forever.

How to Resist the Temptation of the Road Well Traveled

Everyone talks about the road less traveled, and the idea of the road less traveled—the idea of adventure and mystery—is definitely exciting. Yet often when we find ourselves “where two roads diverge in a yellow wood,” it is fear of the unknown and the temptations of the road well traveled that triumph over our decision.

In my last post, I talked about Dr. Ariely’s research on how we have difficulty sealing off options, even when it is detrimental to keep them open. Yet what was even more interesting: Dr. Ariely and his research partner discovered that the tendency to want to keep doors open was not a desire for flexibility, but rather an aversion to loss.

While taking the road less traveled might not be the best decision for everyone, if it calls you, you should face that fear and answer it. And given that naming a fear makes it easier to face, here are some of the things we fear to lose by taking the road less traveled:

"Security"

When people talk about “security,” it’s usually a euphemism for money. And yes, money is a difficult thing to turn down. I used to think that anyone who made a decision based on money was shallow or materialistic, but after spending a year living on the sharp edge of the poverty line, I am aware that that was the misguided perception of someone who has never wanted for life’s basic necessities. Money does buy you a certain degree of freedom: freedom to visit those you love when they need you (or when you need them), the freedom to take a cab home when you feel in danger, or the freedom to quit your job because it's sucking your soul away.

“Security” can also mean health and dental benefits. The job I just quit had excellent benefits. I received my health insurance card in the mail after I finished my last day, its $5 co-pays for doctor visits attempting to mock my decision. I just smiled and knew that I had conquered a fear.

Knowing What Comes Next

We fear the unknown, so naturally, it feels good to know what we’re getting ourselves into, to have a clear path. Becoming an investment banker, a lawyer, or a doctor involves following a previously charted path. They are definitely not easy paths, but there is a certain security in having that road map, as opposed to making it up as you go along. Even if it is difficult to walk the road, knowing what’s ahead is comforting.

Praise, Recognition, and Prestige

One of the hardest things about deciding not to go to law school was turning down the potential praise, recognition, and prestige. My passionate soon-to-be lawyer friend couldn’t believe that with the LSAT score I had I was throwing away my chance to go to a prestigious school. And a good LSAT score is a form of praise, as well as the promise of more to come—if you continue to perform as the test supposedly predicts you will. Deciding not to go to law school also meant forfeiting a degree that could have convinced people to take my opinions more seriously, and feeling that you will be respected, your ideas considered, is a huge draw.

So how can we resist these temptations of the road well traveled? I can only offer two strategies that I have used, but I hope others will contribute their own in the comments section:

Focus on the Cost of Regret

If what really motivates our decisions to “keep our options open,” isn’t a want for flexibility, but an aversion to loss, we should focus on what we lose by not taking the road less traveled: an opportunity, perhaps a dream, or even self-respect. I don’t know of anything that can fill regret. If you try something and fail horribly, it won’t be the end of the world. You’ll learn something valuable and you’ll move on, but you’ll never have to lie awake wondering, “what if?"

If Possible, Avoid Temptation

One way I’ve resisted temptation is through avoidance. After a curious twist of fate found me working at an investment bank for a summer, the wonderful people I worked for suggested that I come back after graduating to be an analyst—one of the most lucrative jobs a recent graduate can have. I could have made a ton of money to put away for future projects, but I also knew that between my need to excel at whatever I do and the almost-instant rewards system for analysts, I would be seduced into a career that ten years later I would realize I didn’t want. I took away the temptation: I didn’t apply.

Likewise, my friend, Hannah, is a teacher who is passionate about maps, world cultures, and geography, a subject that usually falls in the same category as history, government, and social studies—all of which she hates teaching. While getting certified in social studies was the most marketable option (meaning that she could teach any of those subjects), she decided to certify in geography specifically. She knew that she would have to be tougher in her job hunt, working harder to find and compete for fewer jobs because of her specialized certification, but she also knew that when she found that job her students would find her passionate and engaged—not lackluster. As she puts it, she “happy-proofed” her job. She knew herself and what would make her a fantastic teacher, and she wasn’t afraid to self-limit her options in order to push herself to get there. It may seem counter-intuitive, but one of the best strategies might be to identify your temptation before you have to face it—and then avoid it, if you can.

Facing our fears of losing and resisting the temptations of the road well traveled might be one of the hardest, and perhaps most important aspects of our journeys, but doing so is ultimately empowering. As my wise friend Sarah Miller—who is embarking on her own adventurous road less traveled—says, you must “embrace the uncertainty,” of struggling to find your way, and just roll with the punches.