People seem to love origin stories – both in theatre and in life.
“How did it all start?”
“How did you get into this career?”
Or…
“How did you meet your wife/husband?”
And well, I can’t say I’m one to push back on that.
There’s something truly magical about “Once upon a time…”. And I’m no stranger to fairy tales. Growing up, I was largely influenced by older female cousins and family friends. As soon as our parents left to their wine-sipping adult gossip around a table of blackjack, my cousins and older female friends would drag us to watch their favorite Disney movies on the VCR, namely princess movies. I’m not exaggerating when I say I’ve seen Beauty and the Beast more than 100 times or Cinderella more than 50 times. In fact, my friends in elementary school would talk about their favorite movies – Transformers, LEGO Bionicles, Peter Pan, and Tarzan. Yet, mine was Disney’s 1998 Mulan.
And they all started with “Once upon a time…”
So, it was no surprise when friends, colleagues, and then strangers started asking me:
“How/when/why did you start hosting social experiments?”
I’ve been debating for the longest time whether I should put out this post or not. Not only does it require me to “open up about the potholes“, as Jeff Wald puts it, I’m not sure how I should be feeling. Or maybe I do, but I’m just not willing to admit it to myself.
Last week, I read Brad Feld‘s post, “Are You At Your Best Right Now?“. And it was the final push that gave me the courage to write this. After all, this wouldn’t be a member of the #unfiltered series if I wasn’t sharing my raw thoughts.
Am I at my best right now?
I’ve had the long standing belief that if I’m not making any new mistakes, then I’m not taking risks.
And if I’m not taking risks, I’m not improving.
For the past 6 months of quarantine, I haven’t made any mistakes… neither ones I’m proud of nor severely regret. Half of which I believe most people could do without. Though I don’t set myself up for mistakes that I think are foolhardy from the get-go, I am not learning if I don’t make any mistakes at all. I’m not talking about mistakes that I make without a second thought of regret. Like drinking 7 cups of water today, rather than 8. Or forgetting to put up the toilet seat. Or a grammatical error in my writing.
I’m talking about mistakes that have defined, define, and will define my life’s trajectory. Inflection points that draw our life’s story on a once blank canvas.
My pursuit of ‘the best’ prior
In my first two years of college, I made many mistakes as an operator, as a friend, and to my promises. I over-promised and under-delivered. I let a friend I really respected and cared for down. To the organizations I was lucky to be a part of, I juggled too many things at once, thinking multi-tasking was an attribute of pride and prestige.
In my third year of college, I took networking to a new level. And along the way, burned bridges in my persistence and lack of awareness.
In my fourth year, drained from the relentless ego contest, I took a step back to reflect and be more candid than I gave myself the liberty to previously. In my pursuit of honesty, once again but in a different context, I didn’t consider the impact of my words with a handful of friends.
In graduating, I took a risk to not accept the offers I had on the table – some of which I know people would fight for. I chose a path that I felt I wouldn’t regret in the then amazing upside of the economy.
In the years following, I made bets to be at places, to be with people, and to learn from them that I had doubts other platforms would provide. In retrospect, some more foolish than others. Placing trust and hope that some of my friends who knew considered in ill faith.
But every time I learned.
I became a stronger person than when I went in.
Now
These days when friends, colleagues, and strangers ask “How are you doing?” or “How have you been?”, I’ve become my own worst nightmare.
“I’m fine.”
“I’m okay.”
While I’m not lying, I hate myself the moment I utter those words. First how much it’s become a knee jerk reaction. But secondly, and more importantly, how much hasn’t changed since the pandemic.
Like many of my friends and colleagues, and I’m sure, many more on this planet, I had 2020 plans. Plans to take risks and make mistakes. Unfortunately, for one reason or another, many of them have been put on a stalemate. At the same time, I know many of my friends aren’t doing well. From breakups to layoffs to the impending doom of deportation to deaths in the family, I feel like I should be the last person to complain.
In closing
I want to be clear. I’m not looking for pity here. But I want you to know. It’s okay. You’re not alone. While we all are feeling a different magnitude of emotions now, you’re not alone, when “I’m okay” belies what we’re all feeling right now. I can’t speak for others, but I am not at my best right now.
If you need someone to talk to or just someone to listen, I’m here.
#unfiltered is a series where I share my raw thoughts and unfiltered commentary about anything and everything. It’s not designed to go down smoothly like the best cup of cappuccino you’ve ever had (although here‘s where I found mine), more like the lonely coffee bean still struggling to find its identity (which also may one day find its way into a more thesis-driven blogpost).Who knows? The possibilities are endless.
Stay up to date with the weekly cup of cognitive adventures inside venture capital and startups, as well as cataloging the history of tomorrow through the bookmarks of yesterday!
I recently tuned into, at the time of writing this post, Tim Ferriss’ third most recent podcast episode, interviewing Rabbi Sacks. Although I’m a regular listener to the show, I wasn’t expecting much. I neither have a history of being religious nor spiritual – merely peripheral curiosity. Yet, I don’t hesitate for one second to say: It is, by far, one of the most insightful and enlightening podcast episodes I’ve heard in 2020. So, if you have a spare 1.5 hours, I highly recommend it, especially if you’re looking for a perspective shift on:
Leadership,
Seeking peer approval,
What a single cold “call”/visit could get you,
And the need for “cultural climate change” in the understanding between the balance of “I” and “we”.
And Rabbi Sacks masterfully weaves these concepts together. While my reaction will never do his insights justice, two other thoughts, each paired with their own story, I had to double click on:
“Good leaders create followers, great leaders create leaders.”
“What happens when you’re in a situation in which you have done something that has generated widespread disapproval? How do you deal with that?
“Win the respect of the people you respect.”
And I digress.
The Bubble
I’ve lived my entire life so far in the Bay Area, barring a few vacations and excursions here and there. I was born here. I went through 12 years of grade school here. 13 if you count kindergarten. And though I had the option of leaving the Bay for college, I ended up choosing a school here as well. Truth be told, I might as well have “Made in the Bay” stamped on my forehead.
I live in a bubble. But I know I breathe in one. Not just geographically, but educationally, racially, sexually, socioeconomically, and so on.
Being a shy introvert pre-adulthood didn’t help with broadening my perspective on life either. I still remember the days in high school when I dreaded the teacher calling on me. Clammy palms, cold sweat, rigid spine. I would never vocally question disagreement. Equally, I would rather be a people pleaser than cause what I deemed to be unnecessary friction. I was a seafood hors d’ouevres of perturbation.
So, by inspiration from a mentor, I took actionable steps to conquer my own demons. Meet one new person you’re extremely excited to meet every single week for a year.
While I still carry the artifacts of myself yesterday, learning to balance myself between the person I thought and think I needed to become and the person I was, I began my journey 6 years ago.
The Pop in the Bubble
I’d be fronting if I said I wasn’t scared shitless when I began. Though I don’t think everyone in the world has this dilemma, I’m confident I am not alone. I had and have all these scenarios playing in my head. A bunch of ‘what-ifs’. What if they think I’m too nosy? What if they don’t have time to respond? Or what if they hate me for bothering them?
They say it gets better over time. And they’re not wrong. But I still have that lingering, gnawing feeling whenever I click send or put myself out there. While, over the years, the fears never fully dissipated, I’ve learned to tango with discomfort. In the words of my mentor who inspired my journey:
“You’re never as good as they say you are, but you’re also not as bad as they say you are. And hell, you can’t even be bad if they don’t even know who you are.”
… which I believe he drew inspiration from Lou Holtz. Shortly after, I clicked the “Send” button at the bottom of my first ‘curiosity’ email. After all, like he said, what’s the worst that can happen? Getting ignored. And as such, I would be no better nor worse off than I was and am in that cross section in time. With that assurance, it eventually led me to find my cold email “template” and hosting social experiments, like Brunches with Strangers.
The Where
Over the past few weeks, a few new people asked me: “Where do you find these people to reach out to?” Although it’s not the first and I assume certainly not the last, I thought I’d share in the form of this post as a possible inspiration for how we can grow, if I were to paraphrase Rabbi Sacks.
While I don’t characterize myself as a voracious reader, I allot time every day and have found many of my Senseis in the form of literature and discourse – online and offline, printed and taped, and in-person and remote. Including:
Books
Online articles/press releases
Newsletters
YouTube videos
Movies
Podcasts
Webinars/fireside chats
Textbooks
And, other people
One level deeper
To look beyond my own horizon, I tune into Pocket‘s Discover tab, or a platform I’ve recently fallen in love with, Readocracy. You can check out what online reading I’ve been up to lately on my Readocracy profile. And I can’t wait, when I can start tracking the books I read and the podcasts I listen to on there. I’m also fortunate enough to have friends who read, write, listen, and socialize with different social and professional circles than I do and am in. And as I meet more people, the spectrum of topics and interests snowball upon each other, as we help each other see new perspectives – some of which we never thought were possible.
Admittedly, where I find who to reach out to is, by no means, special or esoteric. In topics, I look into ones I’m genuinely interested in, in that moment and predictably beyond, even if it’s only a month or two, as promiscuous as I might be for many. In my short phases of promiscuity, I nevertheless take deep dives. Deep, yet often, not long. At the same time, I have a small handful of evergreen interests, like:
The art and science of building relationships,
The art of creating irreplaceable memories,
Psychology and mental models,
Swimming and intense athleticism,
Art as a multi-faceted definition,
Startups,
Technology and what lies at its frontier,
The final frontier – outer space and its cosmological inhabitants,
And the future.
In people, I look for two things:
Inflection points in their life. Oxymorons/ironies. Overt and covert contradictions.
If I were to make assumptions given their initial attributes (i.e. education, age, gender, geography, career, life choices/circumstances, etc.), would I have been able to predict where they are now?
Of course, in making these assumptions, it is also my responsibility to be aware and to tread carefully where I should. Unfortunately, ignorance is not an excuse. If I’m unsure, I err on the side of caution.
Deep intellectual curiosity and passion. Whom I call the passionately curious and the curiously passionate.
In closing
While I’m prone to talking too much at times, during these moments, it is my duty and the highest form of respect I can offer, to listen. If I were to take it from a selfish note, I learn so much more when I listen. And in actively listening, and actively checking my biases, to respond with thoughtful questions.
So, I’ll close on more thing Rabbi Sacks said in his recent interview with Tim Ferriss:
“Safe space means that courteous discipline of respectful listening.”
#unfiltered is a series where I share my raw thoughts and unfiltered commentary about anything and everything. It’s not designed to go down smoothly like the best cup of cappuccino you’ve ever had (although here‘s where I found mine), more like the lonely coffee bean still struggling to find its identity (which also may one day find its way into a more thesis-driven blogpost).Who knows? The possibilities are endless.
Stay up to date with the weekly cup of cognitive adventures inside venture capital and startups, as well as cataloging the history of tomorrow through the bookmarks of yesterday!
Last week, my mentor/friend asked me if I knew anyone who’s stellar at storytelling and would be willing to hold a 1-hour workshop about it with his mentorship group. I connected with my buddy who earned his chops podcasting and being a brilliant customer-oriented founder, specifically on the user journey.
And it got me thinking. Hmmmm, I wonder how long people take to prep for a workshop or talk designed to inform and educate. Which eventually led me to the question… How much time allocation might many event hosts underestimate when asking a speaker to speak at their event?
Well, outside of travel, set up, rehearsal time, and of course, the length of the talk/workshop itself.
So, over the last few days, I reached out to 68 friends, mentors, and colleagues who have been on the stage before, including:
VCs – who invest out of vehicles that range from $5M to $1B (sample-specific)
Angels – investing individuals, who have over $1M in net worth
Founders – both venture-backed and bootstrapped
Executives – Fortune 500 and startup
Journalists
Influencers – YouTubers and podcasters
Consultants/Advisors
Professors
And, those who’ve been on public stages with 1000+ in live viewership.
… and asked them 2 questions:
How long, in hours, do you take to prepare for a 1-hour talk?
For the purpose of slightly limiting the scope to this question, let’s say it’s on a topic you’re extremely passionate and well-versed in, and the audience is as, if not more, passionate than you are.
And if I said this was for a high-stakes event, that may change your career trajectory, would your answer change? If so, how long would you spend prepping?
50 responded, with numerical answers, by the time I’m writing this post, with a few results I found to be quite surprising. *pushing my nerd glasses*
I was quite surprised at the unexpectedly positive response I received for my blogpost, My Cold Email “Template”, I wrote a month back. From DMs by you, my curious readers, and my friends. A great question some of you brought up was:
“What if I have to write a longer email to get my point across?”
It happens. As some of you may already know from this post and my Contact page, I don’t believe that all cold emails have to be short. I, myself, am guilty of writing longer messages sometimes just because I can’t figure out a shorter way to express my interest in that person in a cold email. Regardless, if I think they have the time to read it or not.
What appears fluid is twenty-four frames per second. Twenty-four precious moments per second, lived second after second after second. And each of those still moments is imbued with feelings and memories. The rapid fluidity of each of those moments defines the patterns and beliefs that, in turn, define our lives.
Our lives are twenty-four frames per second, with each frame a set piece of feeling, belief, obsession about the past, and anxiety about the future. Neither good nor bad, these frames form us. They become the stories we tell ourselves again and again to make sense of who we’re becoming, who we’ve been, and who we want to be.
Ghosts of our pasts – our grandparents and their grandparents as well as the ghosts of their lives – inhabit the frames. They and their beliefs, interpretations of scenes, words, and feelings haunt the frames of lives as surely as the roses, figs, and lemon drops of our present daily lives do.
Slowing down the movie of our lives, seeing the frames and how they are constructed, reveals a different way to live, a way to break old patterns, to see experiences anew through radical self-inquiry.
I recently had the fortune of having an email exchange with one of the greatest household names in the space of startups and venture capital, especially known for his empathy and candor. A name synonymous with mental health, accelerators and being radically honesty about his journey – professional and personal. In our chat on mental health, he highly recommended Jerry Colonna‘s book, where the above passage comes from. So I just had to get it.
I first heard of Jerry on Harry Stebbing’s Twenty-Minute VC (his most recent episode with the CEO Whisperer) and The Tim Ferriss Show. And over the years, possibly as a result of confirmation bias, I’ve heard his name pop up over and over again from various founders and VCs. Over the decades, many people know Jerry as:
And, probably best known now for being the CEO whisperer.
So far, his book has reflected all the above and more.
A short trip down memory lane
Although we’re used to 60 frames per second (fps) for daily use or 120 fps for movies these days, the illusion of motion was first found at the optimal 16 fps. Early silent films, like Charlie Chaplin films, were then sped up to 24 fps, as far back as 1927. Admittedly, part of the reason as to why they seemed so comical. As technology caught up, still, the de facto frame rate was 24 fps.
In 2012, The Hobbit series was shot in 48 fps. In 2016, Bill Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk was shot and projected in 120 fps. Gemini Man, which came to theaters 3 years later, followed suit. James Cameron also plans to shoot Avatar 2 at 60fps, with the goal of maximizing the feel of a 3D-world. But as both filmmakers and animators approach higher and higher frame rates, there have been and will continue to be the effect of the uncanny valley. Uncanny valley, or in other words, the more something artificial looks to be real, the more our minds try to reject its appearance. Subsequently, making certain objects, robots, or animations seem creepy and chilling. Part of the reason, it’s a ‘hell no’ to horror films for me.
After decades of 24 fps films, it’ll take a while before our minds catch up to what we see. But I digress.
Moving Forward
Just like how silent films shot at 12-16 fps were shown at 24 fps, giving its comical effect, many of us, myself included (until 3 years back), live by weaving narratives between cross sections of time – both in our personal lives and in our careers. And we script our biographies in a format where seemingly everything happened for a reason. Maybe some things did.
But on the other hand, maybe you’re like me. Where I don’t know what the hell is going to happen tomorrow. Yes, I tell myself I have these plans and goals in life I’m working on accomplishing. But if you ask me, what pitfalls are up ahead? I haven’t even thought about half of them. Another quarter, and I’m being generous to myself here, I think I have a good grasp on, but knowing myself, I’ve got about 20% of it down, 80% I’m missing some piece of the puzzle.
After all, as Warren Buffett once said,
“The rear view mirror is always clearer than the windshield.”
The last quarter – I’m scared – really scared for. But, what’s life without a bit of risk and adventure?
Moving in the Present
While it’s easy to build that narrative for the trail behind us, it’s hard to forecast the narrative forward. So, I take life play by play – frame by frame. Slowing down to that 16 fps, examining, like Jerry suggests, my life in real time. Savoring and reflecting on every moment – the good and the bad. Reexamine my biases – the overt and the covert, in the words of a brilliant sociology professor I chatted with last week. ‘Cause they will make who I am tomorrow.
So, I’ll end on 2 big questions, inspired by that professor. 2 questions I plan to answer and reexamine every month:
What do your social circles look like?
Professional? Personal?
How did you meet them? How often do you stay in touch with them?
What beliefs – overt and covert- are they reinforcing? Are these beliefs worth reinforcing?
Now that you know, what are you willing to give up to make it happen?
Are you willing to take radical measures to do so?
What do you say that you don’t mean? Or find it hard to follow through on?
#unfiltered is a series where I share my raw thoughts and unfiltered commentary about anything and everything. It’s not designed to go down smoothly like the best cup of cappuccino you’ve ever had (although here‘s where I found mine), more like the lonely coffee bean still struggling to find its identity (which also may one day find its way into a more thesis-driven blogpost).Who knows? The possibilities are endless.
Stay up to date with the weekly cup of cognitive adventures inside venture capital and startups, as well as cataloging the history of tomorrow through the bookmarks of yesterday!
And I’m in complete accordance. I want to specifically underscore 2 of Michael’s sentences.
… and…
The only ‘exception’ to this ‘rule’ would be if investors themselves were the target market for the product. At the same time, I can see how the venture industry has led her and many others to believe otherwise. So I thought I’d elaborate more through this post.
A few days ago, I watched Yes Theory‘s recent heartwarming and inspiring video, Creating a Subscriber’s Viral Job Application. And if you have a spare 20, I highly recommend checking it out. Yesterday, I chatted with a friend about the influx of spam calls these days. So, I thought; now that’s a start of a #unfiltered blogpost.
As a warning, this post is slightly more eccentric than, admittedly, my average #unfiltered blog post.
Prefacing with spam
I used to write this newsletter, Friday Morning Coffee Break, back in college for one of the clubs I helped lead. (Now that I think about it, coffee seems to be the theme for my content drops.) So if any of you subscribers then are reading this post now, this anecdote will be a momentary skip down memory lane.
So, you see, I’m a huge fan of comedy. And 3 years back, when I first learned about James Veitch, I just had to try it out myself. Replying to spam emails. From Nigerian princes. Cold emails from ‘celebrities’. Confirmation emails that require replying to unsubscribe.
If you’re curious as to how he pulls it off, you can check out his Hilarious (yes with a capital ‘H’) TED talks: here, here, and here.
What I did
When I received:
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Over the weekend, I was brewing up some mad lemonade. ‘Cause well, that’s the summer thing to do. Since I’m limited in my expeditions outdoors, it’s just watching the sun skim over the horizon, blossoming its rose petals across the evening sky, in my backyard, sipping on homemade lemonade. If you’re curious about my recipe, I’ll include it at the bottom of this post.
Thomas Keller. An individual probably best known, among many others, for his achievements with The French Laundry. Needless to say, I was enamored by his talk. But the fireworks in my head didn’t start going off until the 12:46 mark.
As a result of my commitment to provide feedback for every founder who wants a second (or third) pair of eyes on their pitch deck, I’ve been jumping on 30-minute to 1-hour calls with folks. Although I’ve had this internal commitment ever since I started in venture, I didn’t vocalize it until earlier this year. And you know, realistically, this is not gonna scale well… at all. But hey, I’ll worry about that bridge when I cross it.
Something I noticed fairly recently, which admittedly may partly be confirmation bias ever since I became cognizant of it, is that there have been a significant number of founders currently fundraising who complain to me about:
Many VCs don’t have their investment thesis online/public.
Of those that are, VCs have “too broad” of a thesis.
So, it got me thinking and asking some colleagues. And I will be the first to admit this is all anecdotal, limited by the scope of my network. But it makes sense. That said, if you think I missed, overlooked, over- or underestimated anything, let me know.
The Exclusionary Biases
By virtue of specificity, you are, by definition, excluding some population out there. For example, in focusing only on potential investments in the Bay, you are excluding everyone else outside or can’t reach the Bay in one way or another. Here’s another. Let’s say you look for founders that are graduates from X, Y, or Z university. You are, in effect, excluding graduates from other schools, but also, those who haven’t graduated or did not have the opportunity to graduate at all.
The seed market example
Here’s one last one. This is more of an implicit specificity around the market. The (pre-) seed market is designed for largely two populations of founders:
Serial entrepreneurs, who’ve had at least one exit;
And, single-digit (or low double) employees of wildly successful ventures.
Why? You, as a founder, are at a stage where you have yet to prove product-market fit. Sometimes, not even traction to back it up. And when you’re unable to play the numbers game (like during the stages at the A and up), VCs are betting on the you and your team. So, to start off, we (and I say that because I’ve been guilty of overemphasizing this before) look into your background.
What did your professional career look like before this?
Do you have the entrepreneurial bone in your body?
Here’s some context of what the idea maze might look like in another post I wrote.
The delta between a good investor and a great investor
Let’s say an investor were to be approached by two founders with the exact same product, almost identical team, same amount of traction, same years of experience, and let’s, for argument’s sake, have spent the same number of years contemplating the problem, but the only difference is where they came from. One is a first-time founder from [insert corporate America]. The other is the 5th employee of X amazing startup. Many VCs I’ve talked with would and have defaulted on the latter. And the answer is reinforced if the latter is a founder with an exit.
The question wasn’t made to be fair. And, it’s not fair. To the VCs’ credit, their job is to de-risk each of their investments. Or else, it’d be gambling. One way to do so is to check the founder’s professional track record. But the delta here that differentiates the good from the great investor is that great investors pause after given this information and right before they make a conclusion. That pause that gives them time to ask and weigh in on:
What is this founder(s)’ narrative beyond the LinkedIn resume?
Shifting the scope
It’s not about the quantitative, but about the qualitative. It’s not about the batting average, but about the number and distance of the home runs. So instead of the earlier question:
How long have you spent in the idea maze?
And instead…
What have you learned in your time in the idea maze?
Similarly, from what I’ve gathered from my friends in deep/frontier tech, instead of:
How many publications have you published?
And instead…
Where are you listed in the authorship of that research? The first? The second? The 20th?
For context of those outside of the industry, where one is listed defines how much that person has contributed towards the research.
As a slight nuance, there are some publications, where the “most important” individual is listed last. Usually a professor who mentored the researchers, but not always.
And, how many times has your research been cited?
Some more context onto specificity
Some other touch points on why (public) investment theses are broad:
FOMO. Investors are scared of the ‘whats if’s’. The market opportunity in aggregate is always smaller than the opportunity in the non-aggregate.
Hyper-specific theses self-selects founders out who think they’re not a ‘perfect fit’. Very similar to job posts and their respective ‘requirements’.
Some keep their thesis broad in the beginning before refining it over time. This is more of a trend with generalist funds.
Theses are broad by firm, but more specific by partner. The latter of which isn’t always public, but can generally be tracked by tracking their previous investments, Twitter (or other social media) posts, and what makes them say no. Or simply, by asking them.
The pros of specificity
Up to this point, it may seem like specificity isn’t necessarily a good thing for an investor. At least to put out publicly.
But in many cases, it is. It helps with funneling out noise, which makes it easier to find the signals. It may mean less deal flow, which means less ‘busy’ work. But you get to focus more time on the ones you really care about. And hopefully lead to better capital and resource allocation. The important part is to check your biases when honing the thesis. Also, happens to be the reason why LPs (limited partners – investors who invest in VCs) love multi-GP funds (ideally of different backgrounds). Since there are others who will check your blind side.
Specificity also works in targeting specific populations that may historically be underrepresented or underestimated. Like a fund dedicated to female founders or BIPOC founders or drop-outs or immigrant founders. Broad theses, in this case, often inversely impact the diversity of investments for a fund. When you’re not focusing on anyone, you’re focusing on no one. Then, the default goes back to your track record of investments. And your track record is often self-perpetuating. If you’ve previously backed Stanford grads, you’re most likely going to continue to attract Stanford grads. If you’ve previously backed white male founders, that’ll most likely continue to be the case. In effect, you’re alienating those who don’t fit the founder archetype you’ve previously invested in.
In closing
We are, naturally, seekers of homogeneity. We naturally form cliques in our social and professional circles. And the more we seek it – consciously and subconsciously, the more it perpetuates in our lives. Focus on heterogeneity. I’m always working to consider biases – implicit and explicit – in my life and seeing how I’m self-selecting myself out of many social circles.
Whether you, my friend, are an investor or not. Our inputs define our outputs. Much like the food we put in our body. So, if there’s anything I hope you can take away from this post, I want you to:
Take a step back,
And examine what personal time, effort, social, and capital biases are we using to set the parameters of our investment theses.
Stay up to date with the weekly cup of cognitive adventures inside venture capital and startups, as well as cataloging the history of tomorrow through the bookmarks of yesterday!
