There’s this distinct memory I have from when I was 11. It was the second to last day of sixth grade – somewhere in the middle in the sweltering ’08 June heat. Despite efforts to hold them back, it was the first time in a long, long time that I cried in public. On a day when everyone was obsessed with signing yearbooks and bragging about summer vacation plans, my core teacher, Mr. S called one of my classmates and I up to his desk.
As soon as I realized his usual smiling demeanor was nowhere to be found, I knew something was very wrong. It turned out that my classmate had submitted the exact same final project as I did – one that I had painstakingly created over two months to be what I believed to be the most ingenious final project my sixth grade teacher would have ever seen. I don’t remember who that classmate was. Hell, I don’t even remember if they were boy or girl.
Between salty tears and choked hiccups, “She… she cop-… copied me,” I stuttered to Mr. S.
All I remembered was that the next few minutes flew by in a watery blur trapped above the floodgates beneath my eyes. I failed to hear a single word he said. I just stood standing facing the beige walls behind Mr. S’s desk. He pulled my classmate to the side to a conversation I was not privy to.
As time went on, my eyes drifted further up, hoping gravity would be kind to my waterworks today, until I was staring right where the west wall and ceiling met. And right on that horizon, I saw the words he hung against that beige wall since the beginning of the school year. A meme. Borderline, a dad joke.
Opportunity is now here.
But the ‘w’ and ‘h’ were so close together, when I first walked into Mr. S’s classroom, I thought it read: Opportunity is nowhere. When I asked, he once told me, “You know there’s a fine line between opportunity and lack thereof.” In a chuckle befitting of a dad, he continued, “The only difference is that you have to give yourself some space.”
And for the briefest moment, I remembering smiling just a little then.
After chatting with my classmate for a few minutes, they solemnly walked back to their seat and sat down. He beckoned me over, and waited a few seconds so that my sniffles wouldn’t drown out his soft, but firm voice.
“David, you should be proud [she] copied you. That means you have something worth copying.”
To this day, that line stays in my head rent-free.
Interest is a two-way street.
Eight years later, after crafting the perfect cold outreach email to someone I really respected, I received the most meaningful rejection email to date from her. Just four words. “Be interesting and interested.”
In fairness, it took me a few weeks before those words clicked, which I wrote about here. I was definitely interested in her background, but I hadn’t given her any reason to be interested in me. I wasn’t interesting. Or at least, I hadn’t painted myself to be an interesting person.
Interest comes in many forms. The ability to be useful. Being a host of exciting or inspiring stories. Strategic value. Bragging rights. Simply put, you need to have something that people want. They either want something from you, or they want to be like you. In Mr. S’s words, “something worth copying.”
Of course, maybe there’s a world where you don’t want people to know. For instance, Max Levchin once shared in Founders at Work. “If you patent [software], you make it public. Even if you don’t know someone’s infringing, they will still be getting the benefit. Instead, we just chose to keep it a trade secret and not show it to anyone.”
Or you might make your VCs sign NDAs. Which most of us aren’t a fan of.
In closing
If there’s anything you take away from this essay, it’s that:
- I used to be crybaby, and
- Have something worth people’s time and interest.
It doesn’t matter if you’re copied. Hell, it’s good that you’re being copied, or that there are similar ideas in the market.
I came across a thread by Greg Isenberg that echoed the same notion.
At the end of the day, it’s not about the idea; it’s about execution. No one can beat you at being you. Do things that excite you. Do things that, if you were someone else, you would want to hang out with you.
Don’t ever have someone you meet with feel like they’ve wasted their time. Rather, make them feel like they got time back from meeting with you. That’s when you feel the magnetic pull of the people around you. And that’s when the people you want to meet and learn from will want to learn from you.
I’m once again reminded of two quotes. One of my recent favorites.
“Magic is just spending more time on a trick than anyone would ever expect to be worth it.” – Penn & Teller
The other from my favorite movie.
“Not everyone can become a great artist, but a great artist can come from anywhere.”
Stay magical, my friends.
Photo by Andre Mouton on Unsplash
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