A New Equation

"Let X equal the degree to which I am afraid of math and Y equal the degree to which I am mesmerized by the seemingly magical world of business"

by Anne Ruybalid (Turchi)

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Anne Ruybalid (Turchi)
University of Washington
Class of 2007

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It's a lie. You know, that thing they tell you about the first-year core being the busiest time in business school? A lie. True, second-year classes are fewer and less work. But this is only the nice half of the story. The half they don't tell you is that second-year classes are only less work to make room for everything else that pushes its way in.

In the first year, if you don't confront your weaknesses and build confidence, you might as well go home. In the second year, if you don't learn when the time is right to say no to new opportunities, you'll evaporate before Thanksgiving. I've learned this lesson by the skin of my teeth. My threshold is high, but I am here to tell you that if you're not careful, second year will come on twice as hard, and twice as fast, as the first. Of course, now we're better equipped to take it.

Fortunately for us, B-school has made us much more efficient. All meetings have agendas, minutes, and action items. All lingo is standardized. Assignments and teamwork are streamlined. My new MBA microprocessor works, and, thank goodness, it works quickly. If something promises to be a great learning experience and fits into my schedule, I'll do it. If it doesn't fit these two criteria, I get to say—no, I get to shout—"NO."

Taking the Lead

Take last week's schedule as an example: On Monday, proctor a midterm exam for the class in which I'm a teaching assistant. Collect 80 exams (four essay questions each) for grading over the weekend. Go to the drugstore for Cold-EEZE and echinacea. Prepare for and lead a meeting of Division Leaders for the YMCA Community Support Campaign I'm chairing this year. Go to class. Do homework. Prepare for and deliver a two-hour lecture on communication styles and management for the TA class. Skip my morning jog to attend an early-morning scholarship breakfast. Prepare for and interview for a full-time post-MBA job with a Seattle-based public-sector consulting firm. Prepare for and lead an MBA Assn. All-Clubs meeting. When the weekend comes, grade 80 exams, all written longhand in pencil. Prepare a midterm accounting assignment, pricing-theory case, and marketing research quiz. Console the first-year students who are afraid that business school is too much, telling them, "It will get better soon."

Now my second-year classmates and I are taking the lead. We're the vice-presidents. We're the teaching assistants. We're the student representatives, delegates, and national case competitors. We're the speech-givers and the experts. More and more, things seem to be coming together for us. We're calmer, more confident. We can see the bigger picture. We can negotiate.

Power of the Numbers

In my second year of business school, I've noticed an interesting correlation between two variables. Let X equal the degree to which I am afraid of math and Y equal the degree to which I am mesmerized by the seemingly magical world of business. Stay with me here. The relationship goes like this: The more comfortable I become with math, the less strange and mystical the business world is to me. Not only can math prove "hunches," but (more importantly) it can disprove them and ferret out opportunities like nothing I've seen before. If that weren't enough, math can be a powerful persuasive tool.

This is not to say that I enjoy math. In all circumstances, I'd rather curl up with the latest Billy Collins book than even the sexiest Excel spreadsheet, but I do enjoy learning from what math can illustrate. Business school has allowed me to tap into the incredible power that comes from "running the numbers." I've realized the power that can come from calculating objective value and costs, quantifying unquantifiable things, and working with spreadsheets.

My first BusinessWeek.com journal entry focused on my quest to answer a couple of unanswered questions. That quest is over. How do marketers get children to wash down their ADHD medication with 64-oz. Cokes? Math. How do financial superpowers stay superpowerful? Math. Hard math.