Photo credit: Bas van den Eijkhof
Few people (if anyone!) know that the book chapter I wrote almost a decade ago has its roots in disappointing English test results (and a mandatory university class that I tried to escape).
In society in general, and especially on social media (even more in the professional sphere), we tend to showcase successes as linear stories that are exempt of failures (CVs are the perfect example for that), and we tend to rationalise a posteriori our choices and path (as if everything had been carefully planned). Yet, both in the personal and professional spheres, much happens serendipitously (thanks to the unexpected); and the path to achievement is paved with failures and errors. Dr Christian Busch explains it very well in his book about serendipity - "Connect the Dots" - that pushed me to write this article.
This time, it is my turn to show (part of) what happens behind the scenes of one of my achievements, hoping it can give hope to some, be a source of inspiration to others, and make people smile.
TRYING TO ESCAPE
It all started with an English test (TOEFL) that I passed when applying for a Master of International Affairs at Columbia University (New York). I did OK, well enough to get me to Columbia University (or at least not to prevent me from being admitted). Yet my grade wasn't stellar (99 only looks excellent until you know the maximum score is 120). As a result, in my first semester of Masters, I was required to attend a class labelled "English for International Affairs".
At first, I was shocked. And I thought this class would be (without a doubt) a waste of my time. I shared my surprise with the Assistant Dean by email but was nicely and firmly summoned to register as per university rules. I attended the first class... and saw it as a confirmation that this course was unnecessary to me. I dared to share my concern to the Assistant Dean, proudly (and shamelessly) referring to my work and study experience - in vain. I had to attend that class. Disappointed, I reluctantly continued the course.
After a few lessons though, it became apparent to me that the course was about learning to write a solid academic paper, on a chosen topic (subject to the approval of the professor). Maybe it was not as bad as I had thought? The little rebel in me was tamed. My curious and creative mind was starting to get excited.
TURNING A DISAPPOINTMENT INTO AN OPPORTUNITY
I decided to take that university class as an opportunity to explore the topic of small business growth in Lebanon. Why? Prior to the programme, I had worked a couple of years in Switzerland, where I befriended the Lebanese friends of a friend, who all sparked my interest about their country of origin. The Lebanese business environment was at the crossroads of my interest in economic development, my university curriculum, and my curiosity about a then unknown country (Lebanon).
While most of my peers were annoyed to attend that class (we were indeed forced to), I got excited to have the opportunity to deep dive on a topic that I found thrilling. In the research process, I stumbled upon the role and potential of the Lebanese diaspora in the Lebanese economy (by diaspora, I mean, expats and their descendants around the world, across generations). I did my best to craft an insightful paper.
It turns out my research paper far exceeded the requirements of the class, and my professor saw it as an academic-journal-worthy text! She asked me permission to use the paper as a model paper for future classes at Columbia University - which I agreed to - and encouraged me to publish the article. Who would have thought?
Following my professor's advice, I submitted a truncated version of the academic paper to the Princeton Journal, without much conviction (at the time, I had never set a foot in Lebanon...). The paper was rejected, but it did not matter to me. My professor's support and my writing experience had instilled in me a sense of confidence in my writing abilities; and I was now determined to go to Lebanon.
FALLING IN LOVE
Given I had no connection to Lebanon at that time (plus, growing up in France to French and Polish parents, my "diaspora" background had not much to do with Lebanon), I sent the paper in its draft form to a Lebanese friend for feedback. She, in turn, shared it with the leaders of the largest social enterprise in Lebanon, arcenciel, who got interested in my research and skills. Since I was planning to spend the summer in Beirut (among others to learn Arabic at the American University of Beirut - AUB), they saw an opportunity for me to run a diaspora consulting project for them.
As part of a (this time chosen!) class that I took in my second semester ("Governing the 21st Century City") was a group research project. Guess what we worked on? SME growth in Beirut. We were a team of five, including me (who acted as a Project Manager), and none of us was Lebanese, but the team somewhat got interested and enthusiastic about my ideas. I don't recall exactly how we reached a decision about the topic (although I remember talking about my freshly baked paper). But whether you believe it or not, I had their full consent and no violence was involved (isn't passion contagious?). And (again) the Lebanese diaspora turned out to be part of that group paper...
A few months later, I moved to Beirut, to work at arcenciel. Several times, the Lebanese that I met jokingly told me I must be part of the CIA (I had learnt so much about Lebanon and connected to so many people before arriving that it had become suspicious!).
At arcenciel, I ended up researching the Lebanese diaspora and identifying ways to mobilise the diaspora in its social impact projects. I loved interviewing all kinds of diaspora members, talking to them, and understanding their respective world.
While in Beirut, I fell in love with the Lebanese people and diaspora. Even though I came back to New York City in the Fall for my second year of Masters, I had been 'bitten', and diasporas had turned into a new interest and field of study for me (even though I did not seek to publish my academic paper).
After graduating, while in New York, I joyfully reached out to various people as part of a job-hunting process. In many instances, I would bluntly cold-email people or message unknown professionals via LinkedIn to ask them for a meeting or a call. In fact, my network greatly expanded during that period, and I am a hyperconnector since that time (introducing people to each other somewhat became part of my way of life).
One of the (many) people I InMailed while job-hunting was working at AUB (the American University of Beirut, mentioned earlier). We had an interesting conversation over the phone, where I ended up sharing much about my various projects (many were diaspora-related), and about my research work on the Lebanese diaspora. However, there was no relevant vacancy suiting my profile at AUB.
Yet, a mere two weeks later, I received an email from that person. She told me her manager was co-editing an academic book on social entrepreneurship in the MENA region and asked me whether I would be interested in contributing a chapter to the book (needless to say, this piece of news felt like it was falling from the sky!). The call for contribution to the book had been closed a month earlier. Yet the editors were thinking of adding a chapter to their initial book outline ... based on my ideas.
FROM AN ARTICLE TO A BOOK CHAPTER
Remembering the encouragement of my professor, I sent to the editors my draft outline for a potential chapter. Had I not taken that English class at Columbia University, I am pretty sure I would have turned down the offer: Academic writing is subject to specific codes; I had no formal training on diaspora issues (this is not exactly what we can call a common academic subject); and the deadline for writing the piece was very tight (all the more as I was joining the book project later than the other contributors).
My chapter outline got accepted by the editors, and now I had to write it! I shared the good news with the professor that had pushed me to get published - and she was delighted to see the impact that her teaching had had.
I eventually left New York for a job in London that was totally unrelated to diasporas (I reckon few roles are focused on diasporas, but this one simply had nothing to do with them). While working as an Innovation Executive during the day, I was working on the book chapter in my time off - at night and on weekends.
It was not exactly a piece of cake, and I did not sleep much that year. In fact, I almost gave up the book commitment several times. But thanks to the moral support of closed ones, and to my determination (I am not the kind of person that easily gives up), I did it. Cherry on the cake, my ex-professor generously agreed to review the language of the peer-reviewed version of my chapter at the last minute (with an outrageous four-day notice) all this while traveling with limited internet access...
The book got published the following year, six years after that infamous TOEFL exam. That book opened other doors for me in the field of diaspora (especially media articles, conference invitations, and startup work). But this is another story!
Once again (this time publicly), a big 'thank you' to my former Columbia University Professor Maria (Maria Fisher), for her teaching, her generosity, the potential she saw in me (and made me see), and the world she opened for me.
CONNECTING THE DOTS
Connecting the dots backwards (and in an honest fashion) is a way to realise what led us to where we are/were. In this case, the key for me entailed being curious (especially, seeing beyond the appearances), listening to my intuition, and (action!) following my bliss. But it also required work and endurance.
I have always loved words, as far as I can remember. As a child and teenager, I keenly wrote stories and full-of-humour school journal articles; and as a student and professional I wrote reports (more or less enthusiastically - depending on the context). But I did not think of myself as an author - until I attended that class.
Without my 'insufficient' test results, and without the English class I was forced to take, I likely wouldn't have gotten knowledgeable about diasporas. I might not have learned the rules for academic writing (which are very different from writing a press article, or a LinkedIn article, for that matter). And I might have not accepted the invitation to write that I was later offered (out of lack of self-confidence).
I could have grumbled about that mandatory class and/or I could have done the bare minimum (just to pass). By being curious, seeing the opportunity in what seemed to be a defeat, and following what brought me joy (my bliss), I found a way to make this course a positive experience for me. And that experience led to something I did not expect at all.
Even (especially ?) in desperate situations, there might be treasures. The little drama (more of a disappointment and ego injury than anything else) about this mandatory English class, was a cute example of that... But I definitely could have missed the gift! Retrospectively, the toughest times of my life have given way to the best gifts.
There was no way for me to know that academics at the Lebanese university I reached out to (AUB) were about to edit a book that I could contribute to. And I did not contact them with the intent of submitting my paper for publishing - I was simply (in a down-to earth fashion) looking for a job. The more 'rational' way to get published, was to submit my article to academic journals - which I did once (without success). I did not feel it was worth pushing the paper to journals, and did not do it. The editors of the book I was in touch with were not planning to cover diaspora matters (the topic was added precisely because I dared to share my ideas and interests to a person that happened to be working with one of the editors). I (thankfully) followed my instinct to share what I was passionate about to that university. The point was not to share my weirdo-passion with anyone and everyone. Trust me, when asked what I was working on or writing about, I commonly got reactions in the form of "diaspo-what?" Not everyone had the diaspora glasses through which I was now seeing the world.
Being published was not easy and it did not all just fall into my lap. I had to work towards it, without things being (at all) determined in advance. It was a lot about flexibility and seizing opportunities, and not about following some kind of step-by-step user manual ('what to do to get published').
In the end, yes, my diaspora knowledge, work and writings were what I see as a success. But no, it was not 'just' a series of successes. And no (hell no!) everything was not (at all) planned-out.
To be fair, all my achievements entailed failures on the way, and a bunch of my successes were unanticipated (not to say unhoped for). I see it as good news: I believe that in order to achieve anything that matters to you, you can fail on the way (actually, you must fail!). I also think that you do not need to know exactly where you want to go to move forward and achieve something! So... Be curious, listen to your intuition, follow your bliss, and go!
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PS : If you wish to go further, I tell more about the power of using your intuition when navigating your career in a piece entitled "Let your intuition guide you on your career path". (It is full of examples.)
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