How Will You Measure Your Life?. Clayton Christensen
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myself in a field of thousands of job applicants if I knew the field of economics and business. So I studied economics as an undergraduate student at BYU and also at Oxford. Then I pursued my MBA at Harvard.
At the end of my first year in the MBA program, I applied for a summer position at the Wall Street Journal. I never got a reply. I was crushed, but an internship at a consulting firm emerged. It wasn’t the Wall Street Journal, but I knew that I could learn a lot by helping clients solve really interesting problems, and I hoped that would make me even more attractive to the Journal. Another consulting firm then offered to pay the full cost of my second MBA year if I would take a postgraduation job with them. We were so broke that I decided to accept it—thinking that I could keep learning about business, and then break loose to start my career with the Journal. This was my emergent strategy.
Unfortunately for my deliberate plan to be the Journal’s editor, I loved the consulting work I was doing. But after five years there, just as Christine and I were deciding it was time to start my real career as a journalist, a friend of mine knocked on my door and asked me to start a company with him. The prospect of starting my own business, facing the challenges myself I’d spent the last few years solving with my clients, really excited me. I just jumped at the chance. Besides, if I could tell the editors of the Journal that I had actually founded and run a company, I might be an even better pick for the path to editorship.
We took our company public in mid-1987, shortly before Black Monday. On one hand, we were lucky: we managed to raise capital before the stock market crashed. But from a different point of view, our timing was terrible. Our shares dropped from $10 to $2 in a single day. Our market capitalization became so low that no big institutions would put money into our company. We had planned on being able to raise another round of investment to fund our plan for growth. But without that funding, we became vulnerable. One of our initial investors sold his shares to another venture capitalist, and this sale gave the second venture capitalist enough shares to be in charge of our future. He wanted his own CEO in the top job—and I was fired.
I didn’t know it at the time, but this triggered stage three of my emergent strategy.
Several months before I got fired, I had talked with a couple of senior professors at Harvard Business School about another possibility that had been in the back of my mind: whether being a professor was something that I’d be good at. Both had said that I might. So I stood at a fork in the road. Was this the time when I should finally pursue my original deliberate strategy of becoming editor of the Wall Street Journal? Or should I try academia? I talked to an additional couple of professors about this, and on the Sunday evening of the very week I had lost my job, one of them called and asked if I would come in the next day. He announced that although the academic year had already started, they had gone out on a limb for me and made the highly unusual decision to admit me to their PhD program then and there. Less than a week after I had been fired, at age thirty-seven, I was a student once more. Emergent strategy again preempted my deliberate path.
Sometime after I finished my doctorate and started my job as a professor, I faced head-on the need to get tenure. At that point, I thought through the fact that although academia had come into my life through an emergent door, in my heart and mind I needed to make this new path my deliberate strategy. To succeed in this arena, I realized I needed to truly focus on it. So that’s what I did.
Now, at age fifty-nine and after a twenty-year career in academia, I still wonder occasionally whether it is finally time to try to become editor of the Wall Street Journal. Academia became my deliberate strategy—and will stay that way as long as I continue to enjoy what I’m doing. But I have not twisted shut the flow of emergent problems or opportunities. Just as I never imagined thirty years ago I’d end up here, who knows what might be just around the corner?
What Has to Prove True for This to Work?
Of course, it’s easy to say be open to opportunities as they emerge. It’s much harder to know which strategy you should actually pursue. Is the current deliberate strategy the best course to continue on, or is it time to adopt a different strategy that is emerging? What happens if ten opportunities present at once? Or if one of them requires a substantial investment on your part just to find out whether it’s something that you’re going to enjoy? Ideally, you don’t want to have to go through medical school to figure out you don’t want to be a doctor. So what can you do to figure out what has the best chance of working out for you?
There’s a tool that can help you test whether your deliberate strategy or a new emergent one will be a fruitful approach. It forces you to articulate what assumptions need to be proved true in order for the strategy to succeed. The academics who created this process, Ian MacMillan and Rita McGrath, called it “discovery-driven planning,” but it might be easier to think about it as “What has to prove true for this to work?”
As simple as it sounds, companies seldom think about whether to pursue new opportunities by asking this question. Instead, they often unintentionally stack the deck for failure from the beginning. They make decisions to go ahead with an investment based on what initial projections suggest will happen, but then they never actually test whether those initial projections are accurate. So, they can find themselves far down the line, adjusting projections and assumptions to fit what is actually happening, rather than making and testing thoughtful choices before they get too far in.
Here’s how the flawed process usually works.
An employee or a group of employees come up with an innovative idea for a new product or service; they’re enthusiastic about their idea, and they want their colleagues to be, too. But to convince senior management of the idea’s potential, they need to come up with a business plan. They are acutely aware that for management to approve the project, the numbers had better look good—but the team often won’t really know how customers will respond to the idea, what the true costs will turn out to be, and so on. So they guess—they make assumptions. Frequently, planners are sent back to the drawing board to change their guesses. But this is rarely because they have learned new information; instead, innovators and middle managers typically know how good the numbers have to look in order for their proposal to get funded, so they often need to cycle back and “improve” their guesses in order for the proposal to get the go-ahead.
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