What does it feel like to have Imposter Syndrome?

What does it feel like to have imposter syndrome?

I was raised in rural, very rural, Idaho, born into a converted chicken coop. My mom emphasized learning and doing your homework—so I got good grades as we moved 6–7 times in six years. My parents divorced angrily, my mom remarried, joined a strict religion, and I went to public high school. My first experience with imposter syndrome trickled in during high school. I would hide my grades to avoid the teasing and egghead jokes. I had two options for college and, with my mom’s urging, went to Stanford instead of a local school.

There I had my second semi-conscious wrestling with imposter syndrome. Going to school with the sons of business tycoons and Presidential candidates, the graduates of exclusive private schools back East, I often felt in over my head. I was awed by the whole experience: California, polished students, Nobel prize winning faculty, the “worldly” environment of the late ‘60’s, in contrast with my very strict religion. I left after a year and a half to serve a religious mission in Southeast Asia, another very overwhelming experience, and returned to graduate in a total of 3.5 years “with great distinction” what other schools call “summa cum laude.” In retrospect, I was still very naive.

After graduating with no idea about what I wanted to do, I started and stopped a doctoral program, got an MBA, went to work for a California bank, and then went to Harvard Business School to study human behavior in organizations. One of my cohort mates had been raised reading the Wall Street Journal as a teen; he was much more wise to the whole world than I was by far. The faculty had written the books I was studying. One professor had been on the cover of Time Magazine as one of the nation’s best teachers; and he actually took me under his wing. I was, again, “in over my head.” Awed by the school, the faculty, my classmates, Boston, and the awareness of my modest background. One of the pillars in my field chaired my doctoral committee, I graduated still stinging from some of the comments in my defense, and was hired at HBS to teach—to be on that faculty.

I attended a conference in Los Angeles, got in a minor discussion by the presenter in a session, and two months later was invited to interview at the University of Virginia by the man who’d been sitting beside me at the conference—whom I didn’t know. I also didn’t know where Charlottesville was. The interviews deeply impressed me—they asked about me and my family not just what I had published yesterday. The town was much more “manageable” to me than the greater Boston area. The teaching environment was just like HBS’s only on a more “manageable” scale. I felt “at home.” I talked with my department chair, a very famous man in my field, and he predicted I’d make associate but probably not full—like 90% of HBS untenured faculty. In the meantime, a colleague who’d come up for tenure didn’t make it and went home and killed himself. That was a shock. I thought I didn’t want to be in a position where the reputation of the school was more important than life itself.

So I resigned my six year appointment (I was told no one had ever done that before), and went to Virginia. And been very happy that I did. Those who stayed at HBS and succeeded did so gloriously. They are/were great scholars and teachers and consultants. Many of those who didn’t stick at HBS, came later as candidates to UVA—known like HBS for its case method. None of them were hired—for a variety of reasons. My 38 years at UVA Darden School have been wonderful—widely varied experiences, multiple assignments, great colleagues, wonderful lifestyle. I admire those on the HBS faculty. Actually one colleague and good friend who wasn’t promoted at Darden is teaching now at HBS—the odd circle of life.

Despite an active, productive, successful career and becoming a chaired professor with a classroom named after me, I look at my Darden colleagues and am deeply impressed with who they are and what they have accomplished. So the “imposter syndrome” lingers. In my heart, I’m a rough-hewn, snot-nosed kid from Idaho where my father taught me to shoot, fish, and field dress a large animal. On paper, I’ve traveled the world, had Fortune 5 companies as clients, published 18+ books, 300+ cases and technical notes, and given standing ovation presentations at professional conferences. In the end (71 now), I conclude that the big divider in the world is simply this: Do Your Homework the best you can. Every homework assignment is a brick in the house of your future. Every assignment not done or lazed through is an empty space in that brick wall. Do your best every time. Take the best opportunities you can. And when you get there, be awed, learn from those around you as fast as you can, acknowledge your insecurities, and then note with clarity—you are here, you made it, do your homework. And in my experience, it will turn out okay—better than okay.

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