If nothing else, I knew I would come out of the experience with two things: (a) a piece of paper in my hand that said I was a smart person and (b) a whole lotta debt. Both of these things turned out to be true. But that was about the extent to which my premonitions and preconceptions held water. Time and again, something about the experience would surprise me, and I remain now in awe of not only how much my feelings about b-school evolved, but how much I evolved. In no particular order, then, I offer the most valuable concepts, ideas, skills, and learnings I take away from my four semesters in New Haven, CT:

• As math subjects go, an understanding of statistics must rank close behind basic algebra in highest usefulness-in-daily-life-to-mental-effort-required ratio. It’s amazing to read websites like fivethirtyeight.com now and actually understand how those graphs were produced. And if that’s not practical enough for you, decision analysis can shed light onto even the most intransigent dilemmas by identifying dominated (i.e., foolish) strategies and helping to organize one’s thinking. A tool that I will use for the rest of my life.
• Program evaluation is not rocket science. All it requires you to do is to apply logic relentlessly, a skill that does take some practice. A class on ethics and human behavior taught us that the only reliable way to counteract persistent biases, such as overconfidence, is to ask oneself at critical junctures: “how could I be wrong?” This is what program evaluators, good ones anyway, do at every step of the process. It’s so simple, but it can save you a world of remorse down the line.
• The teaching of introductory economics needs serious reform. I have written about this at length, but having taken additional coursework in the subject and witnessed a global financial meltdown since my original rants, I now feel quite confident in saying that externalities and behavioral analysis should occupy a much more prominent role in the discussion, and that normative judgments about policy should be taken out. Free markets with perfect information, perfect competition, and rational actors are the exception, not the rule.
• Most of us are far too risk-averse. As a simple example: have you ever been really attracted to someone but decided not to ask them out because you were afraid of getting rejected? It’s silly, right? What, exactly, are the consequences of getting rejected? How is it worse than not asking in the first place? Take this thought and apply it to your job, a fundraising ask, an application to school — you name it. Make sure the risks you’re avoiding are actually risks, and not just fears in disguise.
• When it comes to negotiation, it’s amazing what difference a little planning makes. Knowing exactly what your preferences are and thinking about what concessions you’re prepared to make–and not–beforehand will equip you with the tools you need to guide the conversation toward an optimal conclusion. This little lesson can be applied to almost any kind of negotiation, not just the usual suspects like big business deals or bargaining at the flea market.
• Presentation matters. It really does. Oh sure, it doesn’t matter as much as content, at least in the long run. The thing is, presentation is a part of your content. That’s why it matters.

As much as I’ve learned from business school, perhaps the most profound lesson I take away is how much I still don’t know. In 2006, I knew a hell of a lot about choral music, the history of experimental rock ensembles, who’s who in the American classical composer social hierarchy, and where to find hassle-free street parking in New York City. At the time, that seemed like a pretty decent chunk of stuff to know a hell of a lot about. I now know that it’s about 0.00000000001% of the full extent of human knowledge and achievement. After two years in business school, I can now claim a passing conversance with, oh, maybe 0.00000000003%. Which, you know, is triple what I knew before — and still BARELY ANYTHING.

On the other hand, I now have tools to help me make decisions and manage in situations even when I don’t have all the information. I know how to figure out what questions I must ask in order to get to the answers I need. I know how to surround myself with people who know more than I do about particular subjects so that I don’t have to keep reinventing the wheel. And most importantly, I can feel secure in the knowledge that, for as long as I live, I will never stop learning new things. And that is a great gift.

At noon on Saturday I asked Michael and Curtis: “With only $20, how will you survive for the weekend — from now, until Monday morning?” (Curtis and I agreed to exempt rent. It was hard enough using $20 to meet food and personal needs — Michael would never figure out how to squat.) Michael wouldn’t sleep at Curtis’s place — he stayed at the Four Seasons, but to his credit, he hung out in Curtis’s neighborhood.

It’s not long before Michael finds himself flummoxed with the realities of life below the poverty line. In particular, he is incredulous at the dearth of options for healthy eating (fruit comes in cans because people don’t always have access to a fridge, for example). Throughout the course of the weekend, Curtis dispenses street wisdom in a similar vein:

“Why not stay at a shelter?” Michael asked.

“Not enough of them around,” Curtis replied. “And you have to be out by 6 a.m. If you got kids, you can’t take them out in the cold. So you stay in a store, or you stay in a vacant building. And no more food kitchens since the projects went down. Not a lot for poor people.”

Curtis then took out a cigarette. “See this? Always have a loose cigarette. You can always use a bathroom in somebody’s house — maybe even get a shower — for one. Maybe your kid took a dump in his pants. Maybe you need some toilet tissue. Always keep a cigarette for emergencies.”

I grew up in what I would characterize as a lower middle class household. My family always had everything we needed, but rarely everything we wanted. Thanks to generous financial aid programs and good test scores, I was able to attend two outstanding private schools from 7th grade through college for a tiny fraction of the cost of tuition. In both of these institutions, I was among a minority of students who received any financial aid at all. Following graduation, I worked several nonprofit arts jobs in Philadelphia and New York, going for a period of time without health insurance, and never achieving more than a break-even budget. In 2005 and 2006, I was supporting a very active performing ensemble that drained, even after donations and grant support, up to $5,000 a year from my already meager coffers. I learned how to avoid social situations that required me to buy drinks at a bar, or involved eating out at a restaurant more than once a month. I took girls on dates to pizza places. I enjoyed living in New York, but it was an incredibly draining experience, principally because I couldn’t really afford it. At any given time, I felt excluded from about 90% of what the city had to offer because of my financial situation. So I made do with the remaining 10% as best I could and tried to smile.

Though my upbringing was modest in comparison to many of those around me, I am well aware that I have lived the lifestyle of a king by Curtis’s standards. In New York, I lived in safe neighborhoods with easy access to public transportation, amenities, and entertainment. I managed to avoid any long-term credit debt and paid down some of my student loans. I had a computer and furniture and clothes and a roof over my head. And I always knew that no matter what happened, even if things got really bad, there were many, many people I could turn to for help.

Michael met Lena, a 45-year-old woman with three children who works part-time at a fast-food restaurant. She agreed to let Michael observe her strategies to put food on the table and keep her family together. Michael offered to pay her a fee for a week of conversation. Lena said, “How about we exchange our paychecks for one month.” Michael turned bright red.

So I’m not surprised at Michael’s shock and discomfort while immersed in Curtis’s living environment. I feel that I can say with some confidence that it’s not possible to truly understand what it’s like to be resource-constrained until one has experienced it oneself. There’s a reason why Knowing what’s best for poor people is #62 on the list of Stuff White People Like. At the end of the weekend, Michael’s brilliant solution for how to survive for 48 hours on $20 was “buy $20 of Yahoo stock. Hope for the best.”

It’s certainly worth reading the entire blog post over at Freakonomics, but be sure to read the comment thread as well. I particularly enjoyed this gem:

Touché!