When I was in 6th grade, I had it all figured out. I was going to go to business school at the University of Pennsylvania. What happened after that was no big deal to me, but I set forth planning my path to victory.

The key roadblock I identified was my math learning trajectory. I was sure that I would have to take the best math classes available at my high school to get into the best college. I researched the math classes at my high school and learned that I would have to pass the algebra I placement exam to get into algebra II as a freshman and ultimately finish high school in the most advanced math class.

When I realized that I would not, under normal circumstances, learn algebra in my middle school, I initiated a plan to learn it myself. I talked with my math teacher at the time, Mr. Strock, and got to work. He ordered me an algebra textbook, and in the back of class a few days a week, I would work on algebra I problems. He would grade my assignments and help me with any issues I faced with the new concepts.

This continued throughout my 8th grade year until the math placement test the spring before starting high school.

It was a crisp spring day as I walked into the boxy, carpeted multi-purpose room at Brebeuf Jesuit, fans whirring on the 2-story ceiling above. Plain, circular tables were setup across the room with chairs for the placement test-takers. I signed in with the registration volunteer, grabbed my test, and took a seat.

I pulled back the opening page on the test booklet and looked at the first problem. Factoring binomials! I had just worked on this the previous week. Bingo.

I continued through the test, not knowing everything, but feeling confident about most of the material.

I finish, turn in the test and leave. For the next week I was the first to check the mail when I got home, searching for a letter from school. Eventually, I received one that said I passed the test and placed into Algebra II! Operation math wizard was all going according to plan.

Plans vs reality (or rigidity vs adaptability)

There's a great quote on positioning and advantage from Herbert Goldhammer as shown in Good Strategy, Bad Strategy, by Richard Rumelt:

Two masters trying to defeat each other in a chess game are during a large part of the game, likely to be making moves that have no immediate end other than to "improve my position." One does not win a chess game by always selecting moves that are directly aimed at trying to mate the opponent or even at trying to win a particular piece. For the most part, the aim of a move is to find positions for one's pieces that (a) increase their mobility, that is, increase the options open to them and decrease the freedom of operation of the opponent's pieces; and (b) impose certain relatively stable patterns on the board that induce enduring strength for oneself and enduring weakness for the opponent. If and when sufficient positional advantages have been accumulated, they generally can be cashed in with greater or less ease by tactical maneuvers (combinations) against specific targets that are no longer defensible or only at terrible cost. (Rumelt 111) (Herbert Goldhammer, "The Soviet Union in a Period of Strategic Parity," RAND R-889-PR, November 1971, 7, quoted by Watts, "Why Strategy?" 5.)

I realized that the best I could do is position myself as well as possible for the future, but not guarantee that future.

My master plan ended up morphing quite a bit over the next 4 years. I shifted from tractor-beam lock on business school to intense enthusiasm in science and engineering. I was taken with the idea that you could understand, predict and potentially exploit the laws of physics to accomplish great feats of engineering that had an impact on the world.

So I ended up becoming a chemical engineer at Purdue.

But without the initial plan of going to business school that made me accelerate my math learning, I may not have been positioned quite right to be an engineer. I might not have been surrounded by the same classmates with an enthusiasm for math and science that helped spark my own.

Though I didn't know I would become an engineer, each choice along the way set my future self up to become one.

The twists and turns of reality morphed my ultimate destination, but my goal in the moment to get better set me up to take advantage of the opportunities that revealed themselves.

I can't predict the future. I can't guarantee where I'll be in ten years. But I can wholeheartedly pursue something I care about.

If I keep doing that, maybe—just maybe—I will end up somewhere better than I could have imagined.

That has certainly been the case so far.

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