THE NARRATIVE ARC

I Didn’t Want to Change the World, but the World Had Other Plans for Me

A small-scale life can still leave a meaningful imprint

When I graduated from business school 25 years ago, a group of my Stanford classmates made the cover of Time magazine.

Profiled in the feature story, “GetRich.com,” they were among a wave of Web entrepreneurs aspiring to change the world—and make piles of money. On the cusp of a new millennium, everyone was aptly partying like it was 1999. The future was finally here.

Except for me; I was too focused on the present. I had $52,000 in student loans to repay. Newly married, I also wanted to start saving for a house and kids. Shunning the risks of start-up life, I took a job as an analyst at the Gap, eager to take advantage of my employee discount.

I was never destined to dream big. My name, Paul, comes from the Latin word for small. The shortest kid in class, I couldn’t shake the redundant nickname “Small Paul.” On the soccer field, I always played defense, blocking shots instead of attempting my own.

Not surprisingly, as an adult, I played “small ball,” seeking dependable singles and walks versus swinging for the fences. With my career and money decisions, I exhibited the trademark discipline of my immigrant parents, who started with nothing and gradually accrued wealth through hard work and diligent investing.

My cautiousness also reflected a lack of self-confidence. Having enrolled at Stanford as a book editor, I spent my two years there simply learning the basics of business. Even with an MBA in hand, I felt ill-equipped to be a leader, let alone disrupt an industry. I was fine letting my savvier classmates become the next generation of corporate titans.

As I buried myself in spreadsheets, the dot-com bubble burst in 2000, dooming many of the ventures that had been featured in Time, followed by 9/11 and the 2008 financial crisis. Through the tumult, I kept a low profile and stayed the course. Mirroring the stock market, I had down days, but I learned and persevered, eventually rebounding and reaching new highs.

Slowly but surely, I rounded the bases, gaining confidence with each stride. Though I never became a business magnate or landed a magazine cover, I had my share of wins. With a mix of empathy and analytical know-how, I rose to the C-suite, took a company public, and helped to sell two others. Finding joy in people management, I nurtured leaders to follow in my footsteps.

More importantly, I paid off my student loans in 18 months and built a nest egg while remaining stubbornly frugal. I may not have changed the world, but I achieved something better: together with my wife, I created a space in which our two children could thrive.

Today, as I sit in retirement, work and family demands have receded, exposing an expanse that beckons, What next? With my life more than half over, answering this question has added urgency.

As I brainstorm, I surprise my “Small Paul” self with grand ideas. Give a TED Talk? Start a foundation? Enter local politics? After years of playing not to lose, I wonder if this is finally the time to take some big swings.

I’m emboldened further by my commitment to pay forward what my parents have given me. Pioneers who crossed the ocean, they sacrificed everything to enable me to lead a fulfilling life. To expand upon their legacy, though, I know I have to do far more than provide security for my family. My actions and influence must radiate outward.

I need only look to my wife for inspiration; a seasoned educator, she’s spent her entire career helping students make sense of their world. With both of our college-age sons also considering teaching careers, it’s my turn to find a higher purpose.

Embarking on my quest, I focus on two areas of passion: running and Asian leadership. Despite my intent to do “bigger” things, I notice I’m drawn most to opportunities to coach. With running, I pace trainees for the Oakland Marathon and teach the sport to fourth- and fifth-graders. On the leadership side, I mentor Asian professionals in tech, helping them to find their voice, and host forums that bring together Stanford Asian alumni. The human connections energize me.

However, as my calendar fills up and I engage in a whirlwind of activities, concerns nag at me. Am I generating the impact that I seek? How do I know if what I’m doing is big enough? Fatigue also sets in, reflecting my age and the cost of juggling so many pursuits. Unable to do more, I surmise I must be going about my mission all wrong.

While on a trail run with my friend San, I share my fears that I’m failing at my second act. After listening to me prattle on, he challenges my framing of the situation. A classically trained musician, he describes how he approaches a piece one note at a time, savoring the beauty of that moment and allowing the act of performance itself to serve as his purpose.

He’s right. There was that time I cheered on the smallest girl in my running class as she finally climbed the hill without stopping. I recall a mentee describing his excitement after he followed my advice on how to speak to an executive with confidence. While I’ll never know if the people I coach achieve full success in life, my encouraging words have meaning and resonance.

After a lifetime of “playing small,” I still don’t fully appreciate that my many little actions add up. Coaching a person even for a brief moment has compounding effects, generating positive ripples elsewhere in their life and in the lives of people around them.

As San and I negotiate the trail, I notice the small impressions that my feet make in the dirt. Though barely perceptible, my imprint is there, ready to be felt and further shaped by those who come after me. All this time, I now realize, I’ve been altering the path of the world.

At the invitation of a colleague, I find myself at a poker party, a combination social and networking event in the heart of San Francisco’s start-up scene. As the luxury apartment fills with guests, many of whom are half my age, the buzz becomes deafening. It’s evident we’re on the brink of yet another tech-infused golden era.

Despite being welcomed with open arms, I can’t help but feel the meekness that harkens back to my business school days. I know little about AI and the other transformative technologies that dominate the evening’s chatter. Feeling small, I quietly focus on my cards.

My stacks of chips rise and fall, but thanks to carefully placed bets, I end the night with $50 in winnings. Even after splurging on an Uber ride home, I have money left over, which I happily tuck away for another day.