When I was asked to speak at a recent TEDx Omaha Salon, I wanted to find a way to expand on the theme of last year’s TEDx talk. My coach, David Gillis challenged me to think more generally about how I felt working in innovation, and it opened some very interesting avenues.
I spent years selling inventions. I work at the University of Nebraska Medical Center, which produces inventions as varied and diverse as its faculty. It was hard work to understand their research. It took hours to accurately describe inventions, protect the intellectual property, or find potential partners. The hardest part, however, was when a potential partner said yes.
Because then they’d ask what it’s worth.
I quickly suspected that no one knew how to answer. An invention, not unlike a fine artwork, brownies at a bake sale, or even a used car, is worth what someone would pay. When negotiating a 30-page licensing deal for a portfolio of international patents, it felt a lot like the price on a used VW, not a possible cure for cancer. What was it worth? A number I’d mostly pulled out of the air.
Now pay up.
It was a valuable lesson. As a student, I looked to teachers or institutions to tell me I was smart. I looked to girls to tell me I was attractive. I looked to pastors to tell me I’m virtuous. I looked to friends to tell me I’m funny. Not unlike the invention, I wanted the market to set the price.
Marcus Aurelius, stoic philosopher and Roman emperor observed the same thing two thousand years ago “It never ceases to amaze me: we all love ourselves more than other people but care more about their opinion than our own.” When I read that quote, in the middle of my life, it hit me very differently. It was less the failing of virtue, or an abdication of autonomy. It was more of a learned behavior. When we want to know what something’s worth, when I don’t know what I’m worth, what does someone else think?
I see successful investors doing it: “I’ll invest in the startup once they prove to me people will buy the product”. I see seasoned professionals doing it: “this whole quarter’s a loss if I don’t hit my numbers”. I see kids doing it “I just want them to like me”. I see myself doing it: “I suck if I can’t impress this person/institution/client.”
It’s so easy to outsource our sense of value to the opinions of others.
But we all know it’s not true. Startups with early revenue can still fail. Companies can hit their numbers quarter after quarter until they collapse in scandal. Kids can impress the wrong friends. I think Marcus Aurelius’ observation was more about the difficulty of cultivating your internal sense of value: in yourself, in your work, or simply in the world around you.
Maybe our readiness to trust others’ opinions isn’t so amazing: it’s just easier.
It’s hard work to build the framework by which we measure our value. It requires reflection, study, and a detailed interrogation of different methods of finding value. It requires the courage to trust the value you find. It also requires the determination to get it wrong: enough times to start to get it right.
It also takes guts. If everyone tells you that thing you think is valuable is worthless: the artwork, friendship, fashion choice or abstract idea, then it takes supreme will and determination to look them in the eye and say:
“I respect your opinion, but I know what’s valuable.”
a candle, unlit 