Goodbye to New York, a love letter.

Foreword: I had been drafting this letter to New York as a series of memories I have from my 4 years here. There 5 chapters are meant to offer a glimpse of what this city has meant to me. Unedited.

1. Arrival.
There are two apartments that I stayed in during my bright transition time between college and my first job. Those days, anything felt possible. The future felt so bright and limitless, each new experience sweeter than the last. One of those apartments was my cousin’s home in London and the second was my friend and mentor Sunny’s apartment in Union Square.

I arrived in the dark on a cold night in March, but I could see the bright red-orange walls from the light the open door cast from the hallway. It was unlike any other apartment I had ever seen in New York. I fell in love with it immediately. I picked the corner on the L shaped orange leather couch to read and a little white poodle emerged from a bedroom to greet me. She barked at me until I pet her and she settled herself into my calf.

New York’s skyline glittered outside the windows along two walls of the apartment. As I stood up, the little dog wandered back into the darkness. I climbed out onto their terrace, amazed that even over 14th street I couldn’t hear the traffic below. The city’s twinkling night made my heart burst. I cried as my heart overflowed with its brightness. I felt invincible.

I still believed in love at this point in my life. I loved myself with the glow of an old, steady friendship as I applied red lipstick in the apartment’s mosaic bathroom and prepared myself to disappear into the night, meeting friends at the Bowery hotel for a drink. There is magic in that kind of love, I never felt alone.

The apartment has changed a bit in the four years I’ve lived in New York. The orange leather couch came to live in my first apartment in Chelsea for two years before I moved to Brooklyn. It didn’t come with me to this new island, but found a new home through a family on Craigslist. Today some of the walls are white and others are Poppy red. Roxy, the poodle, is a little older now but still demanding pets. And there is still an unbridled joy I feel every time I stand on the terrace over 14th street staring out into glittering Manhattan. Every time I return for a visit, I remember the girl with the red lipstick in the mirror and those glittering nights where anything felt possible.

New York, you were among my first loves.

2. Addiction.
There was one night you made me feel like magic. It was a night I held on to and used to negotiate with myself for months after we fell apart and burst into flames.

The Friday night before you came to my apartment with flowers and a bottle of wine. I made Tinga, my favorite winter Mexican food dish, and you helped me by shredding the rotisserie chicken into smaller pieces. It was my least favorite task and I told you so. After dinner we sat on my couch, me at one end and you at the other, running your hands back through your hair repeatedly and leaning on your knees while I told you my immigration story. When my roommate and her boyfriend came home around midnight, they both looked started and rushed into her room as fast as possible. I was confused. We weren’t even touching, I was just telling you a story. You left around 2:30am, lingering in my doorway. I asked what you were doing the next day and invited you to a friend’s going away party and you said yes. Still you waited but I didn’t get up. Instead I saluted you from the couch and said goodnight, something we’d laugh about the next day. You shook your head and left.

So… what happened? My roommate asked the next morning. You could have cut the sexual tension with a knife last night. Oh? What? I replied. I never pick up on these things. She laughed at me, and I went to meet you. We sat next to each other at this party where I knew everyone and you just wanted to talk to me. You left for an hour to see your brother, then I met you outside Death & Co. in the East Village.

I made plans for us for dinner, you told me. No one had ever planned an adventure like this for me before. I always did the planning. Death & Co. wouldn’t let us in with your brother who tagged along. He offered to leave and I invited him to stay, we could go to a bar I loved on Avenue C instead. We sat in Evelyn talking about Sleep No More and you pulled out your phone and bought two tickets to take me with you to the 11:30pm show. I had a Moscow Mule and flirted with you, one eyebrow raised, curious.

We went to Momofuku and talked nervously, though I had been with you the night before. You paid for everything, even when I protested. We decided to walk to Chelsea, to the show, and I took your hand. You switched sides to walk on the side of the sidewalk near the cars. My mom told me this is how I should treat a woman. You said. I laughed.

We had to wait in the smoky bar before until we were called to go into the show. I bought you a sidecar and you sat down so close to me that my curves molded into your side. Your arm came around my back and pulled me by the waist, closer to you. I think you felt braver in the darkness, which would be true about us for our time together.

We went into the set and wandered around separately, then you started following me more closely. I wandered into one of the studies on the set. You followed me. We were alone. I backed into a desk. You stood in front of me staring behind your mask. I pulled mine off. So did you. We stared at each other for a heartbeat. Then you bent me back and kissed me. You hands slide their way from my rib cage down my back, holding my lower back and my waist and adjusting me so my lines complimented yours as you leaned over me. And then, quite suddenly, an actor appeared with the group following him and we were interrupted. I blushed in the darkness, pulled on my mask, and walked stiffly out of the room, your laughter following me.

As you caught up to me you said, let it be known, I didn’t want to stop, your whisper tickling my ear and sending a shiver down my spine. We stood in other rooms “watching” the show, but really just leaning our lines into each other, molding to one another in the darkness. Let’s go, you said. We just knew you were coming home with me, so our feet lead us there without either of us saying anything.

The rest of the evening is a blur. It was very quickly strange and confusing. Where we’d been so clearly on the same page for hours, we started to fall apart. I ignored it. So did you. We woke up in the morning tangled together, my head on your chest and your arm around me, your other hand over mine over you heart. You kissed my forehead. We were quiet and wrapped around each other for hours, my curtains thin enough to allow the sunlight to wash over us.

You said you needed to leave to go think. You would be gone for 6 weeks now, to Australia. But curled up on my couch we couldn’t bear to let go. Each time one of us stood, the other rushed to hold them. You kissed me and my heart melted through my stomach and onto the floor. I need to think. You said, kissing me softly on the forehead. But I’ll come back soon. It wont be that long. You promised, maybe to reassure both of us. And then you left and I sat back down on the couch, alone, missing you in a way that was already a burning white light.

New York, I was addicted to you and sometimes couldn’t stop, even when I knew I should.

3. Complexity.
The morning after the Florida nightclub shooting I walked 45 minutes from my apartment in Clinton Hill to Gowanus for a CreativeMornings event. It was already a hot summer day at 8am, the concrete under my feet heat the leather of my sandals with each step. The news had knocked the wind out of me when I woke up and read the headline on my phone. I started imagining the horrible headlines Breitbart would draft, spinning this already terror inducing election cycle even further out of control. This tragedy felt like a bad omen and I was desperate to shake it off. Every time I felt my panic rise, I walked a little faster.

I arrived in the beautiful light space for the event and took a deep breath in the doorway to steady myself. The audience was a very specific subset of New York; people flowed between the tables and around each other light brightly colored water. Small groups gathered all around the site holding white paper cups of steaming coffee and gesticulating animatedly. The general buzz of this gathering held much more light than the twisting fear in my stomach. My former intern Brian appeared out of the crowd. ‘Hey Diana!’ he said, in his ever eager and abrupt way. ‘I saved you a seat!’

We sat down in the second row just as the founder and CreativeMorningsNYC host Tina Roth Eisenberg stood to introduce the musical opener, Amy Vachal. As Amy quietly started strumming her guitar, I felt my shoulders settle down my back. Each breath became a little deeper and longer. The dread’s long fingers started releasing my heart, one spindly finger at a time. Amy’s voice reset the tone for the rest of my day. I settled into her music, touching the depth of my sadness. My face was frozen in the way I’d perfected from many years of pulling on my titanium shell to do the work I needed to do every day, but tears streamed out of the corners of my eyes and into my lap.

Amy Vachal at Creative Mornings.

In this moment, in this chapel of light in Gowanus, I was allowed to break for a moment, leave behind the emotional weight of my fear and swim back up towards the light. This too seemed like an omen and I felt a little safer.

New York, you showed me what it meant to sit with many different emotions at the same time. You showed me how intense sorrow and hope and joy could sit at a table together without yelling over each other.

4. Fighter.
I withered into my seat in the TED Theatre on election night. The polls reporting from Virginia were astonishingly close. Pennsylvania was ok for now, but the Midwest was going red. The prediction meter on the New York Times site that had called for a comfortable Hillary win earlier that day swung off into the deep red and called the election for Trump. My office, earlier full of excitement, turned into a ghost town as people went home to manage their shock. I thought of my two coworkers at the Javits center, now leaking the depth of their despair through their twitter accounts.

I started the day early: I went to vote around 8am, picked up my I voted sticker, and took a selfie on the sidewalk, posting to my Facebook about my excitement that I was able to vote for the first female presidential candidate to make it this far. This morning was the first time in the election cycle that I was excited about Hillary. That should have been my warning sign. Poll after poll closed, calling the election for Trump.

In that nearly empty theatre on Election Night 2016, filled with shock and horror, I heard that Arpaio had been voted out of office in Arizona. I stood up and felt the light in my heart flicker back to life. They did it! All of the amazing organizers fighting for more than 20 years in Arizona had removed Arpaio from power peacefully in Arizona! If there is hope in Arizona, we will be ok, I told myself. As I went home in a subway car filled with the silence of a funeral, I held my head high and gave myself permission to recover quietly this evening and regroup for tomorrow.

Keep your hope, I wrote on my Facebook before I went home that night. We’ll all need it tomorrow and for the next four years. Protect your heart and your mind. It will keep you stronger.

On November 9th, 2016, I woke up ready to organize.

New York, you healed the fighter in my heart.

5. This is where I leave you.
This spring I was a twisted, broken bird in the ashes. I sprinted through a tough full time job, my Ph.D. applications, and hid in my ceramics studio to avoid looking too closely at all the chapters of my life that were dying around me, like plants cared for by the wrong gardener for too long. May 2016 to May 2017 was a year of denial, of avoidance, of “keep going, just get the work done, then you can heal your heart.” I woke up May 1, 2017, broken and more exhausted than I thought my heart could ever begin to handle.

From the ashes, I looked back up at the sky and smiled. I acknowledged that this was the breaking point I needed to hit so I could shed the excess things I carried. I was broken, but I could heal. It was a gift. I left behind a lifetime of “should” and a conformity that choked me to death. I was left with a road I was going to define on my own. I smiled when it hurt most, because it meant I was growing. I was free.

In just a few weeks of the shedding and embracing the brokenness, I found a happiness in my heart that I hadn’t seen for years. I woke up uncertain of what the day would hold, ready to read my energy and where my excitement took me to work through projects with love instead of obligation. I fell in love. With myself. With a new city. With a new person. I told all of my loves, be gentle with me, I am broken and finding my light again. Please be nurturing and gentle. Right now my heart is weak though my dreams, like bright white light, are strong. And my loves arrived with a patience unlike anything I’ve seen before.

I woke up one morning in this new city that held my heart and decided to get the tattoo I carried on my phone for years. I sat in a café eating breakfast – a traditional German spread – and selected a local tattoo artist from the Berlin listings in Inked Magazine. I rode a crowded bus listening to Thomas Rhett’s “T-Shirt” on repeat and then a train to Mitte, showing up in the studio just as the man who would paint Picasso’s le Moineau (1907) into my left wrist was trying to leave for the day. He grumbled when I asked if he would do it, there and then, but when he learned I was from Mexico City, he said yes with new kindness, in Portuguese. In this new city that held my heart, I lay on my back on a table speaking Spanish while the artist spoke Portuguese with an accent from his native Sao Paulo, and in 10 minutes, I left with a love letter to myself etched in my skin. My sparrow is all of the complexity, beauty and sorrow of life in its simplest, most elegant form. Everything I love about this image is true in the reasons I love math and a beautiful equation. I am defined by my terms and no one else’s. I can no longer hide from this truth.

I returned to, and now prepare to leave New York, knowing this city pushed me to my limits, left me broken in my ashes, and ready to chase my dreams. I loved, felt my heart shatter more than a few times, and learned what it feels like to heal completely. Thank you, city that was among my first loves. You were not the one for me, but you gave me so many things I never imagined I’d receive.

New York, you were among my first loves.

Books & Talks That Made Me Think: 2015

I’ve always loved books, but this year I’ve had the added pleasure of working on some of the talks coming through TED. Here are a few of the moments that I’ve been pushed the most in the last year:

Marie Curie and Her Daughters: The Private Lives of Science’s First Family: I just finished reading this profile of Marie Curie and her incredibly family. I had not fully appreciated the context of the scientific discoveries that Marie, Pierre, Irene and Frederic made during their research lives… especially with a backdrop like the Great Depression and two World Wars. It is incredible how much of their research is still relevant today and how much bullshit Marie Curie and Irene had to endure due to gender rules in France, barring women from important roles in the science community during this time period. I was inspired by the entire Curie family’s defense of pure research and commitment to continuing with their work, through sickness and war and financial trouble.

Monica Lewinsky talked about the Price of Shame at TED2015: This was one of the first talks I supported with research when I first joined TED. While most of my notes did not end up in the final copy, it kicked off a journey into research on clickbait economies (I jokingly refer to this research as studying “how internet trolls make money”) that I still think about now. She is phenomenally brave and reminds our larger communities that this is the time for kindness. I remember this responsibility when I decide what to consume on the internet.

Thomas Piketty’s Capital in the 21st Century: I am still in process of reading this book, but it is so thoughtful and thought-provoking that when I finish each chapter, I have to take a pause to write pages of notes for continued research to dig into later. I’ve long wondered how Capitalism needs to change to adapt to new historical periods and contexts… how it would need to adapt to work outside the “West” (Hernando de Soto has some interesting thoughts about this). Piketty raises some very important questions about the nature of wealth and income, and how those who start with an advantage end with a serious advantage. This all feels particularly important after Larry Lessig’s campaign on Campaign Finance Reform…

Which also leads to Larry Lessig’s talk about Campaign Finance and American Democracy at TEDxMidAtlantic. Nothing is more chilling than sitting in a room and having someone brilliant on the stage present a case of corruption happening right around you… that you’ve grown so accustomed to accepting that you cannot see another way around it. It’s a moment of feeling helpless and restless and broken… but Lessig also makes you ready to rally for change. It was the first time since writing my thesis about corruption in Colombia’s government (and how cartels invest in political campaigns) that I felt ready to jump back into the mix. Let’s see some campaign finance reform, because the Citizens United case CANNOT be the end of American Democracy as we know it.

I saw Spotlight this week with my family, and after the initial deep despair it causes, knowing how long these child abuse cases were buried by the church in the city that I grew up in (among so many other cities) and how deeply this has damaged the lives of so many people (the movie cities 249 abusive priests and 1000+ victims that came forward after the article in the Boston Globe exposing the cover up of abusive priests in Boston in 2002 was published), I went home and subscribed to the Boston Globe, NPR, New York Times, and other papers tackling investigative reporting. It turns out, this phenomenon is not unique to the Catholic Church, but it happens in a handful of other communities, where “speaking against other members” is met with violence and silence. Without a steady support based, they cannot continue this type of research. I am proud to support investigative reporting, we need much more of it and the journalism industry as we know it is in real trouble financially. We cannot lose this quest for the truth as we are pushed further and further towards consumable media in the form of clickbait.

Palak Shah’s talk at the Personal Democracy Forum was about protecting contract laborers and adapting labor structures to meet new demands on the work force this year. It was stirring and offers us a clear opportunities to protect workers in this new age of the Sharing Economy. I know I thought a lot about conditions she described while deciding how and when to use apps like Handy and AirBnb, among others. My roommate and I went so far as to only use Handy to meet workers that we could hire later (except we paid the worker directly instead of waiting for the worker to take only the small percentage offered to them by Handy). I send this to everyone I know who wants to talk about the Labor Question.

The Art of Communication was a book I stumbled across while taking a weekend to wander alone through Soho and collect myself. I had a really tough summer trying to navigate a break up and make sense of my grandfather’s fight with cancer/how my family was reacting to it. I needed to be alone and re-center myself… and when I found this book, I learned to find more space in my heart for compassion towards myself and the people around me. The writing is gentle and kind… perfect when you need the verbal equivalent of a hug.

Esther Perel’s Rethinking Infidelity… a talk for anyone who has ever loved at TED2015 was another moment that helped me find more compassion in my heart… towards myself. She talks about the issues we run into in modern marriage and pressure on relationships, but when I listen to it I also heard about the permission many of us refuse to grant ourselves to accept that we will change and want different things and should explore who we are. It was a moment where I fully committed to writing “my own rules.” It has also made me a better, more communicative and direct partner because I know what I need to protect in myself and where I want to, and need to grow. This was a real gift.

Patti’s Smith’s The M Train is a journey through time and travel with one of my favorite writers. She inspired some of the structure in the guidebook I built for my boyfriend this christmas. I loved exploring her experiences through her writing, and see what it meant to her to spend time alone. I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to be truly comfortable and alone. This, for me, linked back to the conversations I was having about defining my own rule book. I have always admired how unapologetically herself she is.

Finally, I learned a lot from the 27 writers who wrote for the Eccentric Guide to New York that I built this fall. It was fun to see how friends had carved out their own spaces in the city and catch glimpses of them finding themselves. I loved seeing the city through other people’s eyes. Sometimes I forget how magical it is to live here, and I had the opportunity to put this together for someone who was just exploring the city for his first year here offered me a new way to explore my environment.

Tell me about your favorite talks.

Something I’ve noticed over time, when I ask people about their favorite TED Talks or they ask me about mine, is that the ones that we remember and love most are often on subjects that we have spent time exploring, even just peripherally.

It’s a magical moment — when a speaker says something and crystalizes an idea or concept you’ve been exploring but had trouble explaining in concrete terms. It’s a moment of camaraderie. That talk becomes more than just a talk — it’s your connect, your tool, to explain a concept you care about. Sometimes it offers you a step into further exploration, sometimes it’s a moment of comfort, the wow I’m not crazy! moment, and other times it’s the push in a direct you needed to take your thinking that lets you take the next big risk in your adventure.

This was clearest to me when I was standing on the sidewalk outside the Town Hall theatre on Monday after TEDTalks Live: The Education Revolution. I was with three friends, none of whom had attended a live TED event before. The format, for them, had been a series of individual talks, rather than the curated sessions that weave content together in ways meant to inspire the audience to weave ideas together with their own analysis and reactions.

One friend, like me, was most deeply moved by Nadia Lopez. Her own work reflected so many of the passionate late night conversations that we had had about education and the teachers who inspired us. Another friend who works in TV for kids was interested in what Sam Kass had to say about nutrition and attention. And my last friend was glowing after Salman Khan’s talk about education by mastery rather than “passing grades.” After Khan’s talk, he promised aloud, I am going to write that essay that’s been in my head about this!  He said this again on the sidewalk and again a few days later, when the talk had stayed with him.

These talks are beautiful to us long after we see them live because we connect to them and a little light inside our minds stays lit, offering a new point of orientation for ideas and further exploration. It’s about so much more than that short introduction to the speaker’s world and work. It’s about giving you a new stepping stone and the courage to keep exploring in your own right.

This is why I love TED Talks.

Song of the Twenty Something

Sometimes I think about my time in New York City and think about my life as a ribbon, like the ones from the elaborate May Day dances around May poles that I watched when I was little. My thread moves around and twists into a whole mix of different colors, sometimes weaving into and weaving out of the fabric created by the dancers.

While I lived in Manhattan, my life was woven into a steady stream of carefully planned dinners and drinks with friends who worked in Capital C for CORPORATE jobs. The timelines were clear, the hours ground them into the ground, the bonuses served as a metric for their success. Time was scarce, time to think freely and ask interesting questions at work… even more scarce. Projects they wouldn’t have dreamed of working on as undergrads were justified with just a handful of words. A tense sort of existence and interaction with time dominated our conversations… and it was hard to tell when we were doing a good/bad job taking care of ourselves.

I moved to Brooklyn in June and soon the colors I was weaving into were more forgiving. They asked questions and explored concepts that didn’t have answers yet. My friends had day jobs, and learned the most from what their did in their own time. The questions they explored over dinner tables and hours in the public library, were more in line with my own thinking and desire to explore.

With this opportunity to reflect and collect myself again, I cracked. Pausing long enough in the doorway one evening after I had fully moved in, I collapsed into the bones and flesh in my body, finally tacking stock of the two years of damage from living in Manhattan. My metrics and expectations for myself were fucked up. I had to come to terms with that. The joy I had derived from exploring new questions and developing tools for difficult academic explorations… were finally acceptable again. Not having an answer was ok. I was free to build, anew.

I started to weave my life back into a world of artists and academics and explorers. People whose day jobs explained far too little about who they were, what they thought about, and what they wanted to do with their time. I was at home, once more. ‘What do you do now?’ meant so little.

University was the last time I found this freedom. A space where my academic pursuits devoured 3/4 of the day, but the last 1/4 was for me to do as I chose… and I chose, frequently, to build things.

What I loved about the Liberal Arts program at Yale was that people had these small points of interactions with people who were completely different from them where we built teams and shared thoughtful critique to help each other improve. My natural science requirements brought me in touch with more of the pure science students than my life did normally and I learned as much from them as I did the students who were on a similar technical trajectory in my political science/sociology/latin american studies programs. It meant recognizing my stronger points and weaker points immediately, and asking for help or advice regularly.

Perhaps the best part was that we were pushed to create and innovate. To develop our own projects, learn the practical skill set of executing projects and seeing them through to the end, evaluating our own results, asking for constant feedback, building and changing teams, developing product concepts and testing them… everything that has been so useful to me post college. It was food for the mind and the senses…. and such a necessary contrast to constant work in abstraction and academia.

I think this “side hustle” in extracurricular work prepared me most for the work force. Well, maybe that and experiment design from my academic work. I learned to play by doing and I learned to think by working with my peers in seminars and team based coursework.

For me, the balance I found in college, among the builders and the thinkers, was what kept me sane. I needed to play in both spaces with time to evaluate. I lost that sense of balance in Manhattan, amid the high profile, high focus jobs and culture and regained it in the fluidity of Brooklyn.

It taught me, most importantly, that the concept of “home” is so much more about the people and the pulse of thinking that I wanted to surround myself with. And sometimes that pulse comes in much less obvious forms that I had accepted when I first moved to New York. I am thoroughly enjoying this new exploration process.

Yale Tech Conference: Yale Looks To Boost Entrepreneurial Community

Yesterday, Yale Tech kicked off its first New York City based conference. The first Yale Tech event was a sold out 200 person conference in San Francisco with attendees coming all the way from Shanghai for the event. Yesterday was another nearly sold out event with ~100 people. Not bad for a school known for investing heavily in arts and humanities… and struggling with some of its science programs/attracting students interested in the sciences. [I should add that Yale is making a concentrated effort to reach out to STEM students and improve its programs.]

The content throughout the day was very strong. The morning kicked off with speakers from Yale Entrepreneurial Institute and Yale’s Computer Science Department, urging alumni to be more involved with some of the great projects happening on campus. One of the speakers pointed out that students (and alumni, myself included) frequently complain that Yale does not offer many programs that focus on “real world applications.” I know, at least for me, this was an issue when I was working through proposal for my thesis and looking for faculty support/editors to advise my work.

What started with HackYale‘s efforts to improve access to hard skills for our student body is now happening on a larger university level (we hope). HackYale started in 2012 as an effort by students (Will Gaybrick YLS’12, Bay Gross YC’13 and Miles Grimshaw YC’13) to introduce a programming curriculum into Yale’s offerings. The students working in the program originally taught programming skills to their classmates for free, but as the program grew, Yale started to pay student teachers for their time. Yesterday at Yale Tech, Gaybrick was speaking on a panel about investing (he is now a partner at Thrive Capital) and he added that more students had signed up for HackYale in the first two weeks than had graduated from the Computer Science Department in several years. In 2015, Yale and it’s alumni have decided to step in and make further improvements.

Yale’s Computer Science Department is also underfunded and staffed compared to many of the other schools within our network. Luckily, the university is making some efforts to grow this department and offer more immediately applicable programming courses for students. Alumni support for this move appeared during the conference under #YaleTech.

The conference hosted a series of industry leaders, including Henry Blodget [CEO and Co-Founder of Business Insider], Jennifer Fleiss [CEO, Rent-The-Runway], Kevin Delaney [Editor-in-Chief, Quartz] and Eddie Hartman [Co-Founder & Chief Product Officer, LegalZoom]. I have to applaud the content and conference director, Victor Wong, for getting nearly 50/50 male to female speakers for the event. I know from my own work at TED and formerly at TEDxYale that this is hard to do. [For many reasons, as June Cohen explained at TEDGlobal 2013]. The speakers were all very candid and shared valuable insight from their respective industries. During the course of the day, we covered everything from data driven sizing recommendations for high end women’s fashion to war stories from investing and mergers and acquisitions.

It was good to see the conversations go beyond technology and programming into other fields, like journalism, legal support, and finance. I think the conference staff did a wonderful job presenting many different projects coming out of the Entrepreneurial Community at Yale, which is not an easy task. The audience was equally diverse — I spent time talking to alumni now working in local and city government, architects, engineers, developers, professors, digital designers, teachers, and writers. It is promising to see alumni from so many different backgrounds coming together to support Yale Tech’s efforts. Overall, the conference sends an important message to current students about other options out there beyond the jobs and recruiters that actively chase recent grads. The alumni encouraged students to be creative and look for new opportunities. As we all know, I think this is a really important message to share with students.

I’ll be following Yale Tech’s growth in NYC and abroad… can’t wait for more.