Ross Takes: Not Quite The Mold

In my first blog, I wrote about the value of business school beyond the classroom, where the real lessons live: the messy, vibrant, human spaces in-between. That’s where my clarity came—not just about what matters, but about how I want to live and lead.

As a first-generation college student, I’ve spent a lot of time navigating institutions not designed for me. Business school was no exception. But it gave me new language, challenged my perspective, and surfaced tensions that deepened my sense of self.

Some parts felt grounding, others messier. This isn’t a highlight reel, but a reflection on the in-between: the joy, the cost, the growth, and the integrity it took to stay true to myself.

I feel different; I am different. I’ve never quite fit the mold—of expectations, institutions, and even identity. And that’s ok. I would rather be rejected as me than accepted as a shell of me.

Business school didn’t change who I was. But it made me clearer about who I want to be—and how I want to show up.

WHAT I FELT: AT HOME, OUT OF PLACE, AND STILL DANCING

Amid the tension and discovery, certain moments anchored me and reminded me of who I was beneath the pressure. Some moments were loud and messy, others energetic and cardio-intensive, and some quieter and more intimate.

The loud and messy: A quick DJ cameo at our tailgates.

Tailgating during grad school is its own Michigan experience. It was uncommon to hear multicultural music at tailgates, so I created an international playlist to celebrate the diversity of our school. In the rain (thanks, Michigan), I queued up Punjabi Hip-Hop, Afrobeats, Reggaeton, and Brazilian Funk. One classmate came over smiling, eyebrows raised: “How do you know this song?” The surprise, the joy—that stuck with me.

The answer: I did my research. I wanted people to feel seen. And many did. But before I finished my set, I was replaced with a more “familiar” sound, one that reflected a narrower idea of what belongs. That moment—joyful for some, uncomfortable for others—wasn’t just about music. It revealed what’s welcomed, and what isn’t. Still, I carry the parts that mattered: the recognition, the resonance, and the reminder that our joy, too, deserves the mic. Luckily, cultural nights throughout the year gave us space to keep celebrating.

The energetic and cardio-intensive: Dancing on stage at our Diwali and Latin Vibes cultural nights.

At Diwali, I didn’t know the lyrics but understood the story, and danced like I did. One classmate told me it looked like I knew every word. I’ll take that. At Latin Vibes, multiple people mentioned we would have won (if only they kept score). But what stayed with me was the energy and fun we shared.

This year, Latin Vibes was during Go Blue Rendezvous (Admitted Student Weekend). An admitted student asked what club we were in, assuming we’d trained for months. The question made me smile. We hadn’t. We just showed up, danced our hearts out, and hoped our knees wouldn’t give out mid-routine. (They didn’t—still got it!) As the cheers fade and the lights dim at our beloved Necto, we come to the gentler moments.

The quieter and more intimate: Meals in my home, conversations that stretched past midnight, and small moments of noticing.

When I had time to cook, I loved hosting friends for a meal. Stepping away from the business school bustle to enjoy something homemade was very much my speed. And, even for someone who loves a 10 p.m. bedtime, staying up late over laughter and snacks was worth it. In those slower moments, we could really notice each other. During one lunch, a friend recognized that I didn’t seem well and gently asked how I was doing. There was something deeply comforting in just being noticed. I’m grateful for the times I slowed down to simply see people and be seen.

Those moments taught me that joy isn’t a bonus, but a signal. It was a sign that I was connected, present, and alive. That realization became the foundation for FLRSH, a personal experiment I launched through the Zell Lurie Institute. It focused on five daily anchors to explore what it means to live with intention and foster flourishing.

Far from being peripheral to the MBA experience, these moments and the questions they sparked felt essential. They asked something more of us: to pause, pay attention, and consider who we are when we’re not filtering ourselves to belong.

Joy and flourishing don’t follow a syllabus. They didn’t live in the core curriculum. But I found them—in music, movement, shared meals, and moments of real connection. Maybe I didn’t always feel like I belonged to the MBA experience. But I did belong in these moments. And that was enough.

WHAT I FACED: DISSONANCE, DISTANCE, AND THE COST OF INTEGRITY

There’s a version of business school that looks glossy from the outside. This glossy version appears to be brimming with community, opportunity, and momentum. And often, that’s true. But other times, what’s underneath is more complicated: performance, pressure, and a quiet dissonance between the self I brought here and the space I was navigating.

There were spaces where I didn’t feel like I could show up fully. Expectations (spoken and unspoken) shaped how I navigated my second year. Sometimes I stayed quiet. Sometimes I left early. Sometimes I didn’t show up at all. In the past, I’ve judged myself for that. But I’ve learned that taking space isn’t always just avoidance. Sometimes it’s the most self-honoring thing you can do. I’ve spent years pushing through discomfort, trying to prove I belonged, and shrinking myself into a version that felt acceptable, yet wasn’t really me. But shrinking comes at a cost—one I’m no longer willing to pay. Integrity isn’t just about showing up for others. It’s also about showing up for myself, in ways that are honest and sustainable. I’m still learning this day by day.

Over time, I’ve realized these experiences don’t signal that I don’t belong. Rather, they revealed that the system wasn’t built with me in mind. When status, money, or prestige become the lens through which we define worth or success, something essential gets lost. And it can feel deeply alienating, especially when there’s little room to explore who we are beneath all that striving. I rarely felt encouraged to develop or embody values like empathy, reflection, or long-term impact. That vacancy left me disoriented at times. However, I was grateful to find pockets of space where we did reflect on who we are—and what kind of leaders we hope to be for our communities.

I’ve written before about the impact of Management as a Calling (MaaC) and Journey of Generosity (JOG), so I won’t belabor the point. Those moments, rare as they were, felt like portals into what business education could be. Still, they often felt distant from the core MBA experience, like add-ons rather than integral threads. And when we did try to bring those conversations into the mainstream, it often came at a cost of emotional labor or pushback. It’s not a cost I fully anticipated seeing on my balance sheet, but it’s one I’d add back every time.

WHAT I GAINED: CLARITY IN THE IN-BETWEEN

Business school didn’t hand me these lessons; it revealed them through tension and moments of temporary misalignment. In the in-between, I found myself asking more salient questions than What’s my post-MBA job? I was asking: What does it mean to live aligned? How do I protect my peace? What does it look like to lead without losing myself?

Often the biggest shifts weren’t loud, but quiet recalibrations: choosing rest over relentless exertion, values over validation, integrity over image—even if it meant being the only one. Maybe that’s part of my purpose: to be a little different, challenge the status quo, and create space for others carving their own path, too.

Business school invites exploration. But, without an internal compass, it’s easy to be swayed by the noise: rankings, comparison, and the pressure to conform. I’d felt that tension before, at Nike and again here. But each time was an opportunity to choose my peace, my values, and my whole self. And that, to me, is success: showing up as myself without shrinking or editing for approval. I don’t claim that as the universal truth, but I hope others believe in their own version too.

WHAT I’LL CARRY FORWARD: A COMMITMENT TO LEADING DIFFERENTLY

I’m not leaving with all the answers and, inevitably, I’m still asking questions.

Can we focus on the people, not just the bottom line? What about the planet? Can we look at it as more than just a pile of resources to use?

I can see that some people think about these things, but far fewer do anything about it. And I don’t fully blame them. It’s hard. It’s counterculture. It’s not the status quo. I would love for business schools to bring that lens in to encourage well-rounded, thoughtful, responsible, and human-centered leaders. Let that not just be a buzzword, but an action. I would love for Ross to be a pioneer in this space, not by adding more per se, but by deepening what already exists. Programs like Management as a Calling offer a glimpse of what that future could look like: values-forward, human-centered, and deeply reflective.

While I’m not leaving with all the answers, I am leaving with a deeper sense of knowing and what matters. I want to build and foster spaces where people can be human. Where credentials matter less than character. Where success isn’t just about metrics, but about meaning. Where we remember and honor the people behind the performance.

As part of my final semester, I pursued an independent study on coaching for mission-driven leaders. This experience deepened my belief in reflection, values alignment, and the power of deep listening. It reinforced a truth I keep returning to: leadership isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about asking better questions, and holding space for others to explore for themselves. And growth? It doesn’t always look flashy. Sometimes it looks like softening, slowing down, or standing still.

If I’ve learned anything from business school, it’s that leadership isn’t just a skill set, but rather it’s a way of being that needs to be practiced. Not by conforming to the mold, but by shaping something better in its place. As a first-generation student, I’ve learned to navigate unfamiliar systems; and I want to help reshape them in ways that restore dignity and foster belonging. I want to lead with integrity—in ways that center people, honor complexity, and challenge the systems that ask us to shrink. That might look like how we build teams, share power, or foster environments where people can show up fully. And I want to lead by creating space for others to rise, flourish, and lead, too. A few of us from Management as a Calling even plan to continue meeting after graduation, to keep asking hard questions and holding space for each other.

As I’ve reflected on these past two years, I’ve asked myself what I would hope for someone to take away from my experiences. I hope others will more deeply consider the humans behind the resumes—not just as professionals, but as people shaped by stories, struggles, and growth. That includes you. Your worth isn’t solely defined by your job title, productivity, or status. I believe it’s rooted in your humanity, which exists regardless of those other things. And when you begin to honor yourself in that way, a similar grace has a way of flowing outward.

In the end, I didn’t just find value beyond the classroom. I found it in the spaces between the highlights—and in how I chose to grow through them.

Bio: Born and raised in a sunny Arizona border town, Brianna graduated from Stanford University with a B.S. in Mechanical Engineering. After undergrad, she worked at Nike in several footwear product creation roles.

At Ross, Brianna serves on the boards of First at Ross, MBA Christian Fellowship (MCF), and Hispanic Business Students Association (HBSA). She is also involved in Business+Impact and Zell Lurie Institute (ZLI) for Entrepreneurial Studies programming and a TA for Andy Hoffman’s year-long Management as a Calling course.

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