✒️ The Unwritten Curriculum: The Skills That Matter Long After the Classes End

Every semester, I’m reminded that the idea of a single “road to success” is fantasy. There is no universal map. No clean set of steps. No secret formula that unlocks the perfect GPA or the perfect career. Every path is shaped by the person walking it, the circumstances they land in, and the people who cross their lives at the right — or very wrong — moment.

What I can offer are observations. Not definitive rules. Not guarantees. Just the perspective of someone who has been on all sides of the academic equation: the struggling student, the returning graduate student, the executive building a career, and the educator who sees patterns play out year after year.

And like most useful lessons, this starts with the moments that didn’t go the way I planned.

The Detours You Don’t Choose Still Shape You

My first semester of college didn’t look anything like the one I had imagined. I had earned an ROTC scholarship academically and fully expected to head down a military career path. Then a medical disqualification shut that door before I ever stepped through it. I went from having options to having exactly one.

I walked onto a campus that was my last choice, not my first, with a chip on my shoulder — maybe “attitude” is a better word — mixed with a lingering disappointment I didn’t yet know how to articulate. And, if I’m being honest, a bunch of excuses.

Walking into the bookstore for the first time as a college freshman is daunting enough. Walking out with a stack of books — one novel for almost every week — is downright intimidating. The Fall. The Plague. The Trial. Thankfully, at the top of the pile: Brave New World, one of my all-time favorites. I felt a spark of confidence that maybe this was where I’d shine.

The first three weeks, I did everything a student is supposed to do. I read every book. I attended every lecture. I submitted every essay. And I still earned a parade of C’s and D’s with vague comments along the lines of “not paying attention.”

Then came Brave New World. I had read the book three times before, written papers on it in high school, and genuinely loved it. I reread it. I took notes. I attended the lectures. I turned in my essay… and earned yet another C with yet another negative comment.

The following week, out of frustration more than strategy, I didn’t read the assigned book. I walked into class, took down the professor’s words as verbatim as possible, and spit them back in my essay.

That earned me a B+ and a patronizing note congratulating me for “finally paying attention.” It wasn’t the lesson the professor intended, but it was one I needed: Sometimes, you adapt because the environment will not bend.

That shouldn’t be the norm — and thankfully, I have learned over time that it isn’t — but it will happen in life. And if you quit every time the situation is unfair, rigid, or disconnected from your strengths, you will limit your own trajectory more than any professor ever could.

Fortunately, that was one extreme. There is another, one that is more common.

The Power of Meeting a Teacher Who Pulls You Through the Wall

Decades later, when I returned to school for my MBA at William & Mary, I hit a very different kind of wall: business statistics.

After a string of A’s, I walked straight into the kind of course that doesn’t just test you — it threatens to break you. By week two of an eight-week term, I was already drowning. That class was the reason I finally got tested for ADHD, and the results were… not subtle.

I reached out to my professor and said the quiet part out loud: “I think I have to drop this.” He didn’t coddle me. He didn’t lower expectations. But he didn’t let me run either.

“This is usually the class that buckles people,” he said. “Don’t give up. Let’s work together.”

What he offered wasn’t leniency — it was partnership. Structure. Accountability. Direction. He invested in my success and expected me to match that investment with real work.

I earned an A in that class. Not because the material got easier, but because I wasn’t fighting the battle alone.

And that experience is far more representative of the educators I’ve known throughout my life: demanding, human, and deeply invested in your growth.

What I Tell Students Now — Lessons From All Three Sides of the Table

As an adjunct instructor and an industry executive, I try to balance both realities. I hold my students to expectations that match the real world: deadlines matter. Engagement matters. Communication matters. But I also remember what it feels like to be the one trying to figure it out.

Over time, there are certain suggestions I’ve found consistently helpful — not rules, not a roadmap, but practices that make the journey less chaotic and far more effective.

Read the damn syllabus. Then read it again.

Yes, I said it bluntly because it matters.

Professors put a ridiculous amount of time into crafting the syllabus. If you skip it, you skip the blueprint of how to succeed in that course. The syllabus tells you where the points are, how the instructor thinks, what they value, how they communicate, and exactly what will sink you if you ignore it.

Then read it again — not to memorize it, but to build your plan of attack. Map out due dates. Set up your calendar. Notice the small assignments most students ignore. The “easy points” are often what separate an A from a C. I’ve watched more students fail from missing simple weekly tasks than from a bad exam score.

Reach out early. Introduce yourself. Humanize the relationship. Make the Connection.

Most students never attend office hours. Not because they don’t care, but because they’re busy, anxious, introverted, or unsure of what to say. I’ve had virtual office hours, sitting there alone for an hour.

Here’s the truth: when you introduce yourself early, you’re no longer anonymous. You’re a person. A story. A name the professor recognizes. And most professors will invest more in students who invest in the relationship.

Could it have saved me in that freshman literature class? No. Some situations are unfixable. Some people will only reward compliance. But most professors are not like that. Most will meet you halfway, and some will carry you farther than you expected — if you show up early and honestly.

Be engaged — even if you’re unsure, imperfect, or uncomfortable.

You’re not taking a class because you already know everything. Participating isn’t a performance; it’s part of the learning process. The fear of sounding foolish is universal, but it’s misplaced. The students who learn the most, grow the fastest, and get the strongest recommendations are the ones who participate, ask questions, share observations, and actually show they’re thinking.

Engagement is currency. Not for grades, but for learning.

Build your own checkpoints. Don’t rely on the gradebook to tell you the truth.

Some professors grade consistently. Others grade in unpredictable clusters. If you rely on whatever is in the gradebook, you might think you’re holding an A while three ungraded assignments — all late — are waiting to drop you into the danger zone.

This is where real-world habits matter. In business, if you walk into an annual review and are surprised, you failed to manage your own performance throughout the year.

Do the same in a course: evaluate yourself at the one-third mark, the two-thirds mark, and again before the end. Don’t wait to be surprised. If you think you’re in B territory but your professor sees you as a C-minus, you want to know that while you still have time to change the trajectory.

Communicate early and honestly — not after the damage is done.

Life will throw curveballs. Family emergencies, health issues, work demands, burnout. Some professors allow late work. Others rarely do. But the worst strategy — academically and professionally — is silence.

If something is going wrong, communicate early:

• Here’s what’s happening.

• Here’s what I propose.

• Do you have guidance or alternatives?
  

You won’t always get an extension. You won’t always earn back the points. But you will build credibility — and, in some cases, trust.

That matters more than students realize.

Here’s the Bigger Truth: These Aren’t “School Skills.” They’re Life Skills. Everything above translates directly into the workplace.

• Reading the syllabus becomes understanding expectations in a new role — knowing how success is defined before you decide how to show up.

• Reaching out early becomes building relationships with managers, peers, and mentors instead of staying invisible and hoping good work “gets noticed.”

• Being engaged becomes speaking up in meetings, contributing ideas, and learning across the table instead of sitting quietly on the sidelines.

• Building checkpoints becomes managing your own performance so an annual review is a confirmation, not a surprise.

• Communicating early becomes telling your team when something is off-track while there’s still time to fix it — protecting trust instead of scrambling after the fact.

  
  

Learning how to read expectations, plan ahead, engage thoughtfully, adapt to different personalities, communicate proactively, hold yourself accountable, and navigate both unreasonable people and exceptional mentors — these skills matter far more than memorizing content.

College is not simply about learning subject matter. It is about learning how to learn. How to interact. How to build relationships. How to deal with people you like and respect — and how to work effectively with those you don’t.

Including, yes, the professor who never appreciated my love for Brave New World.

If you take nothing else from this, take this: There is no straight road to success. But there are habits that make whatever road you’re on far more navigable — and far more yours.

As always, these reflections are mine—drawn from a career spent learning, leading, teaching, and studying the evolving world of retail and the people who shape it. Feel free to pass along your thoughts on this topic.