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arrying Home is short story, though fictionalized in its details, reflects something profoundly real about my experience in the Strategic Management capstone and throughout my entire MBA journey at Baldwin Wallace University, all the way through to this final week. It is, at its core, a story of unquestioning faith and the willingness to step beyond comfort—even when the path forward requires being dragged into growth you wouldn’t have chosen on your own. Even in the moments where the journey could of felt heavy, I was met with strength not of my own. Because of that, I am deeply grateful to the Most High God for graciously opening the door for me to pursue this program and for guiding and supporting me each step along the way. I am also thankful for a program that honors both rigor and humanity, where each course builds coherently on the last and where we are meant to develop not only our knowledge of business concepts but also our understanding of how each of us is uniquely equipped to lead.
Carrying Home
The salt air still haunted Jordan's dreams. Three months ago, he'd stood on the white sand beaches of Tideria, watching Kingfishers soar above turquoise water so clear you could count the scales on fish twenty feet below. He'd built something there, a local bookshop filled with ancient sea stories, its shelves lined with weathered volumes about maritime trade routes and tales of young boys becoming men, a place where fishermen and travelers alike would gather to share their own stories over coconut iced tea. It was more than commerce; it was a living archive of the ocean's memory.
Then the acceptance letter arrived from Yellow Jacket Business School. Top-ranked MBA. Strategic Management capstone with Professor Ochaya, whose name appeared on half the breakthrough papers about simulation-based organizational learning. The kind of opportunity you didn't turn down.
So Jordan traded turquoise horizons for gray winter skies, exchanging the rhythm of waves for the relentless pulse of ambition.
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The simulation lab was nothing like a classroom. Professor Ochaya had converted an old warehouse into what he called "The Crucible"— a massive space filled with modular workstations, holographic projection systems, and enough computing power to model entire market ecosystems. His research focused on something he termed "Strategic Metamorphosis Theory": how organizations could undergo fundamental transformations while maintaining operational continuity, the way a caterpillar rebuilds itself completely without ever stopping being alive.
"Mr. Jordan," he'd said on the first day, his breath visible in the poorly heated building. "You've managed a business that depends on the delicate ecosystem of human curiosity and story. You understand adaptation isn't theoretical, it's survival. That's why you're here."
The capstone simulation was brutal. AquaTerra was a fictional shoe company manufacturing performance footwear for outdoor enthusiasts and athletes. Ochaya had seeded it with every strategic pathology imaginable: misaligned incentives, legacy technology debt, a leadership team fragmented across four continents, and a market being disrupted by direct-to-consumer brands and sustainable material innovations that threatened to make their entire product line obsolete
Six students. Twelve weeks. One objective: transform the company from near-bankruptcy to sustainable competitive advantage.
Jordan drew the CEO role. He spent his first week just trying to understand the cascade of decisions that had brought AquaTerra to this point. Every action triggered consequences three, four, five steps downstream. Cut R&D spending to meet quarterly targets? Six months later, you had no product pipeline. Invest heavily in innovation? Cash flow collapsed before new products reached the market. Try to pivot too quickly? You destroyed organizational capabilities you'd need for the future.
The simulation fought back with the stubborn complexity of reality itself.
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"You're thinking about this wrong," Professor Ochaya said during a particularly desperate 2 AM session when Jordan was ready to declare strategic bankruptcy. Outside, snow had buried the Yellow Jacket University parking lot under three feet of white silence. "You keep trying to find the solution. Like there's a correct answer hidden in the data."
"Isn't there?" Jordan asked, exhausted.
"In your bookshop, is there one correct story for every reader?"
He paused. "No. It depends on where they are in life, what questions they're carrying, what they're ready to hear—"
"Exactly. Strategy isn't optimization. It's navigation through dynamic complexity. Show me how you'd navigate this."
Something clicked. Jordan stopped looking for the perfect three-year plan and started thinking about organizational capabilities as adaptive systems. He restructured AquaTerra's R&D into small, autonomous pods that could pivot quickly, mimicking how his bookshop had thrived through curated variety rather than mass appeal. He repositioned the company around premium aquatic athletic footwear with a sea of options and features, a focused strategy that delivered unmatched style, targeting adventurers who valued both performance and prestige. He built decision frameworks that acknowledged uncertainty rather than pretending it away.
The simulation responded. Not with immediate success; real transformation never worked that way, but with emerging possibilities. AquaTerra not only began to breathe again, it started to thrive.
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On the last day of class, after final presentations, Professor Ochaya pulled Jordan aside.
"You're going back," he said. Not a question.
"To Tideria. Yeah. I've got investors interested in expanding the bookshop; maybe a small chain of curated stores along the coast. Turns out strategic management applies to single-location businesses the same as multinational corporations."
He smiled. “My research suggests the most successful transformations happen when someone anchors in their deepest values while staying fully present to current reality. Tideria wasn't just your destination, it represented something you value fundamentally. Yet you committed completely to the work here, building capabilities you'd need for the future. You practiced what we call values-driven committed action: choosing behaviors aligned with what matters most, even when the path is difficult. That willingness to be fully here while moving toward what you value? That's what distinguishes transformational leaders.”
Jordan thought about the late nights in The Crucible, the fierce debates with classmates, the way Professor Ochaya's theories about organizational metamorphosis had rewired how he thought about building anything sustainable. The discomfort of Cleveland winters, the frustration of impossible simulations, the vulnerability of not knowing, he'd been willing to experience all of it in service of something larger. He'd left paradise and found something else, not better or worse, but essential to who he was becoming.
"I understand now," he said.
"That's the work," Ochaya replied. "Transformation isn't about becoming someone different. It's about becoming more fully who you're meant to be. Go build your empire of stories, Jordan. And remember, strategy is just another word for choosing what matters, then acting accordingly."
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Three months later, Jordan stood on familiar white sand, watching a Kingfisher soar past the sun that set fire to the Alcedo Sea. His phone buzzed with a message from Professor Ochaya: a photo of Yellow Jacket University under spring bloom, the warehouse lab visible in the background. The caption read: "Different paradise. Same principles. Welcome home."
He smiled and dove into the warm water, carrying the frozen tundra with him, knowing now that every journey away is also a journey toward. — End.
