A dissertation is not an end, but a beginning

I’m beginning to realize the value of writing a blog right in the moment—capturing how I feel then and there. Because the next morning, you often see the same moment differently, and life tends to surprise you in ways you didn’t expect. More on that later. For now, I just want to pause and write about how I’m feeling after submitting my dissertation.

Yesterday night, I hit that “submit” button. And with that, my Master’s at the London School of Economics officially comes to a close.

The first feelings that came to me were relief and accomplishment. Relief, because writing close to 10,000 words has been one of the most stressful things I’ve done—never in my life have I spent so much time just writing, reflecting, and re-writing. And accomplishment, because at the end of the day, it wasn’t just about putting words together; it was a learning journey. Writing this dissertation felt like holding a mirror to my own questions—an exercise in introspection, research, and a deeper search for meaning.

I’ve started believing that education is truly good when it doesn’t just give you answers, but teaches you how to ask better questions. That, to me, has been the essence of this year. A friend once asked me how the Master’s has been. My answer was simple: you never get straight answers, but you learn to ask better questions. And I think that’s what makes education worthwhile.

For me, this dissertation became the ground where all my long-held questions about social entrepreneurship met: What does it take to bootstrap an organization? How do you build sustainable social enterprises? How do you scale them without losing integrity? What does the path to becoming a “social unicorn” look like? What does financial sustainability—or even an exit—mean for a founder in this space? These are questions I’ve carried with me for years, and the dissertation gave me a way to focus, research, and wrestle with them.

One of my professors once said: a dissertation is not an endpoint; it’s the starting point. If it’s a good one, it should leave you with more questions to carry forward—perhaps into a PhD, or perhaps just into the work you do every day. And that resonates deeply. This feels less like closure and more like opening the door to a longer journey.

There are other reflections too. One that really stuck with me was from Professor Connson, who often reminded us that you are a sample size of one. It’s such a simple but powerful truth. We often quote personal experiences as if they were universal, but research forces you to look beyond yourself—to see patterns across multiple stories. Your experience matters, but it’s only one among many. That’s where theory and research hold their weight.

Another realization: the joy of studying what you love. For the first time in my life, I was learning exactly what I wanted—social innovation and entrepreneurship—while also running EdZola. What I read in theory was what I wrestled with in practice. Classroom conversations mirrored my daily tensions as a founder. That made this year not just rewarding, but grounding.

And here’s something that surprised me: not once did I think about grades. Coming from India, where grades and marks are everything, this was a revelation. Back home, the system conditions you to chase numbers. Here, the system is designed to help the majority thrive—not just the top scorers. That shift gave me space to learn for the sake of learning, not for the sake of marks.

Looking back, when I first told friends and colleagues about coming to London on the Chevening scholarship, many of them said: this will change you as a person. At the time, I didn’t quite understand how moving to another country could change someone. One year later, I realize it’s not about geography—it’s about people, experiences, and most importantly, the questions you ask yourself along the way.

The biggest changes didn’t come from a single class or a single conversation. They came quietly, in moments of reflection—when I noticed my thought process shifting, or when a perspective I had carried for years suddenly opened up in a new way. That, to me, is growth.

And so, this chapter closes. My Master’s is done. I feel lighter, reflective, and grateful. There are many ideas brewing about what’s next—especially around scaling EdZola and more generally scaling social enterprises and building social unicorns—but I’ll leave that for another day.

For now: a deep breath, a quiet smile, and a simple thank you to this journey.