But there are other, larger lessons to glean as well. As you’ll learn in this book, most venture firms invest money on behalf of larger institutional asset managers, like university endowments and retirement funds. Most of these asset managers use a formula to determine how much money to allocate to different types of investments, including the high-risk, highly-illiquid sector of venture. (This approach to portfolio construction was pioneered by David Swensen at Yale, whose methods have been widely adopted, as you’ll read about in chapter 2). What that means is that the amount of resources our society currently invests in innovation is based on the percentage of assets that need to be invested according to this formula, rather than on the number of investable opportunities that exist. When too much money is chasing too few deals, there’s only one possible result: Because we have too few entrepreneurs, we can’t put enough money to work. Instead, it’s wasted on bidding up the prices of the few available assets rather than funding the kinds of organizations that are actually needed. The problem is even more pressing when you consider it from a diversity point of view. Not only are there not enough startups, but the ones that do exist aren’t nearly wide-ranging enough to build the kinds of companies our present and future call for. Possibly for the first time in history, we’re talent-constrained instead of capital-constrained. Scott’s book is an important step in making the opportunity to build a venture-scale business available to everyone so we can change that. The information about how to seek out and secure funding shouldn’t be limited to an elite club. Every startup is about a single idea, but taken together, all startups have a common purpose as well: to shape a better world for all of us. And a better world is one in which everyone is represented and served well by the companies and systems we create.

Entrepreneurship is inherently a risky endeavor, but it is absolutely essential to the American economy. Successful venture-backed companies have had an outsize positive impact on the US economy. According to a 2015 study by Ilya Strebulaev of Stanford University and Will Gornall of the University of British Columbia, 42 percent of all US company IPOs since 1974 were venture backed. Collectively, those venture-backed companies have invested $115 billion in research and development (R&D), accounting for 85 percent of all R&D spending, and created $4.3 trillion in market capitalization, which is 63 percent of the total market capitalization of public companies formed since 1974. Furthermore, specific to the impact on the American workforce, a 2010 study from the Kauffman Foundation found that young startups, most venture backed, were responsible for almost all of the twenty-five million net jobs created since 1977.

I moved back to Silicon Valley to work for Lehman Brothers. Lehman, of course, was later a victim of the global financial crisis, suffering an ignominious bankruptcy in September 2008. My job at the time, in addition to being an all-around grunt, was to help life sciences companies raise capital, go public, and make acquisitions. Those were noble things to do, but for the fact that despite the raging bull market in technology in Silicon Valley, the investor appetite for life sciences was largely dormant.

If you and I both think that Apple is a great stock to buy, we can both decide to buy it. Of course, if one of us is a really big buyer, the act of buying it might move the price such that my price might be different from yours (depending on which of us gets there first). But regardless, the general investment opportunity of buying Apple stock is available to each of us, independent of what the other does. The stock market is a democratic institution open to anyone who has money and a brokerage account.

When Marc and Ben first started Andreessen Horowitz, they described this founder leadership capability as “egomaniacal.” Their theory—notwithstanding the choice of words—was that to make the decision to be a founder (a job fraught with likely failure), an individual needed to be so confident in her abilities to succeed that she would border on being so self-absorbed as to be truly egomaniacal. As you might imagine, the use of that term in our fund-raising deck for our first fund struck a chord with a number of our potential investors, who worried that we would back insufferable founders. We ultimately chose to abandon our word choice, but the principle remains today: you have to be partly delusional to start a company given the prospects of success and the need to keep pushing forward in the wake of the constant stream of doubters.

There is a story that Queen Isabella of Spain was the first true VC. She “backed” an entrepreneur (Christopher Columbus) with capital (money, ships, supplies, crew) to do something that most people at the time thought was insane and certain to fail (a voyage) in exchange for a portion of the to-be-earned profits of the voyage that, while probabilistically unlikely, had an asymmetric payoff compared to her at-risk capital.

If you attended Harvard Business School, you may have read about a similar early VC-like tale here in the States in the 1800s—the whaling industry. Financing a whaling venture was expensive and fraught with risk but, when successful, highly profitable. In 1840s New Bedford, “agents” (today’s VC equivalent) would raise capital from corporations and wealthy individuals (today’s limited partners) to fund ship captains (entrepreneurs) to launch a whaling venture (startup company) in search of asymmetric returns that were heavily skewed to the top agents, yet often plagued with failure. Thirty percent of voyages lost money . . . .