When I was a kid, there was a Chinese school fair, and each classroom had to come up with an idea to sell something to fairgoers. I remember raising my hand, my voice small but steady, and suggesting, “Let's do a prize lottery!”

 The room was filled with the usual suspects—Chinese school slackers like me—and one by one, heads slunk back down to the desks, uninterested. My idea was the only one on the table. To my surprise, our teacher didn't dismiss it. She listened. She believed in me enough to let me take the lead.

 With a mix of excitement and nerves, I went to the mall and picked out a Hello Kitty gift basket of items—the kind of thing that felt like pure treasure to me at the time. I put it in a box and wrapped it carefully, ready for the big day. Then, I made tickets for people to buy, envisioning a line of eager customers.

 But on the day of the fair, as the air filled with the comforting smells of fried rice and tea eggs and the bustling tables overflowed with goods around me, my table sat starkly empty. The mystery box stood alone, its promise unfulfilled. Only one person bought a ticket. She laughed, amused by my pitiful box, fully aware she would win. She did, of course. The “lottery” was, by any measure, a failure.

 And yet, it wasn't. That day taught me my first lesson in leadership and business: the power of believing in ideas, even when they falter. My teacher's faith in me—that spark of encouragement—planted something I've carried ever since. It taught me that failure isn't the end; it's a teacher. It's not the mark of inadequacy but of experience.

 The prize lottery didn't work because I didn't yet know the value of knowing your audience or understanding what people needed. But that little failure set the stage for every future success. I learned to pay attention to the world around me, to ask questions like, What do people want? What do they need? How can I best be of service? 

 Experience begins earlier than we realize. Sometimes, it starts with the smallest moments—a teacher listening, a child's innocent idea. Encouragement in those moments can be transformative, turning a timid voice into one willing to try, fail, and try again.

 So today, take a moment to pause. Encourage the ideas of the children around you—their unpolished, whimsical, brave ideas. Look past their simplicity to the hope and wonder behind them. And while you're at it, honor the quiet ideas in your own heart, too.

 Because in the end, what matters isn't whether the idea succeeds or fails. What's important is the humbleness with which you offered it in your heart. That, in itself, is the greatest gift.