Choices

There was a time, lasting about two months, between when I finished grad school and when I landed my first real job. The logistics got to be a little dicey toward the end; my lease was expiring at the end of the summer, the potential new job was in a different city, my girlfriend had just moved to a different different city, and the uncertainty and stress of it all started to get me down. I complained about this to my thesis advisor, a smart, tough woman who had held a variety of important jobs in and out of Ohio government. She told me--in a nice enough way but with the clear implication that I had a lot yet to learn--that I was being stupid. "Stress isn't not knowing what you're going to do with your life," she said. "Stress is knowing exactly what you're going to do, and that you can't do anything else." 

I thought of her while reading Roger Cohen's column last week (see also Ezra Klein here), in which he noted that one of the beneficial effects of the current vast financial meltdown is that perhaps fewer Ivy League graduates will be going directly into the lucrative investment banking industry. (Indeed this is now pretty much assured given that as of today there are no more investment banks to speak of. Times change, don't they?) But it still begs the question as to why so many students, given the rare and phenomenally valuable opportunity to do whatever they want with their life, tend to do not only the same narrow thing, but a thing that involves sacrificing vast amounts of their youth to a very difficult, not particularly enjoyable, and socially worthless job, all in the pursuit of money that they won't have time to enjoy?

I suspect the answer has a lot do with what some people call the paradox of choice. If you're on the Ivy League track, then up until the day you graduate you know exactly what you're supposed to do: work hard and grab a medallion from the small number of colleges and universities that are universally regarded as the very best. You can do this with no fear that you're making the wrong decision. No one will say "Harvard? Why?" 

But once you finish, your path is much less clear. Indeed, the whole point of getting the medallion, in theory, is to have as many choices--and thus as un-clear a path--as possible. If you've never been in that situation before, and you don't have the wisdom of hindsight, this is a new and stressful circumstance. And so I suspect many students choose a path based less on what they actually want to do with their lives and more as a way of finding something that's the equivalent of the path they've already taken: safe, reliable, accepted and validated among peers and society at large. My undergraduate institution didn't have a direct line into Goldman Sachs, so for us the default was "law school." I'm pretty sure at least half the people taking the LSAT that year did so not out of any particular interest in the law but because it was a good answer to the constant question of "What are you going to do when you graduate?" As a result, a lot of time and money was wasted amassing legal knowledge that ulimately went unused--or didn't, but confined people's lives and careers in ways they would later come to regret. 

Which makes me think that the best career advice colleges could give their students is not how to start a career but how to think about a career. (That's what a liberal education is for, isn't it? Not what to think, but how?) I, for example, didn't set out to become a policy analyst / manager / columnist / blogger / occasional journalist. Instead, I learned enough in grad school to get a job, where I had some success and learned some new things. Those new things led to another job, where I had some more success and learned some more new things, and so on, and so forth. That's how a lot of careers work these days. You can't map out that path ahead of time. All you can do is put yourself in a position to have success, learn new things, and hopefully make smart choices along the way. 

And while that kind of uncertainty can be daunting at the beginning, there are no students more well-equipped to be successful, and no nation or time in which more opportunities for success are available, than those Ivy League students finishing college in this day and this place. If the present Wall Street Chernobyl causes a few more such students to wander in different directions for a while, we'll all be better for it in the end.