Candy is Dandy

Life is exasperating. Sometimes I think I have it all figured out and as soon as I’m about to sit down for one second, take a deep breath and slow down- another curve ball is thrown my way. I then realize that, in truth, I have absolutely nothing figured out. Nothing at all.

But then again- there are always the simple and uncomplicated joys snuck in between the worry and angst to lessen the blows. In other words- there’s always candy.

Exams are over. I don't want to talk about it. Or them. A friend appropriately mentioned to me over a mojito Friday night, “I passed until ‘they’ tell me I failed.” That works.

What I do want to talk about is candy. I love candy. Who doesn't love candy?

Despite the fact that our finals are over, and we made it through to the other end the notoriously killer “First Year” of the MBA, we have ONE LAST hurdle. It’s kind of sad really. Even though we knew this week was coming- the intensive strategy seminar to finish off before summer- I’m fairly sure that everyone was a bit shaken when their alarms went off this morning. I know I was.

Last weekend was one extensive celebration. It started about five minutes after our final final on Friday (breakfast beers) and continued through Sunday night.

Then this morning, just like waking up for a 6 a.m. flight after a weekend in Vegas (anyone who has ever had the misfortune to face this ghastly catastrophe will feel my pain), a morning where our bodies could barely take it- we woke up to our blaring alarms, packed our pens and computers and dragged our weary asses back to school.

The weather dropped five degrees, the skies were grey to match our moods- and everyone slowly lugged themselves back into class to tackle this final week.

Then, when almost all hope seemed lost- they brought out the candy.

Our dreaded Global Strategy course is actually about candy. woohoo.

Here’s the deal:

We are broken into about 20-odd teams of five. Each team represents a key player in the confectionary industry (I’m Mars/Wrigley). After lectures and research on the company’s position in the industry- and an analysis of the business as a whole- we develop a strategy (M&A, Alliance, etc…) and negotiate with the other teams with which we would like to partner or acquire. This morning was the introduction and a brief glimpse into the industry, then a Lindt presentation by Spain’s Managing Director.

Lunch passed slowly as we all talked about summer plans and ate our bocadillos at unhurried paces. The day dragged on…

As we entered the second afternoon lecture…something totally unexpected happened:

THERE WAS CANDY!

 Haribo’s GM actually brought us candy! Good guy…

We walked into the room ready to endure the rest of the first day of the long week…and the desks were strewn with candy. It was like a carnival threw up during Halloween. Every color of the rainbow of gummies galore…bears and fruit shaped sugary goodness, marshmallows, long stringy things flavored with coca cola and lemon and covered in sour sugar, candies I had never even seen before were all over the place. Willy Wonka would have been proud.

Clearly things were looking up. We spent the rest of the afternoon half listening to the lecture and shoveling scrumptious treats into our mouths while eyeing the other tables making sure our competition didn't make off with better bags than ours. But as sophisticated and mature MBA students are expected to solve potential discrepancies, we came to mutual understandings and made a number of trades. 

Candy makes everything better. Candy, as Warren Buffet stated, “is Dandy.” Four days left.

If we get more candy, I’ll stop complaining. 

A Few Days in the Life

There are a number of things I could ramble on about right now- as the ups and downs of life never cease- not even for an instant. It’s always when you “need a break” that the breaks never seem to arrive.

However- in the essence of time- because it is the most limited commodity of late- I’m going to outline briefly what it feels like to be an MBA student, in the middle of an economic crisis, a few days before final exams and only a few brief weeks before summer.

Summer used to be a word that tasted good as it came out of my mouth- all watermelony and filled with sunshine and polka-dotted bikinis. Now, however, things have changed. Shock. Summer is an enormous looming cloud over my head and as the hours start overlapping and the pages of my virtual calendar move forward- the anxiety is building and the ominous cloud is looking ready to burst.

Forecast: thunder, lightning, and the wrath of my parents wondering why I don't have an internship yet.

A while back, I started writing an MBA Journal called “A Day in the Life.” It’s lovely to relate stories of discovering and sharing and growing- all of which is happening within the 18 months of an MBA. But right now- “a day in the life” is a wholly different story.

Finals kick off in five days. Every term it’s the same story: classes end too quickly, I feel unprepared and out of time, I cram and read and write and work until I’ve gone cross-eyed. I show up to the exam with my calculator and erasers- shaking from too much coffee and too little sleep. In the end, I hope for the best- And in the end, I do pass. The only difference this time is I feel like the term went even faster, I know even less than I did last time and that the time I have to prepare has been cut in half. It’s so bad that I don't even know where to start. I’m totally blocked.

And then, instead of looking forward to the end of finals and celebrating the fact that we got through yet another set of exams together, summer will have arrived. I’ll say goodbye to the classrooms and books and teachers, hop on the bus home, open the door to my apartment, put my stuff down, and wonder where the hell to go from there. Seriously.

Next year’s classes start in the middle of September. So come two weeks from now, I see only one big blank spot of three months ahead of me.

I would be lying if I said that idea of doing nothing for a change isn’t enticing. The problem lies within the consequences of the “nothing.” And of course- the guilt. Jewish guilt…even worse. And importantly, the question of how to fund this “doing nothing.” I wonder if Fannie Mae gives living loans to internshipless MBA candidates. There’s a thought.

As a side not- something completely unrelated to the MBA-  and something I generally wouldn't bother sharing- happened last Saturday. Nevertheless, its just too amusing not to report:

So I was in Naples with my boyfriend this weekend…his ex-girlfriend is somewhat of a model/celebrity. Well, more of a superstar like “Miss Italy” or something. (I’m trying to play it down.) Anyway, this is fine with me, I swear. She’s his ex after all. 

We were driving to the station to catch a train to Rome- we pull up to a bus. I look out the window and staring at me is someone who looks vaguely familiar. As we get closer to the bus and come to a stop- I read the name underneath this glamorous woman with stunning makeup and windblown hair- and realize that it is, in fact, the “ex.” 

I kind of gasped…turned away…then turned back…then turned away again- and thought to myself, “yes, I really did just see the “ex” on the side of a bus.” Only in my world, I swear…

I cant say that seeing your boyfriend’s famous ex-girlfriend staring at you from a poster the size of your apartment is any help getting started studying.

On another note, in the midst of all this apprehension and worry about things that really wont matter so much in the long run, we were all presented with a considerable reminder of the important things in life- one of those reminders where time stops for everyone around, there is complete silence, and we all take a minute or two to digest what has actually happened;

One of our professors died on Monday. In his lecture that same day, regarding this crisis, he mentioned that it will pass and although he may not be here, we will. He spoke with vigor and excitement in his wise eyes. And then, that evening at home, he unexpectedly passed away. I suppose the lessons we are learning in this MBA extend far beyond numbers and theories. 

His passing was a reminder to step back once in a while and look at the bigger picture…to enjoy what we have, while we have it. Because as short as the days are- the years are even shorter…

Happy Places

Last week was a bad week. It was a week where the glass is half empty- whichever way you look at it. It was a week where you question all your life’s choices and are fearful that maybe its too late to mend your mistakes. It was a week where you put on your iTunes and the shuffle function only seems to find the songs that remind you of the tragic losses of your life.

Last week was a week where it takes three cabs to find the one driver who allows you to enter with the 5 euro coffee you just paid for. It was a week where there were frequent reminders that the life you once had has continued without you. It was a week where you want to be there and not here- a week where you would rather be anywhere but here.

Last week was a week where you are so wrapped up in your own loneliness that you hide from the people who could help fill the empty space around you- a week where the supermarket is out of the one thing you are craving and the flights you want to take have all gone up three times their original prices.

It was week where your maid doesn't show up, and no matter how many times you read a question, you still cant figure out the formula to apply.

Last week, I ripped my favorite jeans right in the crotch and I couldn't get a hold of my best friend on text, email, phone or Skype. Last week, I questioned everything I have now and missed everything I once had. I wondered what I am really doing here and where I am going once it’s over.

 I’ve heard people refer to their “happy places." These “happy places” being mental shelters from an emotional storm. People who have happy places shift their consciousness to somewhere else when faced with stress or disagreeable circumstances.

I don't have a happy place. Although, I wish I did. I live everything so intensely that my lack of a happy place is often my worst enemy. If I’m hurt or angry or sad or stressed- the emotion consumes me. I see red and only red. I recognize this weakness and for years, have tried to talk myself out of it- or “into” a happy place. “Go to your happy place” does not work for me. At least not in my mind.

Then, on the other hand, I do have happy moments. Moments that exist in the physical sense of a place- a location, in one’s company- or the like.

After my week- I managed to find a few happy places of my own.

Saturday night was Barcelona’s “La Nit dels Museus.” It is one night a year where Barcelona opens up its museums, free of charge, to the public from 7:00 p.m. to 1:00 a.m. I figured that as long as I am here, I may as well infuse my culture-starved soul with some knowledge unrelated to the MBA.

It wasn't easy to stop skulking around my apartment after 24 hours of ice-cream pints and pint-sized tears- but I managed to strip myself of my sweatpants, brush my hair and throw on a brave face in order to tackle the outside world.

The sun was setting, which always manages to stun me in Barcelona. There is something about the light here- the soft pinks that serve as a backdrop to the bowed exteriors of deliberately warped Gaudi structures. I pulled up to Monjuic and regardless of the many times as I have visited it, this time it was more beautiful than ever. The fountain was gracefully spilling over to the rhythm of the music playing in the background- and the fountain’s lights served to illuminate Plaza España. As I looked up, I recognized that maybe everything else was starting to look up as well.

I spent the next four hours hopping from museum to museum. I visited the Caixa Forum’s architecture exhibit, the Archaeology museum, and later, I navigated the anthropology museum’s tour of the world. I visited MNAC (National Museum of Art of Catalonia) and spent most of my time in the Renaissance and Baroque periods.

I had not forgotten how much I love art- I could never forget that. But I did forget how much I need it, and how, for a significant period of my life, canvases and oil, bronze figurines, sketches on hidden walls and stone chiseled into the most beautiful shapes were like my air. And then after my week of doubt and difficulty- I finally realized how standing still for a few moments in front of the colors and shapes, etched hundreds of years ago, onto portions of stretched cloth can fill me with a calm serenity. And I thought about what an idiot I had been to not take advantage of all this- at my fingertips…I had almost forgotten my air- forgotten to breathe.

So I walked around the museum, smiling at the paintings I recognized and studying the ones I had never seen- but understanding and identifying the styles used and the stories from which they came. It was a weird sensation. Art was my air and instead of breathing it in, I started to feel choked- as tears rose…and I realized in opposition to the sadness I have been feeling recently, this sudden outburst was nothing more than tears of happiness. In a way- even for a few seconds- I felt at peace.

Then, after my museum experience, I found my happy place #2. I stopped between museum visits (I was on my way to the Born district to tackle Picasso) with a friend to grab a beer and possibly a few tapas. This friend of mine can only be described as my polar opposite. "The Yin to my Yang," as he once mentioned while trying to tell me that he hated me without hurting my feelings.

We were talking, as MBA classmates do, about certain courses, summer plans and future prospects and possibilities. Our conversation twisted and turned and we spoke of other things- things we don't speak about in class. And I realized something; we are not so different after all. We all feel pain and suffer anxiety- we are all a bit lost, but we are all concurrently finding ourselves- often with each others’ help. We all have personal relationships and desires and hopes that linger like flies on the seemingly blank walls of our minds as we grind through this MBA of ours. I talked- he listened. He talked- I listened. And we understood each other far more than either of us ever expected to. And I then realized something- maybe I’m not so alone- so dissimilar- as I often like to believe.

Shortly after, our conversation was interrupted (although I plan to finish it at some point) by the arrival of about 20 American MBA candidates. It was a group of GW students staying in Barcelona participating in a case competition with my school. They recognized my friend, as he had participated in the competition as well. A night of introductions, beers and bars ensued. It was fun, but more importantly, it made me conscious of something I would have otherwise, by no means, appreciated.

These students, all doing their MBAs at GW, were palpable reminders of my time at GW…my four years as in D.C. 

We spoke of places I used to hang out, classrooms I dreaded, food I used to eat, bars I frequented and so many other parts of one of the most significant periods of my life to date. Talking to these people, though, didn't have the effect one would expect. I didn't miss my undergrad days- I didn't miss DC, the debauchery, the friendships, the freedom. Instead- I was happy to be where I am- with all of that behind me….although forever appreciative of what it was- because it is, in fact, a part of who I am now.

Furthermore, it made me think of how I have grown- and how I have changed. And I imagined going back now- with all the knowledge and wisdom I have gained in the years between these two very different experiences.

All things considered, I feel lucky- because as hindsight is said to be 20-20, I am living this right now; back in school- back alongside students, and books and classes, exams, professors and grades. 

I am, in effect, doing exactly what many people would like to go back to do- again, “knowing what they know now.” 

And with that realization- I figured I might as well stop feeling sorry for myself and just enjoy this, and what is behind me, and most importantly- what is ahead of me…as indefinite as it may be.

Pensando

Today was a day of thoughts. 

Of course it was a school day- a day of classes and lectures and coffee breaks and me asking the person next to me what the hell the number on the board means. But it was also a day of thoughts…a day of a lot of thoughts. 

At the gym, I thought about what I would cook for dinner. On the treadmill, I decided on spinach and chickpeas. By the time I got to the mats and started stretching, the plan was finalized: I was going to make minestrone and a smoothie. 

In class, as everyone was talking about MBAT and the past weekend in Paris, I thought about the last minute decision I made to go. It was a good decision. I’m glad I went although I don't think I would do it again. MBAT (especially the Squash episode) was an upsetting reminder of why I don't compete in anything athletic- and my genetic lack of physical ability. 

In elementary school, I was always the last to be picked for dodge ball. Although it never ceased to hurt my feelings, I knew my classmates were making the right decision...I wouldn't have picked me either. 

I don't think I’m ever going to compete in sports again- if only to spare myself the humiliation. 

I thought about my future today. Actually, I started thinking about my future last night after a little bit of a breakdown and about two hours of lying in bed feeling sorry for myself. I made a list of things to do with my life and as I was brushing my teeth this morning, a light bulb went off in my head and I think I may have figured it out. For today at least. I’m still thinking about this- a plan is materializing. Wait for it.

I thought about my dad today. It’s his birthday. I think he’s 58. We haven’t spoken in almost a year. 

I thought about growing up. Actually, I tried not to think about growing up but the shocking realization (thanks facebook) that all my friends are either married, getting married, getting engaged, pregnant or giving birth- I had to think about growing up too. I thought about the fact that I am not doing a very good job of it- growing up that is. Maybe if everyone else would simply stop doing it, I wouldn't feel so burdened by the veins I see in my hands when I look down expecting to see something completely different (i.e. a 20 year old version of myself). I have old hands and my friends are all parents. Wah.

Today, I thought about love. I thought about the love I have, the love I have lost and the love that is growing everyday. I thought about love that returns…after all the wounds have healed….and how easily they open back up again. And sometimes, they hurt just as much the second time around, meaning they never really healed at all. Love sucks. Especially the latter kind.

I heard a quote by Lao Tzu. He said, “Free from desire you realize the mystery. Caught in the desire you see only the manifestations.” I thought about this. And I thought about the fact that I desire far too much- that possibly, I will never be free from desire and the manifestations that corrode my insides unremittingly. How does one who desires everything let go of longing? Any ideas?

I have to work on an operations management case right now, otherwise I would keep thinking- keep having thoughts. Maybe the abundance of schoolwork piling up is a blessing in disguise- a reprieve from all this thinking.

Lastly, of course thinking is always accompanied by music. At least in my world. Therefore, here is today’s playlist…a mix of upbeat and utterly miserable…mirroring the range of emotions that all this thinking has put me through:

1. Mika- Happy Ending

2. Sinatra- Moon River

3. Rolling Stones- I’ve Got The Blues

4. Remy Zero- Save Me

5. Melendi- Maldita Vida Loca

6. Beatles- While My Guitar Gently Weeps

7. Damien Rice- Elephant

8. Postal Service- Nothing Better

9. Vasco Rossi- Vita Spericolata

10. Jose Gonzalez- Heartbeats

11. Bob Sinclaire- Love Generation

12. Joshua Radin- Amy’s Song

13. Adriano Celentano- L'emozione Non Ha Voce

14. Pink Floyd- Shine on You Crazy Diamond

15. Manchester Orchestra- Now That We’re Home

16. Red Hot Chili Peppers- Cabron

17. Rod Stewart- Maggie May

18. Amy Winehouse- Back to Black

19. Calogero- Un Jour Parfait

20. Edith Piaf- Je Ne Regrette Rien

Tug-of-War Trauma

I can vaguely recall a bitter tug-of-war encounter during the first semester of my freshman year of college. Admittedly, I have buried most of these memories deep within the confines of my consciousness. I do, however, remember walking away with a dirt stained bloodied t-shirt, emblazoned with my Greek sorority letters boldly across my 19-year-old chest.
In addition to my sullied attire, I limped away with a twisted ankle owing to an overly enthusiastic (and competitive) opponent from a rivaling sorority. She was lovely.

Of course, the tug-of-war skirmish occurred only after we had finished the “chanting” portion of the afternoon where the throngs of young women, including myself, were politely asked to “sing” our sorority tune at the top of their lungs. I am fairly resentful of the recollection of verse after verse of “Rah Rah for (insert sorority letters). Three cheers for the girls who wear the (insert sorority colors). And you can quote me when I say I am a (insert sorority) from (insert chapter)..."

Even typing these lyrics now brings about a sense of nostalgia, a bit of laughter and moreover, utter mortification.

The end of the day is where the memory ends. I don’t know if we won- or if we lost- or even if there were any winners or losers. I know I departed completely humiliated, sun burnt with a sore throat, busted ankle, and rope burned hands.
It was that moment that I swore never to take part in a similar competition again. It was bad enough that I had broken down and actually enlisted in the whole “Greek society thing” at all. However, it was that day of all the days in my four years as a member, that had truly shown me that I had become a (drum roll please) SORORITY GIRL. I was a “sister.” Cringe.

The sorority experience wasn’t all bad. I made some lifelong friends, the parties were great and it did provide me with some group leadership experiencing that I am utilizing now as an MBA student (however, I rarely admit it around here that I was once a “sister.”)

Needless to say, it was experiences such as the tug-of-war battle that left the bad taste in my mouth. I pledged “never again” to myself back then, but this “never again” has somehow transferred into “again” and this “again” has arrived TODAY.

I now find myself sitting in class, perched next to my packed suitcase, in anticipation of my afternoon flight to Paris. I happen to be participating in the HEC MBAT (MBA Tournament) this weekend after a few long months of indecision. The MBAT “represents the largest annual gathering of international business-school students, with more than 70 nationalities represented. It brings together tomorrow's business leaders in a challenging international setting which epitomizes cooperation, fair play, friendship and social responsibility.” http://www.mbat.org/

Luckily, this time around, I´m relatively proud to be representing ESADE as a modest MBA candidate- as opposed to a typically blond American Sorority Girl. Cringe. Again.

This whole experience is a good lesson in that one can “never say never.” I only hope that this time I walk away with less war wounds and more pride because as I confess, chanting “Ra Ra Ra for a bunch of Greek letters I didn’t understand, flanked by a horde of other girls who had made it out of the rushing process alive and more importantly, as ‘the chosen ones’” wasn’t really the proudest of all my accomplishments.
This weekend I can actually wear the big ESADE “E” on my dorky hat with pleasure and satisfaction.

Due to my rather damaging tug-of-war incident eight years ago, the whole idea of the MBAT tournament was initially less than thrilling. When around 90% of my classmates were booking flights and choosing teams, I was quite happy to be making other plans.

Time passed as well as the deadline for registration. I received a number of comments along the lines of, “you should really be going” and “you´re missing a great opportunity,” but alas, I had missed the cut-off period to enroll. I stood my ground.

Then, unexpectedly - the new class of one year MBAs began and registration was suddenly opened again. My locked-down “final decision” was swiftly unlocked and I began wavering again- making lists of pros and cons and asking everyone around me what I should do. I must have irritated a fair number of people until my friend Aziz, the 2009 ESADE MBAT Chairman, made me flip a coin. He flipped it, I called tails; Independence lost, HEC won and I booked my flight to Paris.

I guess I am taking my “once in an MBA´s lifetime opportunity.” After-all, “missing out” is not my style.

I arrive in Paris tonight. I plan catch up with a few old friends and within a day, I´ll be fully branded, head to toe, in ESADE gear- complete with wrist band, baseball cap and incredibly unflattering knee-length unisex shorts. The colors of my university and my sorority are the same, which is a nice throwback to the good old days, but I must say that representing the sorority was more of a fashion statement than this time around.

I´m on the squash team. I hear it´s like racquetball, which I hear is sort of like tennis- so I’m hoping to come out unscathed. I was also persuaded to join the football (soccer) team. (Thanks Victoria). Luckily, due to my backyard practice sessions with my British footballing ex-boyfriend, I am no longer actually scared of the ball. Dribbling and heading is another story.
I did not, however, join the tug-of-war team.

In the end, I´m going and there is no turning back.

I hope to win.
I hope to represent ESADE well.
And most of all, I hope they don’t make me sing.

Deviating

After arriving home from school yesterday, my entire evening was consumed by fervently reading about Vampires. By fervent, I mean that I’m on book three of the Twilight series. While I should be ashamed of reading novels written for pre-teens as a 28-year-old MBA student, I’m not.

We all have our things. We all have our vices. If my current vice happens to be obsessively reading about fictional affection between mortals, vampires and werewolves - so be it.

There are other things too- other things I shouldn't admit but I will because I have difficulty keeping my own secrets.

Other things- like the fact that although I live in Barcelona, I was actually hoping for a Chelsea victory last night. Definitely shouldn't admit that…

On my way to Spanish on Monday afternoon, I got distracted by BCBG’s summer collection and never actually made it. Instead, I updated my wardrobe.

I have additional issues to identify- I’m not done. These aren’t vices- more like deviations or irregularities. Things about me most people don't know- not because I wouldn't admit to them, but because these things would never come up in any normal conversation.

I have webbed toes, just two and it’s not very noticeable, but there’s no doubt about it- they’re webbed. I inherited them from my grandma.

I often pick up and consume chocolate bars on the way to the gym.

I’m terrified of dying- not of death, but of losing life- and of what other people will find on my computer and in my journals. Death is embarrassing.

I hate being cold. I hate it with a passion- It’s actually painful for me. After last weekend, I hate Milan too.

I still don't “get” Twitter.

I’ve had my heart broken many times- but I keep going back for more…I let myself love far too easily.

I spent Monday night developing old photos and sticking them all over my room in college-dorm style. (so much for my sophisticated pied de terre). 

I missed my friends. I missed my old life- so I surrounded myself with memories of it so as not to feel so far from them. Now I wake up and the first thing I see in the morning, looking at the wall across from my bed- is my best friend smiling at me as we were walking up 5th avenue eating ice cream in the middle of the summer.

What else? I don't have an internship yet. The “not having an internship” isn’t the distressing part…it's the reason for not having one;

About 70% of the students in my class don't have internships yet, but that's to be expected. I cant say that I have been the most proactive in my search but every effort I do and I don't make- is highly considered and calculated. I don't know yet what I want to do- with my life, that is. I have NO idea where to consign the remainder of my working years. In terms of accepting an internship just to “have an internship,” why would I want to spend three critical months in a place I know I don't want to end up?

The MBA has provided me with a type of clarity I didn't expect. Although, in the last 8 months I have not learned exactly what it is I want to do- I have learned what I don't want to do. This is useful- we spoke today about “The Paradox of Choice: Why More is Less.” Therefore, it would logically follow that “Less is More” and if I’m narrowing down my choices- I ultimately am left with “more.” So thank you, grad school, for showing me the dark- nay, the light.

I’m not scared of the internship because it would be hard…of course not, I love a challenge. I’m not anxious about returning to the work force- the time is so limited; it would just be like a stop on the way back to the MBA. What I’m fearful of is the opportunity cost of the opportunity. I, once again, am being indecisive. (surprise, surprise). 

I’m nervous to choose something wrong- to waste my one MBA summer on an experience that will only show me another path I will choose not to go down- another bolded “NO” on the list of things I could have done with my life but ended up realizing that they were not for me.

On certain days, I wake up inspired and I think I have found the solution…I look for internships and when the opportunities start to materialize, I go to bed and wake up with another idea- edging out the original plan due to the fear factor of doing something wrong- losing out on an even better opportunity- the PERFECT opportunities…the opportunity cost.

I am not the typical MBA student…that is clear. So what makes everyone pushing me to prostitute my resume around to big multinationals think that it's the right thing to do? 

I’m going for something less traditional- if it takes me a bit longer to arrive there- that's ok with me…nothing genuinely worth anything in life is ever easy.

Therefore, a large part of the reason for not yet having an internship is the fear of making the wrong choice. Not immobility- but trepidation.

I could go on- I could justify why I didn't apply to any mammoth pharmaceutical companies or global banks for the summer…or I could continue to list all my imperfections or the trivial mistakes I make daily. But I cant. I have to study for my Corporate Finance midterm because I wasted last night reading at a first grade level. I can’t say that I didn't enjoy it either.

Tuesdays Without Morrie

Before any term begins, I study the course lists and immediately create expectations of the upcoming classes. I put them into categories- my own groupings- nothing too calculated, actually a bit banal if I’m honest. For example, this semester we have taken on six courses. I have divided them into “interesting,” “piece of cake,” “impossible,” “wtf?,” “there goes my weekends,” and “finally.”

Generally my expectations are accurate and I’m well prepared for what’s to come when classes begin. This semester, on the other hand, though threw me a curve ball. I found myself, just this morning, in "Management Information Systems" learning about EMS systems and database normalization. Believe it or not, I was genuinely engaged. 

On the other hand, my class in the “finally” category has rapidly moved into the “wtf” category and I have made the executive decision to sit in the back of the room and catch up on readings while tuning in and out of the mind numbing lectures. This substantial modification in my assessments has nothing to do with the course material- it is purely professor related. I have found that a subject can be totally transformed simply by the aptitude of the faculty. Which made me think- in terms of our careers and where we end up- that sometimes its not totally dependent on our strengths or our passions- but the people that come into our lives and show us something that may steer us in one direction or another. I’ve encountered very few of these people thus far.

I never had a mentor. I had always hoped, sort of waiting with metaphorically open arms, for someone- a professor, manager, elder- to see a distinct potential in me, take me under their wing, and create a protégé. 

Unfortunately, this never happened. 

I never came across a mentor- and if I did- either they didn't recognize my potential or I was too daft to solicit theirs. Either way, I started wondering today if I would be where I am now had this happened. Probably not. And possibly, I never came across “my” mentor because the paths I took weren’t necessarily the paths I was meant to be taking. There are hundreds of reasons that could be why I never found a guiding hand to direct me towards the light I still haven’t found. 

I’m not lamenting though, don't get me wrong. I confess it would have been nice to have a guide at certain points of bleakness, but I have found that lacking direction is- in itself- direction. And from that- I’ve worked in a number of fields, discovered more about various industries and lived in more countries and on more continents that I ever could have envisaged. Ultimately, I found myself at one if the top MBA programs in the world.

Not too shabby for a mentorless vagrant, is it?

With all the professors that have stood in front of me, all the schooling I have gone through, all the employers and managers that could have inspired me- I never walked away from an experience with a definitive path, or a particular individual I would like to emulate in mind. Of course, I have had a great deal of respect for a number of people I have known- but no one lit a fire inside of me. No one has ever had the effect on me where I look at them and think to myself- “I would like to do what they are doing” or “I would like to be like them one day.” 

My first grade teacher, Ms. Corey, was pretty cool but “cool” in the sense that I cried during the watermelon party the last day of school- not because I wanted to grow up and be a first grade teacher. (Life would have been a lot easier up till now had that been the case!) With that- I am a bit envious of those people who just know who they are meant to grow up to be. And although they are few and far between- I think I’m on the totally opposite side of the spectrum.

When I was little, I wanted to be either Barbie or a famous singer (famous being the operative word). Considering the flammability of Barbie- that prospect went out the window. Plus, when I cut off all her hair and it never grew back, I figured that the human race was a far better option. 

A clear indication that I would never make it as a singer presented itself when my sister and I orchestrated recitals during family gatherings and I was always gently reminded to, “let Tyler sing and you can dance.” Meanwhile, Tyler actually did grow up to be a Berkeley graduated melodiously gifted talented songstress. Such is life.

In my early adolescence, I decided that I would be an astronaut. I thought that the earth was unbelievably limiting, almost confining, so I assumed that the moon was my best bet. Furthermore, also could never grasp this life- I would lay awake night after night contemplating the stars, the infinite sky, the universe- and then it hit me (I actually remember the exact moment)- that I wanted to see the earth from space…and maybe in doing so- I would appreciate it more. 

Shortly after, I learned that being an astronaut didn't entail only courage and intellect- but I would have to have perfect eyesight. Being that I left the womb a bit lacking in the vision department, that one went out the window too. 

After coming to terms with the fact that I would be stuck on earth for the remainder of my years- I was determined to use that time wisely and actually contribute something to the planet. Because of my love for animals (and subsequently my vegetarianism), I decided that I would study veterinary medicine. I actually started interning at a vets office. All was going well until I came across a gravely ill puppy and I realized that no matter what I could have said to him, I could never communicate with animals- I would never be able to take away their pain- only ease or delay it. The “saving aspect” was excellent- but it was all the lost causes- all the death- that would have broken me in the end. 

From there, I stopped searching and just let my professional life take its course. I worked in retail, I was a hostess at a restaurant in college until I got into a fight with the chef and got fired, I was a dance instructor and a lifeguard as a counselor at my old summer camp. I was an Italian translator for a centuries old secret society, I saved sea turtles in Costa Rica, I was an English teacher, I worked in advertising, marketing, media, journalism- I was an executive assistant to a celebrity, I sold ad space in trade publications, I rebranded my family’s fourth generation business- you name it, I probably tried it. I may not have loved every job I have ever held but I love where I am now- and none of this would be possible without all of that. 

I often wonder that if I had met someone along the way- someone so inspiring that I changed course, or stayed on one particular path- where I would be now. What part of the world, in what position, making what kind of money, with whom?

Would I be happy? 

That, I will never know.

What I do know is that never having come across my mentor- I’ve carved out my own trail…I’m still plowing through the unknown everyday in hopes of reaching my destination. I’m not there yet but I’m continuously getting closer- and for now, this is enough for me. 

Therefore, as a means of making myself feel better- but with more truth than there is mere consolation- I’d like to say that a lack of direction is sometimes better than a clear course, complete with crosswalks and traffic lights. 

Because who really wants to encounter a stop sign on the way to the top? 

In the end, all of the wandering that us human beings can find ourselves engaged in can often lead to the most exhilarating of destinations.