Dear Young, Ambitious, Harvard Grads

The emotion that stands out, when I think back on the beginning of my senior year, in September of 2008, is bitterness. The firm where I had spent my summer went bankrupt, and even if it hadn’t, I was a far cry from the top of my intern class. Everywhere I looked, it felt like others had advantages I hadn’t noticed until then. This person had been preparing for medical school since day one. That person got a National Science Foundation fellowship. This guy was going to work for the consulting firm where his uncle was a director. That girl happened to intern at a company that wasn’t hit very hard by the recession.

It didn’t help that my dad lost his job and my mom had quit the labor force a few years prior because of health issues. I wasn’t speaking very often with my parents, but when I did, I could tell that they were desperate to protect my feelings. “We’re fine. Your father has a second-round job interview next week. Or, we never told you about the inheritance that your grandfather set aside for us. He’s sending it over soon.”

Growing up, my family was upper-middle class (that was a thing back then, when there were enough people in the middle class that you could distinguish). It bothered me. I went to a private high school in a wealthy town, where other girls called me poor. I was frustrated that I had no control over money. That frustration built up over time into something worse.

In college, I obsessed about what life would be like after graduation. I’d have a great-paying job that put me in the 1 percent or above. Dad wouldn’t have to work 24/7, mom’s condition would go away. I’d get married after a few years. Suburbs, kids, low-impact sports, coding camp. Not that far off from the typical fantasy, when you think about it. It didn’t need to be evil money, I rationalized, it just needed to be safe money. Insulated money. Hell, I’d even give some of it away.

Which is why, senior year, all I can remember is the bitterness. The classes I took are a blur. I can vaguely recall a job interview here and there, but none of them amounted to anything. I sat in my dorm room, dwelling on everything I had messed up. There were only two possible explanations for where I was in that moment: arrogance and worthlessness. Frozen labor markets and climbing unemployment were a sideshow.

If you haven’t noticed, this isn’t a story about the financial crisis. It’s a story about latent depression, papered over by the chaotic, over-achieving, high-energy optimism of college. The recession just exposed what was there when all of that was stripped away. I’m not saying it was a blessing in disguise – the months and years that followed were exceedingly difficult. But I’m lucky that I had roommates who intervened and got me professional help. I’m grateful for an institution that was far gentler on me than I was on myself.

I came to realize that my family didn’t need saving. Sure, I was on the hook for certain financial obligations after graduation, and that’s always stressful for a recent grad – whether in the form of student loan debt or responsibilities to other family members. But, in my mind, I had blown that burden way out of proportion. My dad ended up getting the job. In fact, he enjoys work way more than he lets on. My mom’s condition went away, and I realized that while they weren’t 100 percent happy, they were happy-ish. I was the one that everyone was worried about.

It’s also important to have perspective on the churn of the college social hierarchy. Advantages absolutely persist, but every year there's a different cohort at the top and at the bottom. I've known people who struggled with grad school or investment banking who later became successful entrepreneurs. I've known people who struggled with corporate jobs who later became successful academics. I've also known people who have stuck with the same career, including healthcare workers who have been on the front lines of the current crisis, and thank God for people with that sort of conviction.

The guy with the uncle never left the consulting firm and has gradually worked his way up the ladder. In many respects, he’s had the ideal business career. He’s also got an astounding depth, and a small but solid group of people, mostly family, he’d give anything for. He’s already had to make sacrifices, and still hasn’t found a wife or the suburbs.

I’m writing this letter as a business school professor. In a few months I’m starting law school, probably with some of you. Is this a step backwards? Perhaps. Forward, bottom, unfair, talent: these concepts blend together and erode over time. I’m just glad I’ve found something I want to do.

Katherine P. Waldock ’09 was an Economics concentrator in Kirkland House.

This piece is part of a series of letters written by members of the Harvard College Class of 2009.