I began college about eight months ago at Harvard College. I’m no one special, just a middle-class kid from Plano, TX with big dreams. Coming into college, I felt undecided regarding my future. I still feel this way, but I decided to write down these thoughts throughout my time in college as a record for future me. Since they’re already written, I figured I would publish them for others to relate to and reflect on as well. In structure, I am a bootleg Paul Graham, but these thoughts are my own contributions.
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As my first semester at Harvard came to a close, I reflected on why I went to college at all. As a kid, my parents pushed me to study and work hard, sending me to Kumon to bash long division and learn to memorize esoteric vocabulary. In elementary school, this background and mindset (which I never really questioned back then) naturally brought me to a like-minded group of friends. We went through middle school and high school, pulling straight A’s (at the expense of pulling no girls, unfortunately). At the end of it, we emerged academically victorious: we had played the K-12 game and been rewarded. So, I went to college to keep playing.
I thought about this idea of playing games — and how much people are enamored by them. So much of my childhood seemed wrapped around competition. From my earliest Kindergarten days, my classmates and I would compete at recess, seeing who could run the farthest or hang onto the monkey bars the longest. Visiting my friend Govardhan’s house, we would have heated Beyblade battles. We would watch eagerly for whose Beyblade would spin the longest, cheering as our toys smashed into each other. After each battle, there was this satisfaction behind emerging victorious that, though transient, was ultimately addicting. In high school, we played the GPA game, seeing who could edge each other by the slightest of point differentials. Even on graduation day — a day meant for the celebration of all our work over the last decade-plus — that competitive feeling lingered. My school’s salutatorian joked in his speech that he was the “guy who lost” — while I, the now-valedictorian who had trailed until the very last semester, had won.
Applying to college resembled a game. Getting into Harvard felt like the end of a long childhood game that welcomed the start of a new game: maximizing GPA once more, winning prestigious awards, and (now that Harvard was achieved) getting into Goldman Sachs.
I joke slightly (if that Goldman offer ever comes I might wipe this article off the face of the Internet), but in my first semester, I had many moments where I would wake up in the mornings devoid of any motivation to get out of bed. Maybe it was the chilly Boston air keeping me wrapped under my blanket. Or maybe it was because I was too lazy to walk 9 minutes to grab the most delicious instant eggs and oatmeal at Annenberg Hall. But something deep down felt different. I felt like I was just following the motions, not really considering what direction I actually wanted to pursue. I felt like I wasn’t creating anything myself; rather, the system I was inside was creating me.
As I wrap up this reflection, I am flying back to Boston to begin a new semester. I put my childhood games behind me, looking ahead to the life in front of me. I realize I’m grown-up now, flying alone when I used to fly with my mom and dad: I move independently. I feel at ease, looking outside my airplane window and enjoying the warm sunshine. I have a burning urge to create and explore and just play the types of games I wish I did more of as a kid. I conclude this is what I’m destined to do: to pursue random side projects in college. There is definitely lots of value in structured pathways, but I feel so much value in exploring, learning, and experimenting. I feel like I’m just playing around and figuring things out one idea at a time.
Who knows where I’ll end up, but I think at the end of the day, I’m just happy to learn and grow.
Inspired by conversations with my good friend, Dhrub Singh. Thanks for helping me reflect on what I want to do in my life.
