This, not That

People often think of college as a time for exploration: taking classes never offered in high school, ranging from the ubiquitous (joke) of underwater basket-weaving to foreign languages or classics or math and science courses far advanced beyond the level that we achieved high school. Figuring out what major that we choose for ourselves, what internships to apply for, what potential career path we want to embark on. (How many eighteen-year-olds really know what they want to do for the rest of their lives when they move into their freshman dorm at college?)

Well, the people (whoever they are) aren’t wrong. College does certainly give students the chance to explore a realm of different academic, pre-professional, and extracurricular interests, and to my parents’ credit, they don’t hover over my course selection — not that they know when certain dates are due, anyway — or stand over my shoulder, encouraging me to take one class over another.

However, they probably leave most of my class selection to me because they’ve made their stances on my declared major resoundingly clear. Even when I matriculated to college, deciding what major that I was going to check off for my intended declaration during freshman year was a choice guided strongly by Mom and Dad:

“Don’t do just International Politics,” noted my dad, despite the fact that he was sending me off to an undergraduate international relations program. “You need to have some ‘Economics’ in that title; it’ll make you hirable. International Political Economy. Try that instead.”

Sitting through economics classes required for all students, I eventually developed a crystal-clear understanding that I was not set out to be an economics major in any way, shape, or form.

Where did that leave me? I knew without asking that my parents were not going to support a change to International History, Culture & Politics, or the aforementioned International Politics that they had once warned me about.

Global Business, though? A budding major, the baby of the university, that had actually yet to come into existence before my freshman year of college, seemed promising. If anything, my parents would probably herald the accounting courses that served as core classes for the major. The more quantitative, the better.

A year or two, and several frank conversations with my parents, later, I know the rationale behind their encouragement or lack thereof of varying classes and majors. While not always what I want to hear in the form of what to study, what career to pursue, or what classes to take, I do know that my parents want me to be happy, and their conception — take note, probably mine as well — revolves around financial stability. Perhaps bluntly put, but my parents have always emphasized that money may not buy anything, but you have a strongly higher chance at being happy with money than without.

Thus, happiness stems from financial security, which stems from a high-paying job, which stems from, well, what you major in, where you work, and what you study. This, not that leads you to path X, which gets you to some rung on the continuous ladder of success. My parents have always had strong opinions and perhaps always will, but writing this book and conducting research have shown me that hey, this mindset of this, not that resurfaces in the upbringings of immigrants’ children everywhere. So maybe, my parents have been onto something all along…