Fast forward to today, I am a journalist writing about tax law who has a degree neither in tax, nor in law, nor, even in journalism
It took well over a month of working from home for me to realize that I could be seen more clearly on my laptop’s camera if I turned the machine slightly to my right. Then the bright light from the window near my desk was out of focus and viewers could now see me without being blinded by the light.
They could also, if they looked closely, see my diplomas on the wall. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t tout my diplomas at all. The reason is that in the world in which I have worked since my professional career began, I’ve always felt that my degrees really aren’t worth that much. I say that meaning no disrespect to my undergraduate institution nor toward the institution where I earned my master’s degree, but I’ve often felt that there’s a degree missing.
In my first job in public relations working for a company promoting investment in Germany, I felt that if I wanted to be taken seriously in that job, I needed an MBA. I even got my hands on a book that prepped me for the pre-MBA test in the United States. I opened it, took one look at some of the exam questions, and shut it almost immediately. I don’t remember why, but I must have thought somehow that the test was too hard, or too complicated, or, for whatever reason, it wasn’t for me.
In my next job, writing about central banks, I felt from very early on that if I wanted to be taken seriously as a central bank commentator, I should have had a PhD in economics or finance. I didn’t even bother to go get the prep book this time to help me prepare for a test. I didn’t take any “higher math” classes in university so the chances of acquiring this degree as a mid-career professional seemed slim to none.
For the last two years I’ve been writing about tax and wishing that I had studied tax law. Here I have perhaps the most right to be upset at myself. I studied hard for the pre-law school exam. Took it. Didn’t do particularly well, but still applied to a school. But somewhere in that process, I decided that I wanted instead to get a master’s degree in political science. I don’t even remember exactly why. Maybe I was intimidated by how hard I was told the first year of law school was, or how hard the bar exam would be.
Fast forward to today and I am now a journalist writing about tax law who has a degree neither in tax, nor in law, nor, even in journalism. (I have, for what it’s worth, on my wall, an undergraduate degree in German, summa cum laude, and an MA in Political Science).
As I write this, I have also open on my computer an essay recently written in the London-based Times newspaper by Martha Gill called “Young people get it – hard work doesn’t pay”.
In it she begins asking readers, “How old were you when you realized hard work and sacrifice weren’t worth it?” In summary, she says that some folks realize this upon retirement, some on their deathbed, but the youngest among us in the workforce are realizing it now as the pandemic-induced recession limits the number of jobs available and raises the value of connections and thus diminishes the value of hard work.
For the youngest, “The idea that anyone can succeed if they put in the hours just won’t cut it with the new workforce: they already know it’s not quite true,” she says.
When I read that and think of my own story and how a young person might read Gill’s piece, it worries me. I would argue, even if the system is rigged (my word, not hers), keep working hard.
For example, she argues that “I wish I hadn’t worked so hard” is always on a deathbed confessions list. It wouldn’t be on mine. If anything, I would say I wish maybe I’d worked just a little harder to get over mental obstacles that I faced in my 20s.
I remember a man telling me when I was 22 that if I really wanted to be taken seriously as an influencer (of the “policy” not “social media” type), then I needed to earn both a PhD and a law degree. My jaw dropped. That would have meant nearly another decade of schooling. No way.
Well, I’m about 40 now. If I had followed his advice, I might have had it all completed ten years ago. I might still not be influencing policy, but I’d, arguably, have more credibility to do so. I also, of course, could be even twice as regretful as I am now if getting all those degrees didn’t yield much in terms of recognition. We’ll never know.
In fairness to myself, I remember someone else told me in my early 20s: Go to law school if you want to be a lawyer, not for any other reason. I didn’t want to be a lawyer. I wanted to be an opinion columnist for a major newspaper. Someone told me, or I figured out on my own, that to do that I should either get a PhD in political science (like George Will) or at some point find a way to shift over from the news pages of a newspaper (like Thomas Friedmann). I chose the latter option. I’m still trying.
Gill writes, “Work like a maniac and you can achieve anything — is quite obviously untrue except for a lucky few.”
Maybe, but personally, I do wish now looking back that I’d taken my university and masters studies ever so slightly more seriously. I don’t think anyone would accuse me of being a slacker at that time, but I wish I had read texts just a little closer, been more courageous in asking questions when I didn’t understand things, or spend time on a Sunday really working on my PhD program applications, even if that meant not having a drink with a friend and even more time in front of a screen after working in an office job from 9-6 five days a week.
Who knows, maybe if I had done that not one thing in my life would be different than it is today. But I’d still have more papers in frames on my wall to brag about.
Todd