Quarterlife

The other day my good friend informed me she had found her dream job. Before I successfully got any details about said job, however, she modified her statement: this was a job that she would never, ever, actually have. Not because she wasn't qualified or couldn't get an interview - she simply couldn't afford to think twice about even applying for a job with such a low starting salary. Entering her third year of law school, she's looking at a graduation present of about $1000 a month in owed student loan payments. She explained that the mere fact that she'd attended law school was essentially locking her into the profession indefinitely. "Now I have to be a lawyer just to pay off the stupid loans," she said, matter-of-factly.

Three years ago, before I'd graduated and entered the "real world" of student loans and credit card debt and unpaid internships, I wrote an article about the problem of student loan debt for my journalism capstone. For the article, "The Real Cost of Education," I interviewed a handful of experts as well as actual students facing seemingly insurmountable debt. After talking to my friend last week, I went back and re-read the article. Sure enough, her sentiments were exactly the same as those I had typed into my paper a few years back. "Many students go to law school right after getting their undergraduate degree, with little or no experience to allude to the realities of being a lawyer," I wrote. "But bridled with $80,000 or more in loans, they have little choice but to practice law in order to repay their debt, even if this means sacrificing their happiness."

It was funny reading over the article. I had poured months of my life into researching, writing and editing the piece. And yet, because my own student loans seemed such a far-away reality (it would be nearly 4 months before I made my first payment), I didn't really conceive of the impact its subject matter would have on my own life or my friends lives. Sure, the numbers were shocking and the experts' arguments were compelling, but the article was about adults: people who had the letters MD typed neatly after their names, or had completed the bar exam - people who were making grownup decisions about buying houses and having kids.

But now I don't have to scramble to find people to attest to the impacts of student loans. These are my friends. I could rewrite the entire article quoting my friends from our gchat conversations or summarizing sentiments expressed over beers at happy hour. Even now, as I find myself grappling with the decision of whether or not to go back and get my masters in teaching, it's hard to absorb the realities of being saddled with significant loans. I know full well nearly half of all teachers leave the position within the first five years. And that the degree will land me with loan payments amounting to much more than the $100 a month I pay right now for my undergrad. But while there's the potential that going back to school will be a mistake, really no amount of research can answer that for me. Fifty percent of teachers quitting still leaves 50 percent who stick it out - some, I'm guessing, even like it. For most of these jobs there's no real trial run. You can volunteer in a classroom, but you won't know what it's like to deal with the administration or standardized tests. You don't get to try out being a doctor for a year before you commit to the four (plus!) years of medical school. And how are you supposed to know at 25 what you want to do with the rest of your life?