Q: What does being a first-gen individual mean to you personally, and how has that identity shaped your journey, both academically and professionally?
Being a first-generation individual has been a unique journey of self-discovery and finding a sense of belonging.
I was never a high-achieving student, but I knew I wanted to go to college. My family was incredibly supportive, though they couldn’t offer guidance from personal experience. From the start, I tried to fit myself into a "practical" mold by choosing a pre-medical track. While I was far more interested in philosophy and the arts, pursuing the humanities with no clear career goals was seen as impractical — certainly not the path to a stable future.
I had no idea what building a stable career even meant, and by the end of my first semester, I found myself in an existential crisis. The structured path I had chosen wasn’t giving me the sense of fulfillment or belonging I sought; instead, it was harming my mental health and spirit. Still, I pressed on, thinking sheer determination would get me through. I failed both calculus and organic chemistry, but earned an A in a class ironically titled Lively Arts.
Nearly burnt out, I started to question whether I was cut out for college at all. My interests were too broad to be confined to a single path, and without guidance or role models, I seriously considered whether the emotional and financial costs were worth it. While I value education intrinsically, I came to realize that, for some, college often functions as a means to an end.
This disillusionment was pivotal. It made me realize that while it was a privilege to forge my own path, it was also a burden. In doing so, I had the opportunity to redefine my values and challenge traditional ideas of success and belonging. I transferred schools, abandoned the pre-medical dream and chose to major in philosophy and applied ethics. I grew more comfortable with uncertainty, often saying, though not always fully knowing: “Yes, my major is philosophy. No, I don’t know exactly what I want to do with it or where it will take me, but I’ll figure it out. And no, you don’t study to become a philosopher.”
Through facing other challenges like commuting, juggling responsibilities and maintaining my well-being, this newfound sense of belonging helped me redefine success. For me, success became about simply graduating without losing my sanity.
As graduation neared, I applied to graduate programs, but wasn’t accepted — and to my surprise, I was relieved. I loved studying philosophy, but continuing down that path didn’t feel quite right either. While this is a simplified version of my experience, which ranged from overwhelming and isolating to fulfilling, I graduated with a GPA above 3.0 and managed to keep (most of) my marbles intact. I’m still unsure whether I’ll apply to a master’s program, but I continue to research them, hoping that one day, I’ll find “the one.”
Navigating the professional world became another confusing learning curve, as I tried to prove endlessly how "transferable" my skills were. I sought advice and was often told that what I wanted was unrealistic or unattainable. I admit, my resume is quite the puzzle! I started working at a restaurant at 14, spent eight years at a hardware store before, during and after college, painted houses, repaired lamps and briefly worked as a studio assistant for a florist. Over the years, I sent thousands of job applications for positions I was qualified for — perhaps even overqualified for — but heard back from only a handful.
Now, working at an Ivy League institution — a place I once felt I had to "survive" — has been a powerful affirmation.