It’s official, my Chartered Financial Analyst (CFA) designation has been revoked. An email clarifying that I am no longer permitted to use these letters in reference to my career draws to a close fifteen years of the most tumultuous period of my life.
For those outside the banking industry, the CFA society is the illuminati of modern industrialized finance. There isn’t a promotion cycle or securities issuance outside the CFA’s neurotic purview. They keep tabs on the industry through three gruelling “levels” of examination, yearly fees, and entitlement. The use of their acronym, “C.F.A.” on an email signature, is widely considered from Seattle to Sydney as the industry prerequisite for moving up the corporate ladder. Without it, an industry veteran is neutered. And, here I stand, neutered.
So, as that email landed in my inbox while I was struggling to figure out my first post, I figured why not start here, at the formal end of my relationship with finance, with the first place I heard about the CFA, in the basement of my fraternity. We were hosting our quarterly shindig, The Peak Festival, a party thrown in honor of our newly initiated pledges. It was my Sophomore year and picking a major was at the forefront of my mind. For the party, I’d fitted a pair of ski googles over my dishwater blonde hair and wore my lucky pair of jeans. The basement was decorated with posters and the setlist was the heavy hitters of 2009: You Can Have Whatever You Like, featured heavily.
Rebecca Roberston, a fiery redhead, had just made her way through a crowd of drunk freshman, as she saw me. She was from the Episilon sorority and I washed dishes for her head chef.
“Where’s Paul?” She asked.
“Paul?”, I replied.
“Yeah, he was supposed to study with me Tuesday night.”
No longer wanting to stand awkwardly in the corner, this conversation was welcome. Standing and not engaging with women was viewed as poor form in the fraternity, however, I hadn’t seen Paul in a minute, and, quite frankly, I avoided Paul like the plague, but I wanted to avoid standing alone.
“Are you a business major?” I asked.
“I’m thinking of going into finance.” Rebecca replied.
“You wouldn’t catch me dead in business.”
“What are you majoring in?”
“I’m a study abroad guy, I’m mixing CHID with International Studies.”
There were three bracelets on my wrist. One collected from every country I’d ever visited. So I held up my hand—including a red cup— and flashed the goods: my jewelry from Costa Rica, Ghana, and Kenya. I was tipsy enough to make it not awkward. Her brown eyes sparkled in the strobe light.
“We should travel together sometime.”
A girl mentioning travel was as good as sexual pleasure to me. It was a one way ticket to the registered interest list but when I measured her grit factor, which was hidden beneath a tube top, what I saw wasn’t a sixteen hour bus ride to Cote d’Iovre. By my estimations, I’d be ponying up for a hotel somewhere in the mediterranean.
“Where have you been?”
“All over Europe. I’ve been to Italy, Spain, France, and England, but I’ve always wanted to go somewhere a little more off the beaten path.”
“So, why finance?” I asked.
“Why not?” She shrugged.
“I’ve always thought business dudes were kind of…”hesitating to make sure none were in earshot, “Boring”.
“You’re not boring, are you?” she asked.
The party was picking up and I am half deaf in my left ear so I motioned to head up stairs. This isn’t what it sounds like. On party nights the basement smelled like cheap liquor and cheese. The second floor was the “VIP section”. Almost every heavy double-metal door was wedged open. There were small gatherings, study group pre-funks, and heart-to-hearts happening all over the floor. The pledge quad was a more conversational room. It had NWA posters and a Ricky’s pathetic lava lamp that gave the room an Austin Powers feel. There was a group of DG’s starting the night off with a round of tequila shots.
“You should do Business.” Rebecca said, flopping into the couch, this time her raspy voice was entirely audible.
“I’m not the business type. Those guys would eat me alive.”
“Where are you from, again?”
“Down south.”
“How far south?”
“Vancouver.”
“Oh” she said placing her hand over her mouth, “a redneck.”
“My mom was a diary farmer.”
Her palm hit my chest as she burst out laughing. Everything about her said “well-to-do north end family”, but that laugh and touch gave me goosebumps. She was already breaking my heart; I always know the ones that are going to break my heart.
“I asked you a question earlier.”
“Business?”
“Sure, let’s talk business.” She lifted her eyebrows like this wasn’t about business at all, “Job market is terrible after the crisis, but if you find one, there’s money. Get your CFA and be a big shot. My dad’s in the industry. You kind of remind me of him.”
CHID, the compared history of ideas, and International Business had always been the main objective. Not that I planned five years in advance, but my greatest objectives were to have fun, deploying a “seize the day” mentality coupled with an “ask for forgiveness instead of permission” attack strategy. And, I was getting pretty good at asking for forgiveness.
“I’ll consider it”, I said.
“That wasn’t what I was really asking though.”
“What were you asking?”
“Are you boring?”
The room didn’t give me any clues on how to answer this question, so I just went with what I thought she wanted to hear.
“I’m not boring.”
“No?”
“Nope.”
“Good. Let’s take a shot.”
The hole in my chest that needed validation, that was constantly falling in love because it protected me from myself was swelling; if an outside human being wanted me then that I meant I wasn’t selfish, crude, or broke. There is a very good argument that I used love just as nefariously as I would use tobacco, weed, ecstacy, coke, or prescription pharmcuetals.
The rest of the fraternity party was uninteresting. We played a series of five songs that were popular to all the girls and I joined a few flip cup games. Rebecca at one point dissappeared (she was good at that) but hearing about this CFA and choosing Business would inexcrituably alter the course of my career and my happiness. I was a long way from climbing the ranks of asset management but the next morning I would pull out my laptop and begin hammering the keyboard researching what course work I needed and if this path, executing a last minute switch, was plausible. I seized the day. Years later, from my hospital bed, I would ask for forgiveness. Today, I am free.
