My Sisyphean Attempts at Conquering Life

The Rock Center at Harvard Business School

I need to rant. Hear me out.

“Yes, so do we—what does Sisyphean mean? Can you please use regular English, you performative man?” I hear you mutter under your breath.

Well, in Greek mythology, Sisyphus, a cunning king, was given an eternal punishment by the gods. He was tasked with pushing an enormous boulder up a hill—only for it to roll back down every time it was nearing the top.

“How sad! Why was he punished?”

Well, that’s for another day. Today is about me, not Sisyphus—Google it, or maybe wait for Nolan’s next film.

At the mercurial age of 13, I had an astounding epiphany. When others around me were coming to terms with ungodly changes to their bodies, I discovered a disturbing truth—that life inherently has no meaning or purpose. How did I stumble upon this nihilistic maxim? Don’t ask me; I was a 13 year old with access to vintage Facebook. Someone must have tagged me in their album called “random pics.”

I was a changed man-boy. My sprouting moustache asked me: Should I even grow? Is there a worthwhile reason for me to exist? I did not have an answer for it. Directionless and helpless, I approached the two wisest people I knew in my social circle—my parents.

“Ma, what’s the purpose of life?”

“To pray to Lord Krishna and attend IIT.”

“Sorry, what’s IIT?”

“The Indian Institute of Technology—it’s where smart young people like yourself go to.”

“Are you sure about that? It seems kind of short-sighted for something as important as life.”

“Of course I’m sure! I’ll ask your papa to enroll you in coaching classes next weekend.”

“But I think I’d actually be a great arti—”

“Don’t say those words! Once a day, Lord Krishna makes whatever you say come true. Besides, people who attend IIT are the true winners in life. Trust me on this one—once you reach IIT, your life is sorted.”

I took her words as gospel. Or perhaps, the Bhagavad Gita. After four soul-crushing years full of 12-hour study days, I had outsmarted a million and a half other Indians to reach what I was told would be the zenith of human achievement—an Indian engineering college. My boulder was near the top of the hill, and I, a 17-year-old Sisyphus, was ready to call it a day.

And then I heard those damned words. 

“What are you recruiting for?” a senior said to me.

“Umm, dear sir, I think you didn’t get the memo. My mother told me that I’ve MADE it. This is it. I’m at IIT; my boulder is coming to rest here.”

“Are you thick-headed? Do you have money? Don’t you want a job?”

“I assumed they both came with the IIT tag, didn't they?”

Hearing this, my senior turned around and walked off—too upset to even bother reasoning with me. I was frantic. I had a few more epiphanies that day—first, that my parents could actually lie to me. Second, they probably weren’t as smart as I had imagined them to be.

Asking around, I discovered that this was merely the assembly point before the trek really began. From here, the boulder’s path ascended and branched out into two different routes:

1. The Research Rockies—An endurance climb through steep unmarked trails, with extended periods of darkness, followed by short-lived bursts of illumination in the form of research publications with your name on them. You may find some cash strewn along the way if you’re lucky.

2. The Corporate Canyon—A steadily flowing river of income flanked by the promise of periodic promotions on one end and Marriott Bonvoy points on the other.

I wish I could say that I deliberated on this decision extensively, but even without studying FIN 1 or having to deal with Excel’s malignant formula, the net present value of one of these options seemed much higher than the other. Thus I began pushing my boulder up again—this time, in search of a job that would pay enough for me to not care about not having a purpose in life.

Turns out my life’s true purpose was to manufacture soap and soup at Unilever and, in the process, as per the investor relations webpage, “make everyday life brighter for all” (whilst maximizing shareholder value). I thought: “Surely, there’d be a place to park my boulder here somewhere. Let me rest and churn out immaculately-designed powerpoints with perfectly-aligned typography.” Soon enough, I did find a spot for my boulder to rest, but I found uncomfortable gazes coming my way; in particular, my manager’s:

“Hey Satyam, welcome to your mid-year career conversation. Where do you see yourself in five years?”

“Right here. Where I am.”

“Um, HR doesn’t allow me to accept that as an answer. How do you feel about being on my side of the desk?”

“I think I’m good where I am.”

“But with your brains, you could go so much higher. Besides, your boulder’s gonna gather some moss without any rolling.”

“Really? I’m kinda tired with all this pushing these past few years. Anyway, what’s up there?”

“Actually, I don’t really know. Though I’ve heard the view from the top’s really nice.”

“Well, I do like a nice view. How do I get there?”

“You need to keep pushing your boulder through the Corporate Canyon—although, spoiler alert, the canyon turns into an uphill ladder really soon.”

“I don’t feel comfortable doing—”

“Or you could take the shortcut . . .”

“Wait, there’s a shortcut?”

At this point, my manager leaned over, and whispered in my ear the three magical words—Master of Business Administration (in an HR-approved way, don’t worry). It seemed too good to be true—in return for two years of your life, you get the god-given right to boss people around who are much smarter than you.

“Do we learn something valuable?” I asked.

“Well, there’re Porter’s five forces, which are kinda intuitive. Then there are the 4 Ps, which I guess you could just Google. You’ve got the competitive wedge—which is borderline common sense. And you’ve got the GAAP principles, which you’ll probably end up hiring a real accountant for anyway.”

“Well, that sounds inspiring.”

“What you truly learn from the MBA though, is the priceless skill of judgment. Also, sidenote: you more or less double your income in two years.”

By now, dear reader, you should be able to follow the trajectory of my boulder. I pivoted a hard left toward the shortcut and pushed my boulder up the hill of the MBA application. I could see the employment data luring me in, the promise of a life with S-tier materialistic comforts seemingly within arm’s reach. I pushed it across the Atlantic Ocean, hauled it through immigration at Logan, and rolled it onto Batten Way, halting briefly to take a photo with the Harvard Business School sign.

The end seemed within reach. Even with the US government’s restrictions on the intellectual pursuits of students without an American passport, fat pay-checks on the career portal kept my nerves calm. It felt like my boulder and I were finally within spitting distance of the finish line. And then, ironically enough, an institution called The Rock Center came and moved the finishing line away:

“Is this what you came to HBS for?”

“What do you mean?”

“Aren’t you a leader who will make a difference in the world?”

“Of course I am,” I answered, half-jokingly.

“And you’ll do that by becoming a product manager in the Small and Medium Enterprise Cloud division of a FAANG company?”

“I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

“If you’re not founding, why are you even here?”

“Ouch, Rock, who hurt you? Can you stop pretending like you’re GSB?”

“Re-evaluate your life’s choices. The world needs people like you to solve problems that seem unsolvable. You owe it to your people. HBS wants you to forget the paycheck, embrace the unknown, take a leap of faith, and (in a hushed tone) miss no more than three classes.”

I find myself again at that point in life where my entrepreneurial ambitions are preparing my boulder for another push up the hill. This time, though, the payoff isn’t as evident as it had been in the past—it’s hard to quantify and even more difficult to qualify. For the first time, it seems like the boulder might need to carve out a path for itself where there isn’t one—a realization that is equal parts exciting and nerve-wracking. If you find any of this relatable, come say hi; let’s push our boulders together. If for the past ten minutes you’ve been scratching your head wondering why an MBA student is talking about rocks—I do apologize, but maybe consider taking a literary elective sometime soon. Regardless, thanks for reading my rant. Until next time!

Name (MBA ‘XX) is the TEMPLATE.