“No! Please, no,” I cry, sprinting towards the train. The doors close in front of my face,
and the train begins mockingly pulling away.

“Ughhhh,” I mutter dejectedly. I climb back up the stairs to the main terminal of Grand
Central and look at the departures board. The next train to New Haven leaves at midnight, so
I’m stuck here for the time being. I find a bench and lie down, no longer caring about the people
staring at me. I look up at the ceiling and wish I could join the constellations in the heavens.

When the train arrives, I make sure I’m one of the first ones on. I walk to a dark corner of
the car, lit only by the lights of the platform outside, and collapse into the seat. As the train
begins moving, I pull out my laptop and open the corporate analysis I’m working on for my boss.
This is what happens when you work at one of the top investment banks in the country: you
never get a break. Not even when you’re riding the midnight train home, alone, after the longest
day you’ve had in a while. I work on my analysis for another half an hour, then decide I’m done.
I can’t stare at it any longer; it’s making me sick. I shut my laptop, plunging my little corner into

even deeper darkness. I close my eyes and begin to put my earbuds in when I hear shuffling foot-
steps approaching. Slowly, I open my eyes and see the rough shape of an older man standing by

my seat. We stare at one another for a few seconds, him standing and rocking with the train, me
sitting warily. Finally, he says, “You look absolutely miserable.”

I sit there shocked, not sure how to respond. Eventually, I settle on, “How so?”

“I’m not sure,” the man replies. “I can just sense it.”

I turn and gaze at my reflection in the foggy window of the train. The girl staring back at me
looks tired, sure, and maybe a little disheveled, but miserable? I don’t think so.

Right?

“I’m still not sure what you mean,” I reply.

“I’m not sure either. Just something to think about.” The train begins to slow down, and
the intercom announces that we are arriving in Greenwich.

“This is my stop,” the man says. “Make sure you don’t miss yours.”

Staring out the window, I put my earbuds in and shuffle my playlist. “Bitter Sweet

Symphony” by The Verve comes on. As the train flies through Stamford, I watch the lights of the
city blur by outside and think. I am the textbook definition of successful: I graduated from one
of the top schools in the country, I work at arguably the most prestigious investment bank in the
world, and I manage it all like a pro. Well, on the outside at least. On the inside, I’m slowly falling

apart, crumbling like the stone walls of an old castle, fallen from its former glory. I got every-
thing that everyone had told me I wanted. So why doesn’t it feel like I expected?

The train intercom snaps me out of my half-asleep state, letting me know we have
reached New Haven. I gather my bags and pause at the car’s exit. As the cold January wind hits
my face, everything becomes clear: I am in charge of my life. I control what I do and how I feel
about it. I step off the train and walk to my car, parked under the lone light in the parking lot. I
climb into the driver’s seat, and under the warm glow of the light, I draft up an email to my boss.
This could be my sleep-deprived brain about to make a really stupid decision, but I decide I don’t
care.

I read the email over once more.
Then, I click send.