Trailblazer tolls: risks, rewards, costs, and benefits

Over the last week, I've been thinking a lot about the "blindfolded cliff jumping" metaphor Alejandra Campoverdi continuously uses in her memoir. Campoverdi uses the term to refer to the experience first-generation students have in breaking educational barriers. The phrase is meant to evoke feelings of danger, adrenaline, and possibility.

We all have different tolerance levels for risk. While I would never be personally comfortable taking on the level of risk Campoverdi describes in her journey to D.C., going to law school is still a risk. Choosing to be the First and Only in your family to pursue a higher level of education is daunting for a number of reasons. 

Being the First and Only in your family to go to law school is an intimidating financial risk. According to a survey conducted by the American Bar Association, the median amount of debt taken on by a law student is $112,000. I'm willing to bet this amount trends higher among First and Onlys, who often don't have the same familial wealth many other law students do to fund their education, nor do they have the same access to merit scholarships.

Honestly, I didn't realize the extent of the potential for debt coming in to law school. Or, I may have realized the extent of the debt but figured everyone graduating law school was handed out fancy, high-paying jobs immediately after graduation. 

Although the six-figure median salary ($106,744 in CA) for first year attorneys is a figure that would have impressed me previously, I'm not sure it is enough to justify the cost of law school. In fact, according to Education Data Initiative, an organization that provides research and resources to tackle the rising costs of higher education, less than half of new law school graduates say their education was worth the cost. In other words, the six-figure salary that might appear plentiful on the outside comes at a literal cost. 

Blindfolded cliff jumping isn't the only trailblazer toll. Being the First and Only also means you must leave home. Saying goodbye, even if it's temporary, is no easy thing to do. In order to pursue higher education, many of us are forced to leave our social support systems -- our friends and families -- that helped us get here. This affects us, but it also affects them. 

A few days ago, my best friend back home told me that she was diagnosed with thyroid cancer. Her test results were released to her, online, a day before her doctor's appointment. She opened them and told me what they said. The next morning, she had to walk into that appointment alone. That killed me.

Because I live four hundred miles away, there was nothing I could do. I wasn't able to hold her hand; I wasn't able to hug her and tell her everything was going to be okay; and I sure as hell wasn't able go with her to that appointment.

This isn't the only time I have dealt with this type of situation. In the middle of the second semester of 1L year, my dad became unwell after a surgery. He lived alone, so I left Davis and the demands of law school to take care of him for the weekend. This decision affected my performance on my midterm exams, which were the following week. This was not even a consideration in my mind when I decided to leave, but that decision had consequences. Following the exam, I visited the professor's office hours to talk about my concerns. She told me to leave my worries about home behind. To not look back. To not engage or worry about anything going forward that isn't law school. But how could I possibly do that?

The guilt that accompanies leaving the ones you love can be paralyzing, especially when you're not able to be physically present during their time of need. The demands from home don't stop, even if we are hundreds of miles away. "Hillbilly Elegy" demonstrated the conflict between the competing needs of career advancement and the health and safety of family members. When Vance got the call that his motner had overdosed while he was at a networking event, his sister pleaded with him to come home. Vance dropped what he was doing and made the hours-long journey home to pick up the pieces. 

I wish I could have done more for my friend in her moment of need. I wish I could have dropped everything and gone to that doctor's appointment with her. But I didn't, and I feel guilty for that. Ultimately, she is going to be okay. The survival rate for the form of thyroid cancer she has is nearly 100%. That the odds are in her favor, though, does not detract from the fact that I wasn't able to be there for her when she needed support. 

Is this fair? Probably not. I guess none of it is. Leaving home is hard, and leaving home when you know your friends and family need you is even harder. Although this conundrum is not unique to first-generation students, their friends and families may be less understanding of their geographic departure an inability to provide constant support. I'm not sure where the balance between being a good student and a good person lies. What do we owe those who helped us get to where we are? Not just because we owe them, but because we love them.