From Berkeley to the Big Apple

I left behind everything 1 knew to chase a dream that consumes me.

Moving to New York City before the age of 21 has been like jumping off the deep end, before ever learning how to swim. Forget treading water, I dove headfirst and forgot my floaties. I wasn’t ready, but l did it anyways. After all, as I’ve learned in the last year, ‘ready’ is subjective. I left behind my family, my school, and everything familiar to start over in a city of endless possibilities. But beneath the excitement, lies a raw reality nobody prepares you for.

Living on my own for the first time in my life feels impossibly liberating and terrifying all at once. I can finally let my inner OCD thrive and have every pillow neatly lined up on the couch, but who will be there at 2 a.m., bringing over a pint of Talenti gelato to split, or asking for a late-night study session before lecture the next day? There are nights when the city lights feel cold, when the noise and the crowds only amplify my loneliness. I miss the comfort of my Mom’s voice, the familiarity of my old college routine, and the certainty that someone was always there to catch me if I fell. Now, it’s just me navigating a world where every decision, every misstep, falls on my shoulders.

Starting full-time in finance has been a baptism by fire. The pace, the pressure to prove myself, the insane learning curve I can’t even begin to explain — it’s exhausting. By the time I come home, forget dinner or happy hour, I just want to close my eyes and shut out the world. I’d do anything to drown out the noise of cars driving by, but the silence that follows scares me even more. Some days, I feel like a tiny drop in an endless ocean, lost and insignificant, questioning whether I’m really cut out for this. The weight of expectations is heavy, and there are moments when I wonder if I’ve moved too fast, taken on too much.

Did I move too fast? In my rush to get here, to prove I could handle the world on my own, did I forget to slow down and actually live? There are days I wonder if I skipped over something important — the chance to savor the moments I’ll never get back, to breathe before diving headfirst into chaos. I’ve always been in a hurry, pushing forward, chasing the next big thing, but now I’m left asking myself: Did I miss out on the simple joys along the way? The laughter with friends, the comfort of home, the quiet mornings where life feels less like a race and more like a gift? Maybe in my drive to succeed, I’ve lost something just as valuable — the time to truly enjoy the journey.

But then, there are other days — days when I feel like I’m on top of the world. Like I’m finally achieving everything and more. The thrill of a breakthrough, the pride in seeing my hard work pay off, the knowledge that I’m building something of my own. The days I put on my pink (yes, pink) blazer to work and strut down to my monitor like it’s nobody’s business. On those days, I feel unstoppable. The city’s energy flows through me, and I’m reminded why I’m here — why I fought so hard to get to this point. The adrenaline of the hustle, the serotonin of making things happen in a city where anything is possible — it’s intoxicating. I’m not just another face in the crowd; I’m here to make my mark, to prove to myself that I belong. And trust me when I tell you, I won’t stop. The challenges push me, but they also remind me that I’m capable of more than I ever imagined. I’m building a life I’m proud of, one where I’m in control, forging my own path in the greatest city in the world. And I truly mean that. That sense of purpose, that fierce independence, makes every tough day worthwhile.

Recently, I’ve been getting a lot of questions about whether I regret graduating early. My answer? Not for a minute. I got everything I came to get from Berkeley; I soaked in the knowledge, forged unforgettable friendships, traveled the world, and left my mark on a place that left an indelible mark on me. I didn’t need another year to prove myself or cling to the comfort of the familiar. I knew it was time to move forward, to take on the next challenge, and to start writing the next chapter of my life.

Leaving early wasn’t about running away — it was about running toward something greater. It was about embracing the unknown and trusting that I was ready for whatever came next. Berkeley gave me the tools, the confidence, and the drive to step into the world and make it my own. And now, as I navigate the streets of Manhattan, I feel that decision validated every day. I’m here building the life I envisioned, pushing boundaries, and growing in ways I could have never imagined if I had stayed.

So no, I don’t regret it. Not one bit. I look back on my time at Berkeley with pride, knowing it prepared me for exactly where I am now — living in the heart of a city that never sleeps, chasing dreams that keep me awake at night, and feeling more alive than ever.

There’s a strange irony in having so much freedom at such a young age. I have the power to shape my own life, to make choices that define my future. But that freedom is a double-edged sword — it’s exhilarating, yes, but it’s also terrifying. Every decision I make, every risk I take, carries real consequences. There’s no safety net, no one to fall back on. And that’s a heavy burden to carry.

Growth doesn’t happen in comfort zones. The challenges I’m facing now — the long hours, the post-work studying, the uncertainty, the isolation — they’re shaping me, forcing me to become stronger, more resilient. Yes, some days I feel like just a drop in the ocean, insignificant in the grand scheme of things. But I’m learning that every single drop can create ripples, that my actions, however small, have the power to make an impact. And that’s what keeps me going. Even on the toughest days, I remind myself that I’m not just surviving — I’m thriving, and I’m proud of the person I’m becoming.

This journey has taught me that adulthood isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about embracing the uncertainty, pushing through the fear, and trusting that, even when the ocean feels overwhelming, I have the strength to keep swimming (with or without the floaties). I may just be one person in a vast city, but I’m making my own waves. And that’s something to hold onto.