Posted: September 16th, 2017

Is it possible to reconcile your dreams with a professional life?

Document A
From the first day he could walk Simon had always wanted to outdistance his rivals. TheAmericans would have described him as ‘an achiever’, while many of his contemporaries thought of him as pushy, or even arrogant, according to their aptitude for jealousy. During his last term atLancing Simon was passed over for head of school and he still found himself unable to forgive the
5

headmaster his lack of foresight. Later that year, some weeks after he had completed his S-levels
1
and been interviewed by Magdalen
2
, a circular letter informed him that he would not be offered a place atOxford; it was a decision Simon was unwilling to accept.In the same mail Durham University offered him a scholarship, which he rejected by return of  post. “Future Prime Ministers aren’t educated at Durham,” he informed his mother.
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“How about Cambridge?” she enquired continuing to wipe the dishes.“No political tradition,” replied Simon.“But if there is no chance of being offered a place at Oxford, surely–?”“That’s not what I said, Mother,” replied the young man. “I shall be an undergraduate atOxford by the first day of term.”
15

After eighteen years of forty-yard goals Mrs Kerslake had learned to stop asking her son.“How will you manage that?”Some fourteen days before the start of the Michaelmas
3
Term at Oxford Simon booked himself into asmall guest house just off the Iffley Road. On a trestle table in the corner of lodgings he intended tomake permanent he wrote out a list of all the colleges, then divided them into five columns, planning
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to visit three each morning and three each afternoon until his question had been answered positively by a resident Tutor for Admissions: “Have you accepted any freshmen for this year who are nowunable to take up their places?”It was on the fourth afternoon, just as doubt was beginning to set in and Simon was wonderingif after all he would have to travel to Cambridge the following week, that he received the first
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affirmative reply.The Tutor for Admissions at Worcester College
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removed the glasses from the end of his noseand stared at the tall young man with a mop of dark hair falling over his forehead. Alan Brown was thetwenty-second don Kerslake had visited in four days.“Yes”, he replied. “It so happens that a young man from Nottingham High School, who had
30

 been offered a place here, was tragically killed in a motor cycle accident last month.”“What course – what subject was he going to read?” Simon’s words were unusually faltering.He prayed it wasn’t Chemistry, Anthropology or Classics. Allan Brown flicked through a rotary indexon his desk, obviously enjoying the little cross-examination. He peered at the card in front of him.“History,” he announced.
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Simon’s heartbeat reached 120. “I just missed a place at Magdalen to read Politics, Philosophyand Economics,” he said. “Would you consider me for the vacancy?”The older man was unable to hide a smile. He had never in twenty-four years come acrosssuch a request.[. . .]
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Mrs Kerslake was not surprised when her son went on to be President of the Oxford Union.After all, she teased, wasn’t it just another stepping stone on the path to Prime Minister?Jeffrey Archer,
 First Among Equals
(1984)
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S-levels:
an exam similar to A-levels for students hoping to get into the most prestigious universities
2

 Magdalen College
: a college that is part of Oxford University
3

 Michaelmas Term:
name given to first term at Oxford University
4

Worcester College :
a college that is part of Oxford University

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Document B
What happened to me?
The eighties happened. The nineties happened. Death and sickness and getting fat and going bald happened. I traded lots of dreams for a bigger paycheck, and I never realized I was doingit.Yet here was Morrie talking with the wonder of our college years, as if I’d simply been on a5

long vacation.“Have you found someone to share your heart with?” he asked.“Are you giving to your community?“Are you at peace with yourself?“Are you trying to be as human as you can be?”10

I squirmed, wanting to show I had been grappling deeply with such questions.
What happened to

me?
I once promised myself I would never work for money, that I would join thePeace Corps, that I would live in beautiful, inspirational places.Instead, I had been in Detroit for ten years now, at the same workplace, using the same bank,visiting the same barber. I was thirty-seven, more efficient than in college, tied to computers15

and modems and cell phones. I wrote articles about rich athletes who, for the most part, couldnot care less about rich people like me. I was no longer young for my peer group, nor did Iwalk around in gray sweatshirts with unlit cigarettes in my mouth. I did not have longdiscussions over egg salad sandwiches about the meaning of life.My days were full, yet I remained, much of the time, unsatisfied.20

What happened to me?
“Coach,” I said suddenly, remembering the nick-name.Morrie beamed. “That’s me. I’m still your coach.”Mitch Albom,
Tuesdays with Morrie
(1997)]