In Chapter 13, Efraín Ochoa reflects on his second MBA quarter—balancing academic pressure, internship stress, and eye-opening lessons from electives. It’s a turning point marked by clarity, perspective, and a growing sense of peace.

Disclaimer

• All characters and events in this chapter —even those based on real people—are entirely fictional.
• The following chapters contain coarse language and situations and due to its content it should not be read by anyone.

Chapter 13 “Second quarter and electives”

Finance 2 had the potential to be a daunting subject, but Professor Tony Bernardo transformed it into one of the most engaging and enjoyable classes of the quarter. Charismatic and undeniably brilliant, he possessed a rare talent for making complex financial concepts accessible—even to those who didn’t naturally gravitate toward the subject.

What struck me most about Professor Bernardo was his ability to make finance fun. His passion for the material was infectious, and he had a gift for breaking down intricate ideas into palatable pieces that made even the least finance-savvy students feel like experts.

It came as no surprise when I later learned that Professor Bernardo had become the dean of UCLA’s Anderson School of Management. With his teaching skills, leadership qualities, and ability to inspire, I had no doubt he was thriving in the role. His vision and energy would undoubtedly shape the school’s future for the better.

But despite Professor Bernardo’s engaging lectures, the predominant concern during that second quarter was securing summer internships. The prospect loomed over us like the sword of Damocles, and anxiety coursed through our cohort. Many of us feared our academic performance would single-handedly dictate our fate.

Then the second-years and various campus clubs stepped in, their words of reassurance cutting through the tension.

“Grades don’t matter,” they said, almost in unison. “Unless you’re chasing some ultra-competitive job, your GPA isn’t as crucial as you think.”

It turned out they were right. Most companies were more interested in our skills, experiences, and how we had grown during the MBA than our exact grades. Academic performance was important, but it wasn’t the end-all, be-all we had imagined.

The realization was liberating. I had spent too much time agonizing over grades when, in reality, there were far more important factors at play. The weight I had carried on my shoulders seemed to dissolve. The sword of Damocles, as it turned out, was nothing but a mirage.

Just as I was adjusting to this new perspective, an unexpected opportunity fell into my lap. A friend who had long wanted to collaborate with me offered an internship at his digital marketing agency in Mexico. The timing couldn’t have been better. It was a chance to apply the theories I had been learning to real-world challenges and gain valuable experience.

Relief washed over me. The internship offered a break from the academic grind—a chance to recharge while still advancing my career.

As the new quarter began, the allure of electives presented itself. After months of core classes, electives felt like a breath of fresh air—a chance to dive into subjects that genuinely intrigued me.

Flipping through the course catalog, I felt like a starving man faced with a banquet. The choices were endless, but I knew I had to be strategic. Points were limited, and I couldn’t afford to waste them on lackluster classes that would leave me bored and uninspired.

I carefully selected three electives that piqued my interest—Organizational Behavior, Marketing, and Entertainment Industry. One class, focused on psychology and happiness, stood out as particularly fascinating.

It was in this course that I encountered one of the most intriguing concepts of my academic career—the happiness index. Our professor, a bespectacled woman with an enthusiasm for statistics, introduced us to the idea with the excitement of someone sharing a groundbreaking discovery.

The happiness index plotted income against happiness, and the results were astonishing. Contrary to what many assumed, happiness did not follow a linear path alongside income. Once people hit a certain income threshold—around $80,000 in the U.S. at the time—additional wealth didn’t necessarily lead to greater happiness.

The revelation hit me like a freight train. I had always believed financial success was the key to happiness—that accumulating wealth would inevitably lead to fulfillment. But the happiness index told a different story.

As long as basic needs were met, earning more didn’t automatically equate to a happier life.

I sat in class, grappling with the implications. Had I been chasing the wrong dream all along? Was the pursuit of wealth and status nothing more than an elaborate facade masking a deeper sense of emptiness?

I didn’t have the answers. But as I listened to our professor dissect the data, I felt a strange sense of awe at the complexity of human nature. For a fleeting moment, the MBA felt less like a path to career advancement and more like an exploration of the intricacies of life itself.

There was always something happening at Anderson.

Around this time, murmurs of discontent began to surface among the second-year students. The administration had quietly made changes to the program, eliminating the option to take additional credits and graduate a quarter early—an opportunity that many had relied on to save on tuition.

The decision left many students frustrated.

At first, I didn’t think much of it. But upon reflection, I realized I had unknowingly benefited from the old system. I had taken extra classes in previous quarters, effectively putting myself on track for early graduation. Since the option was no longer available, I decided not to dwell on it.

My focus remained on the present. I had come to accept that certain things—grades, timelines, even the structure of the program—were out of my control. And for the first time in a long while, I felt tranquil with that.