The prevailing lyrical literature on home, from Bruce Springsteen to Skylar Gray, supports the idea that home is where you grew up, or where the people you love live. If that is the case, then Naples, Italy, where my family currently lives, is home for me. Why, then, do I feel like I’m coming home as I fly back to Boston, and Harvard?
I took this job as a business analyst for a global engineering services startup, hoping that the experience would illuminate the secrets behind starting a successful new business. What makes entrepreneurs tick? How do you build the right team? How do you guarantee a profit—especially when the financial stability of so many families depends on you?
I was in charge of these students; if something went wrong, it was up to Walter and me to back them up. The calm I'd felt while going over this scenario on the train dissipated in an instant, and I feigned confidence as the smallest of our students approached the man at the register with self-assurance.
The sky glowed with haze. The sun was so strict in its movement, it made me nervous. “It’s time to go!” There was no doubt that it was saying, “It’s all over!”
I nervously clung onto the waist of my motorcycle taxi driver as we sped down the motorway. I was comforted, in part, by his decision to take the potholes slower than he normally would have. The obvious fear that the wide-eyed look on my face conveyed had convinced him to do that, but not to encourage me to wear a helmet—he refused my request, saying it was unnecessary.