My senior of college my old boss bet me a sushi dinner that I would go to grad school. After 17 years, I was sick of required reading and said I was done with school. But he insisted that I’d be back for at least one degree.

Older friends and cousins justified going to grad school because they preferred school to a miserable job, and eventually wanted some sort of career. Even my dad went to grad school for that reason; in fact, so did my brother and my mom. And I judged—I couldn’t imagine how writing meaningless term papers would be preferable to real life. But now, two years after graduating and in the midst of a quarter life crisis, I can see the appeal of taking two to three years off the 9-to-5, going into debt and ending up with an extra set of initials on your business card. As much as required reading sucks, working under fluorescent lights sucks more.