Studying for the GMAT is like reading Greek if you’re a micro-bacteria on some piece of poop far from Earth.
If you’re like me and hate all things math, this is not the path you are looking for.
Why do I say this, you ask?
Here is my sample question of the GMAT’s Quantitative Reasoning:
If a cat has six rows of teeth, one brain and 80 feet, how many feet does a dog with 36 problems quantitate if a bitch ain’t one?
Statement 1: The dog is spotted
Statement 2: A horse is tall
On top of that, you have to memorize the multiple choice answers—which is not hard, but the nerve!
You basically have to determine:
A) only the first statement makes sense
B) only the second statement makes sense
C) both statements together make sense
D) the statements both make sense on their own
E) nothing makes sense.
Naturally, the real answer is always (E) because WTF.
I cannot stress the importance of technique when answering these questions. The best technique I have learned is simply to shut the study book, take a deep breath, try again, and then burn everything to the ground and claim insurance fraud to keep me going financially for the rest of my life. As I often advocate, School is Actual Hell, so who the fuck wants to go back? I’ll tell you who: assholes, like me.
I just love the torture.
In reality, I am just tainted by the chum-bucket institution called art school.
If I had learned something worthwhile—other than the fact the world is a place filled with ding-bats and doodle-wads—in school, then I would probably have some sort of career waiting for me. But no, instead I must venture on to continue the torture. Seriously, where do you think they coined the term “tortured artist”? It was in art school, naturally. For God’s sakes, even in preschool I got sent to the corner for deliberately drawing a square instead of the prescribed circle.
Here is my real advice: the real torture lies in what you think you’re going to be when you grow up. Just be who you are.
I was never an artist. I was always some sort of designer, self-starter, etc. who just happened to incorporate artistic things. I can’t be told what do to, never have been, and now I am pursuing this torturous thing called an MBA (if I get in) because the reality is this:
You cannot define your career by what you do, but by what you are.
Why do people like their jobs?
An artist isn’t just someone who creates things, an artist is someone who conveys messages. The same as storytellers and musicians. They do what they do because it’s the best way to be what they are. If you make sandwiches for a living and love it, you’re not just a sandwich-maker. There’s something besides sandwich-love inside that makes you love your job. Maybe its the regulars, the flexibility, the happiness you can easily provide the customers—that’s all part of the questions you need to ask yourself.
There is a second dimension to your career that is frustrating to access and, at times, frightening.
I have always followed my own path and, even if it has led me into a destructive pit of death-shit, I am doing it to learn about myself and how I can use my talents to elevate this sense of purpose.
Unfortunately, my sense of purpose has only led me as far as the GMAT and all of its stupid, fucking, nonsensical bullshit that actually makes sense the more I study (ignorance 101: because it at first made me angry, I resent learning it).