COLUMN: A run with the bulls and bears

From Siona Listokin's, "Think Different," Fall '99 From Siona Listokin's, "Think Different," Fall '99It's mating season, baby. The job search is in full force. Young, hungry seniors are seeking out dream companies to become old and fat with. My calendar looks like the prom queen's date book before graduation. Write resume, drop resume, network, chitchat. I go to meet and greet employers expecting to be wooed and wowed. It's not that I don't feel as capable as my male counterparts -- I assure you that I walk into every finance class with the same kill-the-weaklings mentality as the next guy. But I still have the sense that I may be denied the same future. The fast track that I'm on -- along with the rest of my class -- not only requires speed, it demands endurance. And the long haul to super-stardom happens to cut right into my biological clock's deadline and hazy hopes of familial utopia. It may be true that I am now just as likely to be hired as the boys are. The issue is whether the job will be a two-year quickie or the ultimate long-term relationship. Where does corporate America fit in my distant horizon? Wharton has been very good about confronting the issue. Female students are invited to seminars where impressive women in fitted navy wool explain the challenges and triumphs of being a working girl. The usual optimistic but unclear conclusion: Sure, you can have it all, but something will have to give. It's almost enough to make me want to be confronted and discriminated against, if only to have a reason to be angry. Sure, they would say, we need a copy of your resume and an official transcript. Fax us your references. Oh, and we would appreciate it if you could just cut out your Fallopian tubes. But I do not hear them utter a single belligerent or demeaning statement. Instead, most of the companies that visit campus send recruiting teams that are well represented with women. The fact that I am female has never come up in an interview. Instead, I hear my brother explaining why a $40,000 salary is more than enough for me because I will probably marry someone who makes more. I hear my finance partner declare that this whole "Wharton thing" is only a game for me, a few years' distraction before I get to the business of settling down. I hear my mother ask, "But Sio, if you become an investment banker, when will you have time to date?" My own voice is conspicuously silent. Where I used to jump on anyone who suggested that Wall Street wasn't the place for a woman, I am now unsure. Ultimately, I suppose the question is no longer, what can I have? Now I'm faced with, what do I want? I am not the only one without an answer. My roommates are in the process of applying to med school. Consumed with requirements and applications, they are so caught up in becoming doctors that the reality of being a doctor doesn't enter their minds very often. Occasionally, though, the prospect of seven years of training hits home -- they will be approaching 30 when their careers start. I wonder how hard it must be to slow down just when the payoff is in sight. To appreciate the difficulty and sense of accomplishment a job entails and watch rewards pass you by. Not that I intend on giving up my chance for the top. Believe it or not, I have yet to decide the whats or hows of my career plans. There is simply a growing suspicion that though I am being trained for the highest levels of leadership, I will never realize my potential.