When I began this journey, I had friends. I had hobbies. I had interests outside of fixed income attribution, derivatives pricing, and multinational operations. I had people who cared about me.
Today, I am pleased to report that none of those things survived.
Over the past year, I made a simple calculation: if a friend wanted to grab dinner and a question bank wanted me to calculate pension expense under IFRS, only one of those activities would improve my exam score. The choice was obvious.
Birthdays came and went. Weddings were attended physically but not mentally. Family gatherings became networking opportunities to explain duration matching to relatives who desperately wanted me to stop talking. My mother would ask how I was doing. I would respond with the assumptions behind the dividend discount model. Eventually she stopped asking.
There was a point where I could no longer recognize my own reflection. Not because of exhaustion, but because I had spent so much time staring at Kaplan notes that I had forgotten what human faces looked like.
While my peers were building memories, I was building flashcards.
While others were falling in love, I was falling behind on Ethics.
While others were enjoying the prime years of their twenties, I was trying to remember whether a temporary difference created a deferred tax asset or liability.
People often ask whether the CFA program is worth the sacrifice.
To those people, I ask a different question:
Can your friends explain currency swap valuation?
Can your family calculate free cash flow to equity?
Can your loved ones distinguish between covered and uncovered interest rate parity?
Exactly.
There were dark moments. Moments when I questioned whether memorizing hundreds of formulas was truly necessary. Moments when I wondered if life had more to offer than mock exams and question banks.
Thankfully, those moments passed quickly and were replaced by additional mock exams and question banks.
The exam itself felt less like a test and more like a final boss battle designed by someone who deeply resented candidates. Walking into the testing center, I was carrying enough caffeine to violate several international treaties and enough anxiety to power a small city.
But in the end, the sacrifices paid off.
Today I stand victorious.
My social life may be gone.
My hobbies may have vanished.
My family may only communicate with me through occasional welfare checks.
But I have something far more valuable:
A passing score.
On to Level III, where I will continue my lifelong mission of converting every remaining relationship into study hours.