Future Lives of Ivy Leaguers | Keller Boothby
This is, as always, a work of satire. Unless it comes true.
Keller Boothby was so, so tired.
In his 20s, he never got tired. School, basketball, internships, involvement on campus at Cornell… he could never get enough of it, and the passion for the things he loved drove him to achieve at a high level before, during and long after his time in Ithaca. He was insatiable, everyone who knew him agreed, even if the things he found so alluring were the things most other young men didn’t give a second thought to—mergers and acquisitions, a well-timed pick-and-roll, the later works of José Carreras.
That’s Keller, his friends would say, laughing. He’s gonna do what he’s gonna do, so let him.
And they did, for a long time. And Keller, pleased with himself and the things he loved so much, grew content and happy and didn’t pay much mind to the fact that so many people he knew, people who were once happy go-getters like him, were settling down and starting families and leaving Boston for the nascent suburbs all around him. He’d known he wouldn’t be going back to Texas after graduation, and he accepted that perhaps he was simply an interloper into these lives, happy as they seemed to have him and warm though their embrace made him. Being passionate about different things makes for a vibrant culture, and Keller was pleased so many people had made him feel loved and cared for in a city he had little familiarity with as he navigated his post-graduate life.