Are you going to Scarsdale?

I spent much of Saturday in Scarsdale, a town near White Plains that I was surprised to discover is only a 40-minute drive from Queens. And the closer you get to Scarsdale, the more pleasant the drive becomes.

Shiri, my best friend from high school, just moved into a new house there with her husband and 2-year-old son. It was nice -- built in the '20s, so it was full of old-fashioned details like arch doorways, stained-glass windows and flappers who just earned the right to vote.

I really like Shiri's husband and tend to have some version of the same conversation with him each time I visit, which entails me trying to figure out exactly what he does for a living. It has something to do with some intersection of private equity and operations. Because I am halfway through an MBA, I keep thinking this will all click, and I'll be able to follow what he does in a full-hearted and genuine way. My progress toward that end is noticeable, but slow.

And, naturally, these conversations tend to turn toward what I'm doing and what I want to do after I graduate. I want to make tons of money, because I'm certain that material goods will fill emotional voids, and I want to be home for dinner every night by 6 p.m. Oh, and I want the work I do to make the world a better place. I will take suggestions.