We Love Because We Care: Rethinking Our Post-Grad Paths
As a senior preparing to graduate, I’ve found myself caught between two futures: one driven by passion and the other by the need to provide, support, and care for the people who made my education possible. The first option pushes me to follow a path rooted in personal fulfillment, one that aligns with my interests, even if it’s uncertain. The second, the more predictable option, is about securing a kind of economic stability and material support that will let me contribute back to my family. For many students, especially those from working-class and immigrant communities, the post-grad question isn’t just “What do I want to do?” It’s also: “Who do I need to care for?” That tension came into sharper focus during Alison Gopnik’s recent endowed Wesson lecture “The Biology, Philosophy, and Politics of Caregiving,” organized by the McCoy Family Center for Ethics in Society.
Alison Gopnik and the Politics of Care
Alison Gopnik is a professor of psychology and affiliate professor of philosophy at UC Berkeley, and she has written several critically acclaimed books that explore the cognitive science of childhood, looking at how children learn, develop, and navigate the world around them. In her talk, Gopnik argued that care is largely invisible in the social sciences, especially from an economic perspective. When care is acknowledged, it is often relegated to the periphery, not central to discussions about human behavior or social structures. Gopnik finds this neglect striking because care is such a defining characteristic of human beings.
We care for a wide range of people—partners, elders, students, and patients. We also extend care to those beyond our immediate circles, including charitable organizations, communities of fate, the dead, animals, and even the natural world. According to Gopnik, care is “complicated, interesting, general, and very different from the kinds of relationships we usually discuss in the social sciences and politics.” She explains that care doesn’t require reciprocity, it’s often local, affective, and committed. It’s through the act of care itself that we develop a deep sense of commitment. As Gopnik notes, “We don’t care because we love, we love because we care.”
What Rats Teach Us About Autonomy and Support
During her talk, Gopnik shared an insightful experiment involving rats to illustrate the dynamic between care and autonomy. In this experiment, rats were prompted to choose between two pipes: one was safe, and the other would deliver a mild shock. Initially, the rats learned to avoid the second pipe, preferring the safe option. However, when the rats’ biological mother— their primary caregiver—was present near the second pipe, the rats were more likely to choose it, even though it still posed a risk. Gopnik explained that this wasn’t simply about adding utility to the rats’ decision-making process. As she put it, the caregiver was “giving them the opportunity to do risk—not just adding utility. It’s buffering the risks they’re gonna take.” In other words, the caregiver’s presence didn’t eliminate the risks, but it provided the rats with a sense of support that allowed them to take the chance.
This concept parallels the choices many of us face in life, especially as we graduate. The decision to pursue personal passions or take on more predictable, responsibility-driven paths often depends on the care and support we receive.
When Care Makes Risk Possible
As a first-generation, low-income student, I feel a profound responsibility to care for the people who have cared for me—my mom, a single mother who worked tirelessly to provide for us; my younger sister, who looks up to me even when I’m uncertain myself; and my grandparents, who came to the U.S. in search of better educational opportunities for our family. I often worry that choosing a less stable path means letting them down or failing to return the support they’ve given me. Though I prioritize social justice work, where the pay is often modest, I’ve turned down roles that promised financial security but didn’t align with what I believe in.
Corporate jobs offer a kind of safety: predictable income, health benefits, and the ability to send money home quickly. That promise is tempting because as someone from a working-class background, I’ve long believed that care, in its most immediate form, looks like paying bills and easing burdens. For many students at Stanford, this tension is deeply felt. “It’s hard to turn down that kind of stability,” said a senior studying Management Science and Engineering. “I think about how much my parents sacrificed for me to be here in the first place and I feel like I owe it to them to work a well-paying job even if it’s not what I’m passionate about.”
Additionally, at times, I find myself wondering whether my responsibility to society conflicts with my responsibility to my family. Other students resonated with this feeling as well. “I initially wanted to do something in politics, but after seeing how many more opportunities there are for students in STEM here, I switched to computer science. Sometimes I feel like I’m ‘selling out’ compared to what I wanted to do before, but I have to remember that caring for my family is an ethical commitment too.” Similarly, Gopnik’s talk reminded me that these aren’t competing duties. We can extend care to our family while also caring for a wider range of people. I also know that the care I’ve received from my family—both emotional and financial—has given me the autonomy to take risks in the first place.
Much like the rats Gopnik references, I’m not taking risks because the danger has disappeared, but rather because I know I’m not alone. In this way, the risks I take now can create conditions for all of us to thrive later. Choosing a path after graduation isn’t just about security—it’s about care. The care we’ve received and the care we carry shape the decisions we make, guiding us through uncertainty. We love because we care, and it’s through that care that we find the strength to imagine different kinds of futures—not just for ourselves, but for the people who made those futures possible.
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April Pacheco is an undergraduate senior at Stanford studying history and comparative studies in race and ethnicity. She is passionate about immigrant rights and urban education and enjoys visiting her home in Los Angeles.