By Rachel Simon, Editor in Chief, Emerson College
In the fall and winter of my senior year, I applied to eleven colleges, far more than any rational person should ever apply to. Of the eleven, I was fortunate enough to be accepted to nine. I was rejected from Newhouse, Syracuse’s prestigious communications school, and from Northwestern. Northwestern’s rejection, while disappointing, was nonetheless expected. Newhouse, which I had applied to early decision, hurt more. It had been a reach but not impossible, and I had wanted it badly. I still had the option, however, of going to Syracuse and transferring into Newhouse sophomore year. Keeping this in mind, I spent the rest of my senior year burdened, albeit luckily, by the agonizing, prolonged process of deciding which school I would attend.
I quickly tossed aside SUNY Albany, SUNY Geneseo, and the University of Pittsburgh, schools I hadn’t been crazy about to begin with. I tried to put aside my snobby New York mentality and consider The College of New Jersey, but in the end, the school’s homogenous student body outweighed its small size and gorgeous campus. After an un-encouraging visit, I crossed the University of Delaware off my list. To my parents’ (and their wallets’) disappointment, I was ambivalent about SUNY Binghamton. For a while, I played with the idea of Fordham, but eventually I realized that Bronx city life wasn’t for me. And then it was down to Boston University, Syracuse, and the University of Maryland.
On paper, BU was perfect. It’s a mix of campus and city, with a mid-sized student body and a prestigious communications program. I was eager to visit, confident that I would fall in love with the school upon first sight. I took a tour of the campus, which was beautifully modern, and stayed overnight with a friend. I was introduced to person after person who raved to me about how great BU is and why I should attend. I was impressed by everything I saw and heard. And yet. I knew, with 100% certainty, that BU wasn’t the school for me. I couldn’t place my finger on it, but something was telling me not to go. It was a gut feeling, and I was smart enough to listen to it.
And then it was two. I had visited both Syracuse and Maryland during junior year. Both had beautiful, grassy campuses with buildings both classic and modern. They each had abundant school spirit and unpredictable weather. Syracuse had the allure and prestige of Newhouse, but Maryland had the proximity of Washington, D.C. I wrestled between the two schools for weeks. Eventually, I started leaning towards Syracuse, slowly committing myself to the school. I wasn’t thrilled with its location, and definitely not with its yearlong winter, but Newhouse, one of the top communications schools in the country, was too good to pass up. Yet even as I joined Facebook groups for the incoming freshman class and started buying orange clothing, there was a voice in the back of my head that doubted my decision. As good as Newhouse was, I had a very real sense that Syracuse wasn’t the right school for me. And so, dangerously close to the May 1 deadline, I listened to my gut and chose Maryland.
Whether my decision was the right one or not for me in the long run, I don’t know. I know that in April of my senior year, I wanted, and needed, to experience a large, diverse school that was the opposite of Blind Brook, and that’s Maryland. When I had visited, I had felt wonderfully comfortable, easily picturing myself as a Terp. Now, seven months into the year, I like Maryland, and I definitely don’t wish I had gone to Syracuse. I’m not quite as in love with my school as I had hoped I’d be, and there’s a chance I’ll be somewhere else next year. I don’t regret my decision to come here, though. At the time, it was the right school for me, and that’s all that matters.
That gut feeling, the one that had proved stronger than any guidebook statistic or College Confidential advice, told me to go tot the place I’d be happiest at. Feelings change, though; what I wanted then from a school is different than what I want now. It’s unfortunate, but it’s life. You can’t predict what’ll happen in the course of a year, especially when you’re eighteen years old with a thousand possibilities laid out in front of you. Still, I had to have faith that I was making the right decision. All you can do is trust your gut, and follow it wherever it leads you.
This essay was originally published in the Westmore News in early 2012.
In the fall and winter of my senior year, I applied to eleven colleges, far more than any rational person should ever apply to. Of the eleven, I was fortunate enough to be accepted to nine. I was rejected from Newhouse, Syracuse’s prestigious communications school, and from Northwestern. Northwestern’s rejection, while disappointing, was nonetheless expected. Newhouse, which I had applied to early decision, hurt more. It had been a reach but not impossible, and I had wanted it badly. I still had the option, however, of going to Syracuse and transferring into Newhouse sophomore year. Keeping this in mind, I spent the rest of my senior year burdened, albeit luckily, by the agonizing, prolonged process of deciding which school I would attend.
I quickly tossed aside SUNY Albany, SUNY Geneseo, and the University of Pittsburgh, schools I hadn’t been crazy about to begin with. I tried to put aside my snobby New York mentality and consider The College of New Jersey, but in the end, the school’s homogenous student body outweighed its small size and gorgeous campus. After an un-encouraging visit, I crossed the University of Delaware off my list. To my parents’ (and their wallets’) disappointment, I was ambivalent about SUNY Binghamton. For a while, I played with the idea of Fordham, but eventually I realized that Bronx city life wasn’t for me. And then it was down to Boston University, Syracuse, and the University of Maryland.
On paper, BU was perfect. It’s a mix of campus and city, with a mid-sized student body and a prestigious communications program. I was eager to visit, confident that I would fall in love with the school upon first sight. I took a tour of the campus, which was beautifully modern, and stayed overnight with a friend. I was introduced to person after person who raved to me about how great BU is and why I should attend. I was impressed by everything I saw and heard. And yet. I knew, with 100% certainty, that BU wasn’t the school for me. I couldn’t place my finger on it, but something was telling me not to go. It was a gut feeling, and I was smart enough to listen to it.
And then it was two. I had visited both Syracuse and Maryland during junior year. Both had beautiful, grassy campuses with buildings both classic and modern. They each had abundant school spirit and unpredictable weather. Syracuse had the allure and prestige of Newhouse, but Maryland had the proximity of Washington, D.C. I wrestled between the two schools for weeks. Eventually, I started leaning towards Syracuse, slowly committing myself to the school. I wasn’t thrilled with its location, and definitely not with its yearlong winter, but Newhouse, one of the top communications schools in the country, was too good to pass up. Yet even as I joined Facebook groups for the incoming freshman class and started buying orange clothing, there was a voice in the back of my head that doubted my decision. As good as Newhouse was, I had a very real sense that Syracuse wasn’t the right school for me. And so, dangerously close to the May 1 deadline, I listened to my gut and chose Maryland.
Whether my decision was the right one or not for me in the long run, I don’t know. I know that in April of my senior year, I wanted, and needed, to experience a large, diverse school that was the opposite of Blind Brook, and that’s Maryland. When I had visited, I had felt wonderfully comfortable, easily picturing myself as a Terp. Now, seven months into the year, I like Maryland, and I definitely don’t wish I had gone to Syracuse. I’m not quite as in love with my school as I had hoped I’d be, and there’s a chance I’ll be somewhere else next year. I don’t regret my decision to come here, though. At the time, it was the right school for me, and that’s all that matters.
That gut feeling, the one that had proved stronger than any guidebook statistic or College Confidential advice, told me to go tot the place I’d be happiest at. Feelings change, though; what I wanted then from a school is different than what I want now. It’s unfortunate, but it’s life. You can’t predict what’ll happen in the course of a year, especially when you’re eighteen years old with a thousand possibilities laid out in front of you. Still, I had to have faith that I was making the right decision. All you can do is trust your gut, and follow it wherever it leads you.
This essay was originally published in the Westmore News in early 2012.