Courtesy of Claire Hlotyak
Picture it: It’s a hot day in July of 2021, and every corner of the earth is bursting with color and unapologetic sunshine. A lovely time of year to be outside, soaking up the dog days of summer. During this lovely time of year, I could be found in the car, of course, embarking on what many consider to be a right of passage for high school upperclassmen: college tours. For the next week, my mom and I spent hours driving to each school, bickering over where to find the admissions offices and fretting over if each campus seemed like it “fit” who I was. Back then, I thought I wanted to study political science and work in public office. I pictured myself at school in Washington D.C., casually strolling past the White House and sitting in on Supreme Court meetings during my lunch breaks. It’s fine, I give you permission to laugh at my naivete. Although I thought I had everything planned out, it is impossible to know how much you will change in the bittersweet in-between that separates high school and the start of college.
Like most prospective students, I based my initial college search on the kinds of programs the schools offered. I looked at public policy majors, government minors, and concentrations in communication and media. I thought I wanted to be in the hustle and bustle of it all, hearing snippets of US policy as I walked to class. As a bright-eyed high school upperclassman, I saw my future fanning out in a thousand different directions. It was summer, there was so much on the horizon, and all of the decisions, for once, were up to me. However, as summer turned into fall and I entered my senior year, something shifted. Call it fate or a gut feeling, but the images I had conjured up of my future started to change. DC lost its luster and picturing myself as a frazzled intern on Capital Hill, it just didn’t fit.
As a sage high school senior in the throes of writing my final English thesis, I would pace back and forth in my room, asking myself the age-old questions every prospective student does. Do I want to stay close to home or venture out into the unknown? Where did I see myself in five years? What should I major in, and how can I turn that into a career? Before I knew it, I had skipped over my four years of college and was already living in the future. Heed my warning, incoming students: cherish this time of curiosity and decision. It is a nostalgic, colorful time that occasionally sent me into the teenage version of a midlife crisis. Still, I wouldn’t change it for the world.
In years past, this time of excitement and endless possibilities has been shadowed by the Herculean effort of applying and getting accepted into college. During my application process, I often found myself penning increasingly personal stories for my supplemental essays and trying to find eccentric ways to describe my time as a farmers’ market volunteer. I’ll just roll with the Greek mythology references: I was Sisyphus, and the Common App was my boulder. I was advised to appear academically serious but with a ‘quirky flair’ to intrigue admission officers. So many college applicants do this: stretch and shape themselves into the most ‘desirable’ applicant, only to look back and wonder: was this really all worth it? At this point, expectations and anxiety are so high, and we must collectively agree that we’re asking these students to give too much of themselves. These sky-high expectations for students encourage inauthenticity and often lead to burnout later on.
Then, there is the matter of rejection. It cuts, and it stings. No matter how often it happens, it always takes your breath away. To people on the outside, a full-blown emotional episode over a rejection letter may seem like a stereotypical teenage overreaction, but believe me, I understand, and I sympathize. Even worse, when it keeps happening, it can feel like all that hard work has been for nothing, and you’re stuck at the bottom once more–there I go with the Sisyphus metaphor again.
As Senior spring rolled around, I settled on the SLAC lifestyle or Small Liberal Arts College. I accepted my admission to Connecticut College on a random Monday in my kitchen. I knew I thrived in a small class setting, and I wanted a campus that I knew like the back of my hand and a community that knew me even better. Conn checked those boxes. I’m well aware that this kind of environment is not for everyone. Not everyone wants to run into their professors in the dining hall or be able to walk from one end of campus to the other in about 15 minutes. To each their own.
Most of my high school friends ended up at large universities with sprawling campuses. Over winter break, my friend regaled me with her experiences at The University of Toronto, and my jaw physically dropped when she mentioned one of her campus’s 40 libraries. Nothing against Conn, but the most variety I get in my library experience is hiking up to the third floor of Shain.
This small environment synonymous with liberal arts colleges often attracts skeptics. There are plenty of people online who argue that they are becoming obsolete. To that, I have to say the students I have met at Conn are some of the most involved and passionate people I have ever met. I credit much of that to a liberal arts lifestyle that fosters these multifaceted individuals.
As my first year of college comes to an end, I leave the college application process further in the past and look toward what is ahead. As the weather warms and the cherry blossoms bloom, I feel like that bright-eyed prospective student I was. There is so much to learn, so much to accomplish, and this is just the beginning. Whether you are preparing to enter college or are about to finish, I hope you all take a moment to appreciate how far you have come and where you are headed. I promise it will all work out if you just keep climbing.
