Opinions

Working three jobs this summer, I became a master at navigating small talk. Still, even such finesse at spare-time banter lost its usefulness when conversation shifted from the latest drinking party at the local bar (which I had not attended) to other topics of conversation more suited for the naïve high school senior in the office. Given time, the taboo question always surfaced:

“Hey, where’re you going to college?”

Silence. Then:

“Um, not sure.” Hoping to nip this discussion in the bud, I explained that such things aren’t decided until one has already applied to college.

Next question:

“Oh, so where are you applying? How are those applications coming along?”

I break out into a sweat. This must be what it feels like to get invaded by Russia; take it easy, Georgia, and think. The Stuyvesant answer involves patient waffling, and then a few well-chosen, vague sentences about completed applications from sophomore year. (Oh, and a casual Harvard mention with the obligatory, “My parents are making me apply.”) My answer, executed with maximum nonchalance, mentions all of these elements, includes a few schools I have not visited, and then hastily changes the subject to my co-workers’ alma maters.

But the nasty, nasty truth is this (and fellow Stuyvesant seniors, gloat away): I haven’t started my college applications, visited a single college or bought any college guides. Oh, I made an account with Commonapp.org; I took my SATs and SAT IIs; I even hunted around for teacher recommendations. But the thought of putting fingers to keyboard means I get a sudden urge to reorganize my bookcase, clean my room or walk the dog.

This was alright when junior year was ending and the possibilities were endless. I had six beautiful weeks to hone my college applications, to write picturesque essays that would bring tears to the eyes of every college admissions officer. By October, I would be strolling the hallways in a blaze of completed-applications glory.

Except, with the summer sun bright on my face and my back no longer weighed down by the textbooks and backpacks of junior year, I did a little irresponsible thing—just a little one—and decided to actually enjoy my summer before entering the ninth circle of hell known as “first term, senior year.”

Now, I hear you overachievers clicking your tongues. But I did my research: starting your college applications later is not only tempting, but pleasantly smart. Read through college applications and you start to recognize a common theme. They don’t want your life’s history. They don’t want to hear about how many digits of pi you can recite. The College Powers That Be want inspiration.

After a junior year of dragging myself from home to school to debate practice to SAT class to homework to school—lather, rinse, repeat, and notice the lack of sleep in this pattern—I felt anything but inspired. My short-sightedness—the “get a good grade in these classes and ace your finals” mentality of junior year—had crippled my ability to look at the long run. So when I sat down one weekend in early July and downloaded a college application, I was shocked to realize that I didn’t know what the biggest influence in my life was. What I wanted to do in life. What career path I was most attracted to.

So I started working, hooking a legal internship, a job on a political campaign and a few tutoring gigs. I threw myself into 50-hour weeks with gusto and began to enjoy the latitude I was afforded as a member of the working world. With that breathing space came the recollection of what I actually wanted after high school: to publish a novel, to travel the world, to cultivate an interest in law that I had stumbled upon years ago. In short, I figured out the answers to the troubling little questions on college applications—not by studying a little bit harder, but by living my life a little bit more.

You conscientious seniors can avert your eyes all you like—I don’t regret deciding to live out my summer without the nagging presence of college applications.

But, seniors with empty pieces of paper, listen up. The world of college applications is reminiscent of a very long lane in a very deep pool. The trick is to do your best Michael Phelps impression—focus, get your eye on the prize and start swimming. Maybe you’ll win every race, maybe you won’t.

But, I’ll see you at the end.