Relax, there is no “Best College.”
Every year, it seems, there is increasing hand-wringing over getting into “the best” school. I, too, fell victim to such a mentality when I was in high school. Here, I offer a cautionary tale for any high school juniors and seniors out there: ignore the hype and find a school that suits you.
I did my fair share of college tours my junior and senior years of high school. I heard the spiels about student-professor ratios, intramural sports, Greek Life, and study abroad programs. The talks started to sound so much alike that my dad and I would play “College Tour Bingo.” The center square was the story about the sinking library (because the architect forgot to account for the weight of the books, of course). Even so, I drank in the shiny, glorified version of college presented on those tours and in the brochures I started getting in the mail as soon as I took my SATs.
That mythical college experience was the reason I worked so hard for twelve years to get good grades. It was the reason I joined meaningless clubs like Future Business Leaders of America, Key Club, and Beta Club. It was the reason I had several “leadership experience” related freaks-outs my junior year. From the moment I started high school, I was obsessed with going to a “good” school. Not necessarily an Ivy, but a small, private school where I wouldn’t be “just a number,” which all of the private school brochures warned was a fate worse than death. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life, but I knew that the road to whatever it was needed to start with a fancy school.
I ended up at Tulane University in New Orleans. Not my first choice (that was Emory in Atlanta), but it was a private school that gave me a scholarship. Never mind that I hated humidity, was afraid of alcohol, and had never lived in a big city before. I had convinced myself that the reputation of the type of school I went to was more important than my actual wants or needs.
During orientation, we all got shirts that said “Only at Tulane — Only in New Orleans.” As my first semester wore on, I began to bitterly think of the slogan every time I found something else I hated about school. Only in New Orleans is it humid almost every day of the year. Only in New Orleans are there tourists in December celebrating Mardi Gras while you’re trying to get to class. Of course, many of my friends ended up loving the school. It’s a great place if it’s the right place for you.
It was not the right place for me.
I had love being in band for the previous 8 years of my life, but I decided it didn’t matter that Tulane didn’t have a marching band when I decided to attend. I instantly regretted it. I didn’t make sure Tulane had a strong education or media studies program. I ignored the fact that I was much more comfortable in smaller towns. I thought nothing of that fact that I wouldn’t be able to bring my car, and that I would have to take a plane (which I hate) every time I wanted to go home. I made no attempt to research the student body before I accepted their offer. I didn’t think about the fact that a smaller school meant less of a chance to find “my people.”
I, thankfully, become great friends with three girls on my floor, but I was so miserable that their loveliness couldn’t make up for it.
While most kids dreaded Mondays, the only place I didn’t feel out of place was in class. I knew what I was doing there. Schoolwork was something I was used to, and I could use it as an excuse not to go out somewhere I didn’t want to go. Instead of spending my weekends feeling awkward and out of place at some party, I made excuses to stay in my dorm room. The nights I did get dragged out by someone or another, I’d usually find the first people going back to the dorms and cling to them.
The stress over hating school eventually started giving me panic attacks. I would wake up in the middle of the night, convinced I couldn’t breathe. One night, I freaked myself out to the point that I called Tulane EMS at four in the morning. Of course, by the the time they showed up, I was completely fine. And, just as I thought I couldn’t get any more embarrassed, I realized that one of the guys was dating my roommate.
As I trudged back into the elevator at five in the morning, I thought about the conversation that would inevitably take place later that day:
“Katie, your roommate flipped out and called TEMS last night for no reason.”
“Wow, I knew she was a boring, but I didn’t know she was mentally unstable as well.”
Luckily she never mentioned it to me. I tried to forget about the entire situation.
When I went home for Christmas break and swapped college stories with my friends, I realized that my friends at bigger state schools weren’t being ignored by their professors, weren’t lost in a sea of students, and were actually having fun at their college towns middle of nowhere. I realized I should have listened to my parents when they told me to look at different types of schools. I should have worried less about finding a school that “looked good,” and more about finding a school where I would fit in and be happy.
I come from a long line of Big Ten graduates, so my parents convinced me to finally look at some Big Ten schools. I ultimately decided to visit Indiana University’s campus, and I fell in love. It was the opposite of Tulane: a beautiful, spread out campus full of over 30,000 students in the middle of a small, Midwestern town. Indiana had a marching band I could join, a great honors program, huge sporting events to attend, and best of all, four seasons. When I made the decision to transfer to IU, I embraced what I actually wanted, instead of what I thought was expected of me.
My miserable freshmen year taught me that I can’t spend my life making decisions based on how I want people to view me. To this day I still struggle with figuring out what I actually want to do as opposted to what I think “should” do or what will “look” the best.
So put away U.S. News and World Report and do some soul searching. Whether it be community college, vocational school, an all-women liberal arts college, a giant state school, or skipping college all together: go wherever you think will be best for you.
