Roads

Well, here we go. 

Sitting at a local coffee shop around campus(JP's Java--wicked strong coffee), attemping to digest the latest episode of state table creation for sequential circuits in my logic design class, I came across an interesting article by William Deresiewicz, an English professor at Yale for a few years. Deresiewicz has heavy-handed criticism for both the Ivy League education he received as well as the foundational mindset of these institutions of which he was a product. While I certainly do not possess the arsenal of nuance that Deresiewicz demonstrates nor the courage to pontificate so freely, I'll try to explain why I had such a personal connection with his (however one-sided) diatribe.  

As many know, my eventual arrival in Austin at UT was unanticipated (to say the least). Having been ultimately rejected by the majority of the schools that I actually wanted to attend and possessing inadequate financial ability to the ones that I finally gained admittance to, I found myself in a bit of a quandary. I had the choice to either one of the two major flagship schools in Texas: Texas A&M or the University of Texas. Neither appealed to me very much; the first invoked images of the students who lived next door and often chucked various cans/bottles into our yard and the latter: the school where everyone in Texas who got rejected from their first choice school went. Not much of a choice in my opinion. In my Xanga (oh man. haven't pulled that one out in effing forever), I wrote:

"While i honestly have truly enjoyed the activites ive been a part of and the classes ive taken, what happens at the end of it all, when you still fall short after keeping up the balancing act you've mastered the past four years? THIS is what it feels like to think, at this very moment, your best is just not good enough."

Interesting. Looking back, I think this has a lot to say about how I felt then. Who are you, dear Ivy League, to reject my top 2% SAT scores, my 11 AP tests, my precious musical talent? Did you not notice that we have unique ranks at our school--that a 90 is not a 97--that we output some of brightest students you have ever seen? Didn't I give you my community service hours, my Saturdays, my sleep? Now, where is my paycheck? Isn't this what I deserve? 

Ultimately, it came down to one thing. The same thing incidentally Professor Deresiewicz realized as a member of the Ivy elite: 

Entitlement.

They are just numbers. Laughable numbers. How many hours did I spend studying, working, striving to be a statistic? How did I ever come to the conclusion that my self-worth is based on how many times I choose the correct MC answer? These are the skills that I based my value on as a student, as a thinker, as a person. Of course then, don't I deserve it? Am I not entitled to that which I have worked so diligently to get? 

Honestly, even upon arrival at UT for quite a long time, I was pretty unhappy with the way things were going. There certainly were some really dumb people, some erratic liberals who criticized every known institution in the world, some close-minded fundamentalists who thought "Christian? Asian? no way." Deresiewicz recalls that, at Yale, "from orientation to graduation, the message is implicit in every tone of voice and tilt of the head, every old-school tradition, every article in the student paper, every speech from the dean. The message is: You have arrived. Welcome to the club." While I certainly don't know what it's like to take classes at Yale, I did recognize a similar feeling at UT. Only later did I realize that I was guilty of an even greater crime: I became smug at their smugness! You think YOU have achieved something? This was my freaking SAFETY school. I was accepted five days after I applied without even writing one of the essays. You think YOU came in with a buttload of AP credit? I have the most credit in the history of the College of Fine Arts. I kept quiet during regular freshmen discussions about schools, grades, friends, knowing that I was somehow inherently better. 

But it's not as if I just let things slide by, I studied twice as hard as anyone else. I counted minutes when studying, when walking, when thinking. I had to control absolutely every part of my day. I had to score higher, think faster, be better on everything. After all, that's how all my friends who were invited to the Ivy Club seemed to have done it throughout high school. If I couldn't stand out from the pack by where I go to school, the LEAST I could do was be better at them in everything. One day, a close friend once asked me why I studied so hard. Why I worked harder than everyone else did for a seemingly easy test (it always turned out to be easy as well). After thinking for a second, I responded, "it's because I hate this school so much."

I hated it for its lack of prestige amongst my friends. I hated it for opening its doors to people I thought below me. I hated it for being a vehicle to achievement rather than achivement itself. 

And that's when I woke up. 

This summer I started running down at Town Lake. There are (obviously) two sides to the lake and several bridges one may cross, determining how far one may run. Crossing the first bridge approximately equates to 3 miles. I remember the first time we ran was possibly one of the most painful things I've done in a while. But I thought, "Well, it can't get any harder." WELL, it did. The second time sucked more. The third was hard as well. The fourth and the fifth. But something else got easier. Every time I thought about stopping, I thought, Is this the place you want to say you got to before you gave up? Or will you decide to go a little farther than you are sure you can go? Will you work a little harder than your best? 

And that's where I found achievement. How idiotic was I to think that I was ever working to make things easier? When did I turn admission into a university into a trophy, rather than a stepping stone into humanity? When does the preparation for life as thinkers, workers, changers, shakers ever involve entitlement, privilege, and "getting what I deserve" as the pillars of its curriculum? Ultimately, I can't be more thankful for a place that has never afforded me the luxury of sitting around, wallowing in my own arrogance. It has led me to realize that the most rewarding experiences for me are the ones that take me to a fork in the road and ask me if I'm willing to push myself to unseen levels. And for every time I chose the road less traveled by, that has made all the difference.