By Anyone who knew me in high school knew that at all times, I had one goal in mind.
A goal that pushed me to excel in the 12 AP courses, hold leadership positions in three clubs and spend countless hours studying for the exams.
My goal was to escape my dingy hometown and live in New York City right after high school. I wanted to study at my dream school, New York University, with people who also wanted to start new.
By spring, I had accumulated 10 college acceptances — two safety school acceptances, seven out-of-state, affluent liberal art school acceptances and one long-awaited acceptance into NYU’s College of Arts and Science. Just as I’d expected. I mean, I did everything right.
I finally felt as though I could take a deep exhale and relish in my accomplishments. After all, each acceptance came with the promise of a “hefty” scholarship, so there was no real reason for me to worry about college up until decision day. Everything was going my way.
After a few weeks of celebrating, it was time for me to sit down with my family and discuss my top college choices. What started out as 10 choices quickly dwindled down to two.
These options, however, were not my preferred choices. Upon opening my financial aid and scholarship offers, I was left vastly disappointed by promises of a “free ride.”
The only schools that I could attend were within a 50 mile radius from my hometown, which was not exactly what I had envisioned for myself after all these years.
I had to choose between crippling debt for the rest of my life or staying in my hometown for the next four years, both of these options left me devastated.
The promise of a free ride to my dream school was literally too good to be true. I spent the entirety of summer mourning what could have been. Seeing some of my best friends getting ready to live out their dreams across the country broke my heart. I had turned the most exciting and defining time in my life into my own personal pity party.
This summer of reflection, however, also revolved around my feelings towards my hometown.
In hindsight, there was nothing to really hate about it. I had amazing friends to lean on and parents who wanted to help me tackle the next four years head-on. I had a community that, despite how much I took for granted, wouldn’t ever turn me away when I needed help.
Things didn’t have to be so bad after all and perhaps maybe they weren’t that bad to begin with. A change in perspective is sometimes all you need.
In the end, everything was going to be okay.
