Out with the Old
So I finally finished unpacking today, and let me just start by saying that I HAVE SO MANY CLOTHES. They barely manage to fit in my room! Granted, I haven't really grown in five years meaning it's all been accumulating quite possibly since then (not to mention I have limited closet space and half my drawers are filled with athletic wear... not to make excuses or anything). Still, I could probably (definitely) save a lot of money if I just wore what I already owned. I should cut back anyway before I become a true shopaholic... (Darn my appreciation of good fashion.)
Anyway, I went through all my clothes again and pulled out things that don't fit or that I just don't wear. It was a pretty difficult process. Like I said, I haven't really grown so a lot of things still fit... in order to get rid of stuff I had to keep telling myself how much more someone would appreciate the clothes than I would if I just kept them. It worked for the most part, I think.
But yeah, after I was done I moved onto this little corner of my room where I kept some stuff from the college-search process. I remembered that I saved some of the really fancy books schools sent me or that I picked up, just in case anyone I knew was interested and so I could save the branch of a tree. Of course, now that a year has passed, I knew it would be unlikely for someone to ask for them and decided that now was the time to recycle them.
As I was looking through them though, I realized that I had also saved the letters I received from colleges asking me to apply. It was kind of sad really. I remembered why I had saved them: I knew I would never receive letters from these schools again. But on an even deeper level, I knew that I relished that impression I got from them--I loved that sense of feeling wanted.
They wanted me. The Ivies, MIT, Caltech, Georgetown, UChicago... I devoured their emblems with my eyes, savored seeing my name and address printed on their fancy envelopes. I always wondered why I applied to so many reach schools. I realize now: with all these schools begging for your application, wouldn't you have gotten your hopes up too? Wouldn't you have believed that you actually had half a shot at walking on these centuries-old campuses, at having that dreamed-of opportunity finally in your hands?
I don't know. Realistically, I knew from the start that BU was the only school I applied to that fell into the "good-fit" category of colleges for me, and for financial reasons it was last on my list until the scholarship they offered me cinched the deal. And I'm happy at BU. True, I do tend to make the best of things, but I really do feel like I have this sense of belonging.
Yeah, so I don't know why I'm bringing this up. It seems awfully immature of me. I do wonder though if the subconscious has its own way of working--did I know during the application process and all along that BU was the right school for me? Was it a sign when BU was the only college I applied to from my original list of schools? Was the supplement I sent to BU better than the supplements I sent to other schools?
Psh, okay. That's what I'd like to tell myself. I know I just wasn't good enough. I'm over it. With the exception of the BU letter and the letter I received from Harvey Mudd (it's hilarious), I threw the rest in the recycling bin.
Or really I had my mother do it... and I kept all my UPenn stuff of course.
Anyway, I went through all my clothes again and pulled out things that don't fit or that I just don't wear. It was a pretty difficult process. Like I said, I haven't really grown so a lot of things still fit... in order to get rid of stuff I had to keep telling myself how much more someone would appreciate the clothes than I would if I just kept them. It worked for the most part, I think.
But yeah, after I was done I moved onto this little corner of my room where I kept some stuff from the college-search process. I remembered that I saved some of the really fancy books schools sent me or that I picked up, just in case anyone I knew was interested and so I could save the branch of a tree. Of course, now that a year has passed, I knew it would be unlikely for someone to ask for them and decided that now was the time to recycle them.
As I was looking through them though, I realized that I had also saved the letters I received from colleges asking me to apply. It was kind of sad really. I remembered why I had saved them: I knew I would never receive letters from these schools again. But on an even deeper level, I knew that I relished that impression I got from them--I loved that sense of feeling wanted.
They wanted me. The Ivies, MIT, Caltech, Georgetown, UChicago... I devoured their emblems with my eyes, savored seeing my name and address printed on their fancy envelopes. I always wondered why I applied to so many reach schools. I realize now: with all these schools begging for your application, wouldn't you have gotten your hopes up too? Wouldn't you have believed that you actually had half a shot at walking on these centuries-old campuses, at having that dreamed-of opportunity finally in your hands?
I don't know. Realistically, I knew from the start that BU was the only school I applied to that fell into the "good-fit" category of colleges for me, and for financial reasons it was last on my list until the scholarship they offered me cinched the deal. And I'm happy at BU. True, I do tend to make the best of things, but I really do feel like I have this sense of belonging.
Yeah, so I don't know why I'm bringing this up. It seems awfully immature of me. I do wonder though if the subconscious has its own way of working--did I know during the application process and all along that BU was the right school for me? Was it a sign when BU was the only college I applied to from my original list of schools? Was the supplement I sent to BU better than the supplements I sent to other schools?
Psh, okay. That's what I'd like to tell myself. I know I just wasn't good enough. I'm over it. With the exception of the BU letter and the letter I received from Harvey Mudd (it's hilarious), I threw the rest in the recycling bin.
Or really I had my mother do it... and I kept all my UPenn stuff of course.
prism:
raindrops (thoughts)
No comments:
Post a Comment