Photography by Lori K. Tate
Last summer, my soul sister encouraged me to start a business helping high school seniors with their essays for college admissions. Though I was terrified, the idea ignited something in me, and by June, Show Don’t Tell Essays was born. Suddenly, I found myself listening to 17- and 18-year olds share their dreams, hopes, fears, memories and more as we sweltered on my patio. It’s some of the most rewarding work I’ve ever done.
I’m thinking about my students a lot this week (and in the weeks to come) because many of them are about to find out if they got into their dream school. Everyone has their own idea of a dream school based on course of study, geography, sports, arts, family history, etc. Being in North Carolina, many of my students want to be Tar Heels. Typing that sentence makes my heart beat a little faster because I’ve been there.
I wrote about the scenic route I took to become a writer in my Closed Doors entry (November 13, 2019). In a nutshell, ever since fourth grade, I dreamed of going to Chapel Hill to study journalism. The Heels’ win over Georgetown in the 1982 national championship had a little to do with it, but my ambition was mostly fueled by my desire to tell stories. When a neighbor told me that UNC was the place to go for journalism, I clung to that idea like a pond leech on a leg. From fourth grade on, so many of my decisions were based on that goal.
By the time I entered my senior year, I had everything going for me in my college application, everything except a wonderful SAT score. That was always the wild card for me, and that’s the wild card that sent a thin envelope to my mailbox instead of a thick packet. I had just returned from my Governor’s School reunion, where so many of my friends shared that they had already been granted admission — three of my friends were up for The Morehead, two won it. Then there was me, staring at a rejection letter.
It wasn’t pretty, and there’s still a slit in my bedroom door where I kicked it in a fury, but it wasn’t the end. At 17, most of the rejection I had experienced involved boys who didn’t return my crushes. This was different. This was a new path that I hadn’t let myself think about for fear of introducing it to fate. But there I was, huddled in a ball on my canopy bed, crying with my mother.
My sad stupor didn’t vanish quickly, but it eventually faded as I began constructing another road to get where I wanted to go. Some folks travel in a linear pattern through life, A to B and onto Z without missing a letter. My path looks more like something you’d doodle during a boring meeting. Sometimes you have to be denied what you want to realize how much you really want it or if you even want it at all. Either way, it’s a hard lesson, but one I’m beyond grateful for because through all of the heartbreak, anger and disappointment, I kept my dream in view and achieved it in my own messy way.
So for all of those students who get into Carolina or whatever their dream school is in the coming weeks, congratulations! I hope it’s everything you want it to be. If it’s not, figure out a way to make it work for you or work your way to another school. But for those who don’t get the news they’ve longed for, know that it’s not the end. It’s simply a different beginning to your story, and it just might lead you to a better place than you imagined.
Good luck, seniors! I’m so proud of you!
Photography by one of Lori’s parents.