If I learned something this week it’s that college tour guides have and uncanny talent of walking backwards for extensive periods of time. I’ve been going around from campus to campus this entire week looking for the hook where I’m to spend the next four years of my life. What is my perfect fit? Is it the amazing prestigious combination of purple and white with a touch of elitism sprinkled with small town humility? Maybe it’s maroon and silver spiral of high-class hipsters who want to change the world one ridiculous prompt at a time. Or, could it be that imposingly bright combination of blue and orange whose dome is as big as the dreams and wallets of the people who end up going, but who care less about what anyone could say about them. It just might the speck of yellow and blue in the middle of a mountain with, well it has just about everything and nothing I could ever want. Could it be that my perfect hook is the world renowned twang of blue and silver who’s at the capital of honest and celebrated –often times overlooked – idiocracy*?
If you guessed that I’m referring to Northwestern, University of Chicago, Syracuse University, Ithaca College and Georgetown then congratulations, you know a whole lot about different universities in the USA and probably went through or are going through what I am right now. Looking at these schools It got me thinking about what type of person I want to be. Obviously I want to be a journalist, a writer, someone who has a lot to do with words and little to do with anything but the construction opinions of helping to build the foundations for intellectual chaos. But, who else do I want to be? I think that’s what all this searching process actually is looking for, not an institution where your gonna sit your ass in for the next four years and get the education you need, I mean what you do with what you learn is what matters anyway. What this endless search and application process does to you is that that force you to think about what of yourself you want to develop the next years to come. That’s really a tough question to ask any 17 year old. Forget the mayor, that’s the least of your worries, where are you gonna feel home.
The only thing I have certain is that I’m going to have to become the girl that can endure snowstorms because all of the campuses I looked at will be burred under snow by mid-November. If I don’t become that girl you’ll see less of me that you already do.
As I look outside the window of this fast moving train into the wilderness of red, yellow and green (borderline hipster cliché I know) I just think about what the fuck am I to do, and the answer always seems to be that I’d look amazing in orange.
*It’s funny that my computer is trying to correct this word into democracy