If you’re like me, you sometimes think about what it would be like to attend a school other than Georgetown. Sure, Georgetown rocks. But what if other schools rock even harder? How can we really be sure that Georgetown is where we are meant to be? Is it possible to erase that flicker of doubt that tells us there could be something better out there?
When I was in high school, I was sure I was going to Columbia. Everything about it was impressive: the library, the journalism school, the average SAT scores of the student body-I simply had to be a part of it. When the time for applying to colleges rolled around, I began to panic. What if I didn’t get into Columbia? Would I become depressed, drop out of high school, become an alcoholic and end up wandering the streets doing cartwheels for spare change? Cartwheels are fun, but after a while they make you dizzy, especially when you are an alcoholic.
So I pushed Columbia to the back of my mind, and out of fear, I talked myself out of applying there. Instead, I applied early to Georgetown, a school I didn’t know much about. It seemed like a fine institution, and because it wasn’t Columbia, I was sure that if I got rejected, I would be protected from disappointment. When Dec. 15 rolled around, I was a nervous wreck. Deceptively small, the letter that came in the mail made my heart sink, but good news was contained within. I was so excited that I called my mom, dad, brothers, piano teacher, librarian and hairdresser. I was so proud to be a Hoya that I forgot almost entirely about that Ivy League school that had frequented my thoughts for so long. But as I got more used to the idea of being a Hoya, there was an evil little voice in my ear whispering, “What if?”
Last weekend I decided to travel to New York City to visit my friend at the institution I had previously hoped to attend. I got on the bus, thinking about the school’s lawns that seem to be manicured with nail scissors, the colossal columns and the allure of being in New York. Suddenly, the “what ifs” came flooding back in. What if I got to Columbia and realized that it was better than Georgetown? What if I really belonged at Columbia all along? Was it too late to transfer? By the time the bus pulled onto 54th Street, I had worked myself into a frenzy.
It was shocking to walk through Columbia’s gates and find that the campus that I had once drooled over now seemed mediocre at best. I saw my friend’s dorm, where everyone had a single and thought about how lonely it would be to live in a place where you couldn’t have a roommate, even if you wanted one. After meeting people every day at Georgetown who are warm, intelligent and extraordinarily good-looking, I found myself recoiling from the people I met at Columbia. The Columbians were smart: One student had a grant and was working on cancer research, while another was an international chess champion. They were interesting, except for one guy that talked for 45 minutes about the importance of triethanolamine in soap. But they just weren’t Hoyas. I walked around New York with Cancer Research Girl and Triethanolamine Boy, trying to get into expensive bars and clubs while sporting shoes that were probably once used as torture devices. The night was not how I had always pictured a typical Columbia weekend: I spent too much money, had boring conversations and felt homesick for Georgetown.
The next day when I walked out of Columbia I realized that I had spent a mile in someone else’s extremely uncomfortable shoes. All of my doubts about choosing Georgetown were dispelled. The “what if” whispered in my ear one time too many, and I finally turned around and punched it in the face.
Maybe I could have gotten into Columbia if I had applied; maybe not. I will never know and, at last, I don’t care. There will always be “what ifs,” but the only one that matters is, “What if I am better off right where I am?” Sitting here in my flip-flops, I breathe a sigh of relief. My feet are happy, no one is talking about soap and I don’t regret a thing.
Liz Elfman is a first-year in the College. No man-elves were harmed in the making of this picture.
