When I got into my dream school as a transfer cinema student almost one year ago, I thought to myself, This is it. This is what Ive been waiting for my entire life for.
I had spent a year finishing my portfolio pieces. I took solo trip-ups that expense more than I likely should have afforded myself to scope out the university, and my hard work paid off.
Two days before Christmas, I received the letter of my admission and scholarship while I was halfway across the country visiting family. My daddy and I screamed and cried on the phone. This was it. I had gotten into my dream college.
I had two weeks to overhaul my life. I took out a significant loan, trenched my small upstate New York apartment for a small Philadelphia dorm room and left my cat with a friend. I was ready.
I arrived on campus and instantly felt a sense of home in a huge new city I had never felt before.
The classes and profs were amazing, and I had never fulfilled so many students who were like me hands on, with fresh the vision and a modern outlook on both classical and new artistic mediums.
In my classes, I was pushed further than I expected and excelled spectacularly. I even get hired in the student life office, regardless of the fact that I was brand new. This was my place, and these people were my people.
I couldnt have asked for anything better, and I was so excited to have everything going perfectly.
Of course, our worst moments always happen to arrive when we least expect it.
Despite being a poor student, my financial aid and scholarship didnt help me cover the full tuition for the year. Desperate, I turned to more private loans, which apparently couldnt save me either.
I cried for days while trying to strategize with their own families over what to do. I researched every possible route to get money, but couldnt manage to find a solution. It was time to face my ultimate fear.
A few days later, I withdrew from the university. My family helped me move most of my stuff, however, I was running a summertime program and couldnt leave for a week or so.
I had to live in an empty dormitory room until it aimed. I helped my friends move into their new dorms, and then packed what little I had left into my knapsack and hopped on a bus back home.
I wept more in that empty room than I have in many years. In the span of seven months, I had savor victory and utter defeat. I had induced friendships of a lifetime, developed professional connections and constructed a community for myself.
Three months later, I sit in an apartment in my hometown with a sense of sorrow instilled within. Ive experienced my share of romantic heartbreak, but nothing can compare to the feeling that comes with having to leave your dream behind.
Of course, I have other options. There are so many state schools that can give me an amazing education, and I am so grateful to have possibility when so many in this world do not.
For the moment, I am enjoying my new roommate and a full-time chore in daycare until I figure out my next steps toward a new dream.
If theres anything I could advise anyone in mourn of a lost dream, it would be to take a few deep breaths and appreciate the small things around you.
Im only in my early2 0s and am already realise its OKto fail, and this sets me years ahead of my peers.
Every day I go to work, I am helping 4-year-olds learn to write their name and how to cut with scissors. I am sharing some of the first vacations with them that they will actually recollect 15 years down the line.
Im not analyse at a prestigious university, and Im not even in school full-time.
This is enough. And the working day, this will all be seen as a minor speed bump.
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