What I Learned From Receiving a Rejection Letter From NYU
The list of things I was doing during the final minutes before the highly anticipated 11 a.m. release of college decisions for my dream school goes as follows:
I was wearing my mom’s NYU t-shirt (which, by the way, is at least three years older than me).
I was dancing to “Empire State of Mind” by Jay-Z and Alicia Keys.
I was watching The Bold Type, my favorite TV show, and was completely enraptured by my favorite characters walking down the streets of Manhattan.
While I was incredibly nervous, I was also ecstatic. The letter I was about to receive could change the course of my life. I was in the running to get my education from the best dramatic writing program in the country. I kept on refreshing the application portal at 10:59 and hoped for the best.
Things started to go awry at 11. The application included the feed of the NYU admissions page. They sent a tweet congratulating the class of 2024. I still hadn’t received a letter from them.
My letter arrived at 11:03. I don’t think I have ever experienced that level of emotional whiplash. I went from feeling pure adrenaline to feeling completely heartbroken. The thing that hurt me the most was that I was just there. I did a summer dramatic writing program at NYU a couple of years ago. Half of the people who were in my program are now students at NYU. I had to submit a portfolio, and I submitted the same scripts I was working on when I was there. Still rejected.
The thing that gave me the most anxiety was thinking about what I was going to say to everyone. I had already told so many people I wanted to go there. (Sometimes this was by choice. Other times it was because people kept on asking me about college and I felt pressured to give them a name.) I didn’t want to tell anyone at first because I thought rejection was embarrassing.
Then I realized that it isn’t embarrassing. I realized that if someone my age would have talked about their experience, I probably would have felt less alone.
Here is mine:
Shortly after I received the news, I took off my mom’s t-shirt. I had to hide the NYU memorabilia I got when I did my summer program because looking at it made me feel miserable. There were many days of crying and questioning whether I wanted to go to college or take a gap year and apply again next year.
Over time I realize that the rejection says a lot more about them than it does about me and that I am still just as talented as I was when I applied. Once I realized this, I felt like I could take on the world.
I have decided to attend the University of the Arts in Philadelphia. I will admit I wasn’t excited about it at first. Now I can’t imagine myself being anywhere else. The fact of the matter is that grief is grief. The college process has the capacity to be incredibly ugly (and this moment was UGLY for me). However, I am where I’m supposed to be. I’m sure of it.