since getting waitlisted at nyu tisch

a checklist of ways my world didn’t end after college application season

in the past year, i’ve been tested on account of pouring my last seventeen years of livelihood into a series of essays, numbers, and statistics. furthermore, with the knowledge that those contents are given hardly a minute of consideration before somebody else makes a life-changing decision for me. and to put it quite frankly, i’m so fucking relieved it ended up this way. 

initially, it was moving from my a-little-too-far-right hometown to new york city— and only new york city; because every kid who falls in love with theatre likes to flirt with getting out there… broadway, pipe dreams, and all. 

i did indeed fit that cliche until theatre became more about my friends and less about commitment to vigorous vocal warmups. part of me still loves it and occupies valuable time considering the feel of a stage beneath my feet, sweat and stage lights on my hairline, and the wordless feeling of taking a final bow. the other part—admittedly the part with heaping emotional baggage and childhood trauma i’ve yet to fully process— begs rational thinking: do what you’re certain you’re good at and what you’re certain you’ll love. beyond performing, that answer has always been a pen or a keyboard and my thoughts. perhaps not all the way rational, obviously. still a starving artist, but maybe one with the ability to attain a nice charcuterie board.

i guess there’s only one way to truly find out. plus, hey, i honestly never imagined sticking around this long. might as well keep at it— never know what can happen, right? 

so, a checklist of ways my world didn’t end after college application season: 

for starters, i found new passions. i held the breadth of ancient greek texts in my oh, so young hands and devoured words older than i could ever imagined. transliterate, translate, repeat. i worked so carefully-practiced italian would slide off of my tongue like the refreshing aftertaste of a mint. molto freddo oggi! studio scrittura e linguistica e sono al primo anno. ho diciotto. come va? così-così. and, for once, i let good things come to me instead of chasing them and tripping over my own feet.

not before long, the notion occurred to me: it’s so exhausting waiting for the moment or the big break. the turmoil of going to bed night after night, wondering if my efforts throughout the day were enough for my ‘creative journey.’ short answer: they weren’t then, and maybe they aren’t now. at a risk of being overly nihilistic, who gives a fuck? a day, i’ve gathered, is what you make of it. i can have an equally good day buried under the blankets of my dorm bed, nose-to-pillow, with dead poets society in the background, as i can with a day spent writing in the library, categorizing my homework assignments in notion, working out, making tea, and chattering with my loved ones. no matter what every second is spent doing, it leads up to the rest of my life. why not just try to enjoy them as they come? 

the moment i dreamed of was not my grand, red carpet worthy acceptance to nyu tisch’s dramatic writing bfa. now that i haven’t lived it, i can’t see one of my most elated memories as anything other than standing on a chilly, unfamiliar field, dressed in garish orange with a heavy, happy feeling of home. i adapted to a new circumstance and it was never the acceptance i sought out, but is the one i am happy to have looked for anyways. i know this is true. i have spent messy, drunk nights on my floor. i have laughed until i’ve been told i’m being too loud. i’ve let myself linger in the space of other people, my head tentatively resting on shoulders i’ve come to trust more than i would anybody else. i have clipped my wings because i found out that maybe flying isn’t what i want as long as i find holy ground of my own. 

since getting waitlisted from nyu tisch, i have been able to integrate into a group of people i know, come whatever the fuck may, will love and support me no matter what. i have met people that aren’t all from the same, beachy place. syracuse, brooklyn, washington, michigan, london, rome, hong kong, india. i have learned more than i ever anticipated. i have kissed the love of my life and seen her beautiful face through sun and snow, whenever she’s able to carve out time to visit me. i have learned who i am without the expectations of home strung around me like a net. there has been so much time spent and none of it wasted. i have grown, changed, and become. 

i could have done this anywhere, but i am so endlessly glad i did it where i did. 

this isn’t a love letter to syracuse. it has its flaws, as does everywhere else. it’s meant as a letter for myself at 18, eyes glassy with tears of disappointment, because of one word on one purple letter. it doesn’t matter where you end up— just who you find and who you let yourself be. 

in all seriousness, i planned this out as something more down to earth and realistic. i can see now that i sound like a dollar tree philosopher. somehow, i’m going to post it anyway, because maybe if it would’ve made a difference to me, it’ll make a difference for somebody else. or! it will sit on my substack and be overshadowed by time. either way, i’m feeling ready to start being more honest and that starts here. 

accepted, waitlisted, rejected. 

i know they hold a lot of weight and it’s so easy to be crushed by it. if anything, just remember there’s an education, and there’s a new beginning. sometimes you can allow yourself to be something new; you can allow it to be okay to shed your childhood dreams. they’re not always what you want once you get a change of scenery.