New Nest, Part 1: the Road to Middletown or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Wesleyan

College Row, Wesleyan University, Middletown, CT

With only a couple of weeks left until I depart for college and begin my, ahem, 'real life' I've often found myself wondering-- how the hell did I get here?

How did the last four years pass by so fast? How did I manage to graduate from high school? Where is Barack Obama's birth certificate?

And, more to the point of this blog post, why did I choose Wesleyan? Did I want to carry on the legacy of a parent or-- the exact opposite-- get as far away from home as possible? Or was there another factor in play, something even I couldn't foresee?

So many questions and, lucky you, there's so much time.

Like all great coming-of-age tales, this would be nothing without a backstory. So, let's venture back to my junior year...

Me and Mr. Proctor following my commencement

I had just reached the pinnacle of my high school career; nothing could stop me! I was just elected co-class president and was unequivocally the most popular boy in school. I was sure I would soon be chosen for the homecoming court (my most pressing concern at that time) and be invited to every party imaginable. But just as I was embracing my new role as Top Dog of the school (or Top Falcon, maybe), my hubris reared its ever-increasing head and threatened to destroy all I'd worked for.

During the annual Groves-Seaholm soccer match, I decided to take charge of the student section and began several inappropriate chants towards Seaholm. With three minutes left in the game, I took off my shirt, wailed 'Seaholm sucks!' at the top of my lungs, and ran for dear life. As I left, I was confronted by Mr. Proctor, our principal; I was never to return to a sporting event at Groves. I thought my life was over; I was sure I would have to resign from my position as co-class president and accept suspension. This was my wake up call.

I retained my co-presidency, but not without great repercussions; I apologized to several administrators and professed my sincere regret. Then, after gushing over Walden, I took a long walk alone in a nearby forest and thought about the direction my life was heading.

For the majority of my high school career, I had little concern about what I would do after my senior year. In fact, while I was a freshman I believed I was going to enlist in the Marine Corps. and skip college altogether. I routinely left school at 2:45 and went directly home, ignoring the advice of fellow Fred and exercise addict, Mr. Proctor.

I won't even address my sophomore year, the biggest highlight of which was me drawing a new phrase on my fingers every day without fail for all of the school year.

Two years later, I'm still in shock that I haven't
developed lead poisoning.

As I returned from my walk in the woods (incidentally, one of my favorite books), I knew what I had to be done. I had contemplated dropping the several honors classes I was taking, but now knew I had to get focused; my freshmen and sophomore years comprised of only one course. I stepped up my involvement in extra-curricular activities (I even considered joining the Knitting Guild) and volunteered every chance I got (which would eventually become my lasting legacy at Groves High School).

Better yet, I was doing those things for the right reasons. I didn't just want to fluff up my college application; I poured my heart into each activity I chose.

Then came the ACT (what I had previously called the 'act') and the hours I would spend wilting away at the several review books I purchased in preparation.

I finally got my life back on track-- now only one question remained: where was I going to apply to college?

I'd always had my mind set on the University of Michigan-- the obvious choice for a high-achieving student in the Metro Detroit area. Not only was it 40 minutes away from home, it also routinely ranked among the top universities in the country in a wide array of programs. Getting into UMich would be a dream come true.

But by choosing Michigan, I would be closing so many doors. There were nearly 2,000 four-year colleges across the nation. Sure, Michigan was close to home and known as 'the Best', but was it the best fit for me? Shouldn't I hope for something more?

I soon whisked away Michigan and set my sights on something bigger and better. I put Harvard, and then Yale, at the top of my list, just as thousands of other applicants do. I completely ignored the fact that I by and large spent my freshman and sophomore years playing video games after school and embraced that bit of hubris that lay dormant.

I didn't do much research into either school; the instant respect I would garner from attending was the only thing I cared about. Gaining admission would guarantee success in life, or so I thought. I could go into any career I wanted; make more money than I ever dreamt was possible. I could fulfill my dream of helping our nation as a policymaker, or better yet, the world, as a member of the United Nations. I would break through the glass ceiling and ascend to the stars. Alas, there were a few problems with my grand plan.

I also failed to recognize that the UN is a
bloated multinational NGO with largely ceremonial powers,
but I digress.

I, like so many others, held the common misperception about the Ivy League; just by walking on campus, I assumed one is somehow guaranteed success. I would only come to realize my fallacious thinking after reading an article in my AP Economics textbook early my senior year.

The article cited a study that tracked the career path of graduates of Ivy League colleges and comparable public universities. The study was all-encompassing-- everyone from WASPs to first generation immigrants were included. Here's the major finding (and a bit of an epiphany for me): those who were qualified to get into Harvard, Yale, or the like but went to a different college were just as successful as their counterparts at an Ivy. For these top achieving students, it truly didn't matter if they attended Princeton or Rutgers-- the end result was the same.

It is worth noting, however, that disadvantaged minority students did benefit greatly from attending an Ivy League caliber college compared to a community college and greatly increased their chances of success later on in life.

I had finally understood the Ivy Fallacy. The people I admired who'd graduated from an Ivy would have been successful no matter where they attended college; it didn't have any bearing on their outlook. They would be great with or without Harvard. I was now disillusioned with the Ivies and left to fend with the other 2,000 choices that were still left. Needless to say, this created a big problem.

So, as I do whenever I am confronted with a very large problem, I paid a visit to my local library. Instead of focusing on the recognition I could get from where I attended college, I decided to concentrate on what a college could offer me with its programs and atmosphere.

While at the library, I discovered a program called PPE. It was designed at Oxford University during the 1920s and was the status quo for politicians in the UK (David Cameron, for example, holds a PPE degree from Oxford). The PPE program combines political science, philosophy, and economics into a single degree. Having taken philosophy my sophomore year (undoubtedly the best class I took during my time in high school with my one of my favorite teachers) and wanting to be a policymaker, which would most likely involve politics and economics, I seem destined for the program.

I quickly drew up a new list of schools I wanted to tour that offered the program. UMich returned to my list as did Harvard and Yale, albeit with steep reservations. Joining was UPenn, UVA, Northwestern, and a small liberal arts college in Connecticut called Wesleyan University.

What does that even mean?

I'd heard little about Wesleyan during my research. The admission section of their website left much to be desired (their recruiting slogan, Are You Wesleyan?, made little sense and was also ten years old); their YouTube channel was largely undeveloped; many of my top achieving peers had never even heard of the school (the few that did had only recognized the name from the TV show, How I Met Your Mother) or believed it was located in Illinois, Nebraska, or Georgia (there are some seventeen 'Wesleyan' universities across the nation).

Before making a detour to Middletown on my college road trip, I consulted my close friend, Saul. When I mentioned Wesleyan, he was taken aback. He explained that his mother was an alum and absolutely loved her time at Wes. That conversation sealed the deal.

Even though Wesleyan is known as one of the Little Ivies (along with Amherst and Williams), its academic rigor and student environment is unparalleled among private liberal arts colleges. I had a suspicion that it might be perfect for me.

And then, I embarked on the trip that would change my life.

PS- Bonus points if you did your research and discovered the mascot of Wesleyan is a cardinal, which was the inspirational for the title of my blog.