When I had my own classroom, I frequently launched the college unit with the circle of control.
I worried about my students’ mental health in general throughout my career and made space in my curriculum to address mental wellness before it became an explicitly-addressed facet of education. Indeed, some of my colleagues mocked me for taking time away from developing their reading and writing skills for something soft like mental wellness.
I swallowed hard and followed my instincts, and when I found the concept of the circle of control, I immediately recognized how helpful it would be as an illustration to my high school seniors about what they could and could not control in the college application process.
Let’s break this down:
In the circle:
SAT and ACT scores if they still plan to take the tests for the first or subsequent times. Senior grades. Extracurricular involvement in the senior year. Common app essay. Supplemental essays. Connecting with your regional admissions counselor for your geographical location.
What is outside of the circle of control:
Previous grades. Old ACT and SAT scores. Quality of fellow applicants. Your geographical location. Your gifts matching with what your dream school needs for this specific incoming class. Your ethnicity. Your gender.
What do I mean about some of those items outside of your circle of control?
Schools are only going to take a certain percentage of students from a given geographical area. And they are only going to take a certain number of students from your school.
One year I had three amazing seniors who all applied Early Decision to Duke.
They were savvy enough to recognize that there was no way Duke was going to accept all three of them from the same small independent school of just 400 students in the high school.
They braced for it.
They prepared to be gracious in defeat.
So, the night Duke sent out messages to those students who were accepted, I was thrilled to get texts first from our male applicant, then a second text from one of our two female applicants, and then she texted me a moment later to tell me the second female applicant from our school got in.
I was stunned, but it made sense.
They were radically different students who brought different strengths to Duke.
One was big in ROTC.
One wanted to study animals in the wild.
And one was a strong student leader.
Another year, a large number of our kids were math whizzes, and they all applied to Washington University St. Louis.
Only two were accepted.
You cannot control how many students from your high school or your city or your state or your region of America apply to a given school.
This has impacted my own life as an adult. I am a reader for the AP Literature and Composition Exam every June, and I nerd out over it the way my students nerd out over being accepted for a summer program or an internship. It matters to me.
Now that I am retired, ironically, it matters even more as it keeps me current. I miss students’ voices in the classroom on those countless essays I used to grade. I get a charge out of being with fellow educators talking about best practices, what we are reading for pleasure, etc.
Guess what? I knew before I was accepted for the first time in 2007 that the odds were against me. I am a female. The Educational Testing Service wants a 50/50 split on gender, and women dominate in the field of secondary English.
I am white.
They strive to have 20% of their readers be readers of color to reflect the ethnicity of our schools and the works that are taught in the classroom.
I am from Indiana.
I think that may have played to my advantage as my friends from states like Texas and California believed it was much more competitive to be selected if you were a reader from those states given how large they are.
Oh, and by the way, 60% of the readers are college professors, and 40% are AP Literature and Composition teachers at the high school level.
I was a high school teacher.
Why does ETS want 60% of their readers to be college professors?
They want college professors to buy into the exam and the scoring process. My first roommate who was a college professor didn’t even know what the exam was composed of; I had to school her on the format. It wasn’t that she didn’t care. Why would she know? So, being a high school teacher was another strike against me.
It is what it is, guys.
Not in my circle of control.
You can rail against the politics of things like gender, ethnicity, and geographic location if you want to, but it’s wasted energy.
When I walk into an AP reading on the opening morning before we begin scoring essays, I get it.
I have never seen so many men in a room full of English teachers and professors.
I know when I join my fellow readers at lunch and dinner that we will span the country; they have readers there from Alaska and Hawaii, too.
The same will be true when you walk onto your college campus. You don’t want to walk onto Notre Dame’s campus and see half of the freshmen class being the neighboring St. Joseph High School’s senior class from the year before. Believe me–most of them apply to Notre Dame. It’s a Catholic high school. They know that the odds are stacked against them, but still they give it their best shot. If they were some kid from rural Montana, they would have a better shot.
Not in their circle of control.
A Yale representative came to speak to my students years ago and told us he was from rural Mississippi, and he was the first person from his high school to apply to Yale, let alone be accepted. He was funny and bright and intellectually curious. He shares a very different perspective and has had a different life experience than his peers.
So, if the kid down the street got into Harvard and you didn’t, maybe he/she is a first chair violinist, and you are captain of the soccer team. This year, maybe Harvard needed the violinist. Maybe next year they will need the captain of the soccer team. You graduated a year too early.
Of course, I am speaking somewhat hypothetically, but you get the analogy, right?
Some of this is down to chance.
If you do NOT get into your dream school, take your time to mourn, and then put your shoulders back, chin up, and consider the possibilities of your back up schools. Do NOT let this be some defining moment about you that you will carry to your grave.
I know it’s easy for me to say this as a happily retired English teacher playing pickleball and scoring AP Exams in Salt Lake City every June, but we have all faced our own disappointments.
That’s life.
I know that for many of you, that “no” from your reach school is the first big “no” of your life. Truly, I think it is up there with your first heartbreak. It hurts. You imagined yourself wearing that sweatshirt living on that campus. Mourn. Then, pick yourself up, and have a new dream.
You can make magic happen on virtually any college campus in America.
Think about international students who would be thrilled to be in the seat next to you at your back-up school.
It truly is a matter of perspective.
This is a massive primer on life. I live in a gorgeous gated retirement community that is truly a resort. And yet there are still whiners in the clubhouse complaining about some minor aspect of the community. I want to shake them and point out our views of Madera Canyon, our stunning sunsets, and the additional sixteen pickleball courts that will be built within the year. Perspective is everything.
Final thoughts:
Avoid the very real urge to compare yourself to your fellow applicants. Remember that comparison is truly the thief of joy. This is about fit. Is this school the best match for you? Are you a fit for that campus? There is more than one door leading to a successful college experience. Please remember that.
Comments