Going Grad

A question you tend to get asked a lot when you enter the workforce, make a new friend, and in countless other situations is, “So where did you go to college…?”

This has been a question that, admittedly, I dreaded.

It opened a door to having to explain a path that was not traditional. Nothing about the question made me excited to answer. First, I would explain that I struggled in high school so my grades did too, and I didn’t get into any of my top picks for undergrad that were far away from home. Then I would explain how I attended a small state school, but my time there was cut short, and I eventually finished my degree online through a university I felt very little connection to. Most of the time, though, none of those answers felt quite right.

Instead, I would simplify the story into something much easier to tell: “I wanted to stay close to home and then transferred to a different program online so I could graduate early and start working.”

It was a cleaner version of the truth.

The reality is that for years, I carried a quiet sense of disappointment about my educational journey and viewed it as something I had to explain. Not because I’m not incredibly grateful to have recieved an education, but because there were certain parts of the college experience I wish I had been able to take advantage of.

Now, I see it as something I get to own, and I never imagined that it would be continuing this fall when I start my Master’s in Leadership program at Boston College.

I found out I was accepted into the program in one of the least glamorous settings: a local sports bar during a Knicks game.

My roommates and I were crowded around a table, splitting an order of fried pickles and a pretzel the size of our faces. The bar was packed with Knicks fans, and between the game and a few rounds of SING-O, there was plenty happening to keep me distracted.

Just the day before, I returned from my solo trip to Canada, where I had intentionally avoided checking my personal and work inboxes. I wanted to be fully disconnected while I was away.

But for some reason, sitting in that noisy sports bar, I felt the urge to open Gmail.

Maybe part of me thought that if the decision wasn’t what I hoped for, being surrounded by my friends and a crowded room full of strangers all watching the Knicks during NBA Finals game 3 would soften any dissapointment.

So I opened Gmail.

Typed “Bost-”

Read the word “Congratulations.”

After immediately telling my roommates, and before I could fully process what this meant to me, the three of us were hugging in the middle of the bar.

I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way!

For the rest of that week, I found myself tearing up at the most unexpected moments. Walking to work. Sitting on the couch. Waiting for my coffee. Every time I thought about the acceptance, I started thinking about earlier versions of me, too.

I thought about the 16 year old girl who was struggling deeply and wasn’t sure she’d graduate high school at one point.

I thought about the 21 year old who finished college, but was carrying pain that became quickly covered by the safety blanket of a busy 9-5.

I thought about all the versions in between, just trying her best.

And, I thought about both of my parents who worked incredibly hard to further their own education, which inspired me to do the same.

I share this story because I believe it is so easy to measure our lives against someone else’s timeline. I still find myself doing this from time to time with other things. It’s human.

We compare schools, careers, titles, salaries, milestones. We spend so much energy wondering if our path looks impressive enough that we forget to ask whether it’s actually ours.

For a long time, I thought the value of my education was tied to the story I could tell about it.

Every setback shaped the person who worked hard on that grad school application. And without those experiences, I’m not sure I would have become someone who is now ready and SO excited for this next chapter.

If someone asks me where I went to college now, I’ll happily tell them. Not because the answer to the question finally sounds impressive, but because I’ve chosen to stop believing that my worth was ever determined by the name on a diploma.

Our lives aren’t meant to be compared side by side. They’re meant to be lived, learned from, and owned.