The last truly impulsive thing I ever said probably kept me out of Yale. Yale dodged a bullet there, methinks. But then again, so did I.
I applied on a whim. I don’t think I really grasped how much of a stretch an Ivy would be for a blue-collar girl like me. I applied because I wanted to see if I could get in. Like a mountain, it was there. I honestly don’t think I ever entertained serious thoughts of actually going. It was a dare, a pie-in-the-sky thing akin to what we routinely tell teenagers: dream big! Shoot for the moon, land in the stars! Except we don’t equip them to breathe up there in the stars. I was not equipped for Yale, and I proved it in my interview.
Yes, I got the interview. I’m kind of amazed it went that far, but there you go. Or…
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