When I dropped out at 20, my sister told everyone: “She’s the family failure.” Twelve years later, I’m Yale’s dean of admissions. One essay read: “My family overcame my aunt’s failure.” The name? Amanda Chen.
My niece. I picked up my red pen and…
The Thanksgiving dinner table went silent when I made the announcement. November 23rd, 2012, 6:47 p.m.
“Dropping out of college,” I said, setting down my fork. My mother’s hand froze halfway to her mouth. My father put down his wine glass with a sharp clink.
My sister Jennifer stared at me like I had just announced I was joining a cult. “You’re what?” my father said. “Dropping out.
I’m leaving Northwestern at the end of the semester.”
“Rachel,” my mother said carefully. “Is this a joke?”
“No joke. I’ve already submitted the paperwork.”
“But you’re a sophomore,” Jennifer said.
“You’re halfway through. Why would you?”
“Because I hate it.” The words came out more forcefully than I’d intended. “I hate my major.
I hate my classes. I’m miserable, and I’m wasting your money.”
“What you’re wasting,” my father said, his voice rising, “is your future. Do you have any idea how competitive it is to get into Northwestern?
How many people would kill for your opportunity?”
“Then they can have it.”
“Rachel, be reasonable,” my mother pleaded. “Every college student feels overwhelmed sometimes. That doesn’t mean you quit.”
“I’m not quitting.
I’m choosing a different path.”
“What path?” Jennifer demanded. “Dropping out to do what? Work at Starbucks?
Live in our basement?”
“I’m moving to New York. I have a job lined up as an editorial assistant at a publishing house.”
“An editorial assistant?” My father laughed, but there was no humor in it. “That’s a glorified secretary position.
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