At one point in my life, I angonized about the prospect of going back to school. Everyone tried to make me go to grad school, but I said no, no, no. (My little tribute to Amy Winehouse, not becausse I listen to her music, but because I found her lyrics quite fitting, grad school being a little like rehab and all.) My professors badgered me about pursuing my studies, saying I was talented and could contribute something to the academic world. I said no. It wasn’t rocket science; I was not made for grad school. All the compliments and flatteries were but that. They never held any meaning. My professors could sing my praises as much as they wanted, but the truth remained: I had no desire to return to the elitist world of theory and stuffy academics. And no matter how much I tried to convince myself that academia was for me, I knew it wasn’t. I applied anyway.
Now, as the admissions responses come flooding in, I realize it’s not me saying no, no, no, it’s them. Rejection after rejection. It really comes as no shock to me. It’s a mutual rejection, really. I didn’t want to play their game. I didn’t want to take the GRE 3 times (or prepare for the test, for that matter). I didn’t want to write a personal statement about Foucault, Derrida or whatever other theorist names I could drop. I am passionate about literature, but I am not passionate about the study of literature. Academia is looking for people whose passion for literature can be converted into scholarship. My passion is just passion at its purest, passion that has no place in academia. Bottom line: I am not fit for academia.
Am I disappointed? Not really. In fact, just one day before I received my first rejection letter, I had stated quite confidently to my parents that I really had no desire to go back to school. I hated feeling inferior and nervous in class. I hated trying to act like an intellectual. School was painful for me: the teachers, the students, the jargon… I hated sitting in class trying to be invisible, trying to avoid the eyes of the professor lest he call on me. It was hardly enjoyable.
I adamantly refused to go to grad school. No, no, no! It wasn’t for me. My professors would sigh and shake their heads. “That’s really too bad.” But they couldn’t have gotten me accepted into grad school any more than I could have gotten myself accepted. The rejections are the proof I needed. It’s liberating, really. Academia is not for me.
I am not disappointed. I do admit, however, that the self-esteem boost that comes with acceptance would have been nice. I didn’t want to go to grad school and I still don’t. I applied to see if I could get in. I applied in hopes of getting accpeted so that for once, I could feel good about myself.
We regret to tell you that you have not been recommended for admission…
