Personal Narrative: Final Draft

Michigan has always been my home, and I am rooted there like the white pine the state calls its official tree. I mean, these trees are amazing! They can grow for hundreds of years, and their vast underground foundation is so strong, a tornado can barely take them out. I’d like to think that’s how I am: grounded in and nourished by Michigan soil.

When I started applying to graduate school, I knew I would be faced with the possibility of leaving my home state. A big decision like that is scary, but I wanted a big change. I had been in one place for too long, and I was itching to be transplanted, thirsty for an adventure in a new place.

I spent hours researching possible schools. I picked the University of Texas, Indiana University, Northwestern University, and the University of North Carolina. I had to apply to the University of Michigan – of course – to appease my family, many of them alumni.

It was funny how much I was reminded of the first time I applied to college. I was accepted at Kalamazoo College, among other universities, and in the second semester of my senior year of high school, I spent a weekend visiting campus. My second day there, in the cafeteria, a girl on the cross country team asked what year I was.

“I’m actually a prospective student,” I told her.

“Oh, wow!” she exclaimed, surprised. “I thought you were a junior!”

My quick acceptance into Kalamazoo life gave me all the information I needed to make a decision. I knew it was the place for me.

I jumped at the chance to visit each graduate school as soon as I was invited.

***

First was a visit to Austin, Texas. Leave it to the first experience to brand a lasting impression onto the brain. Texas barbeque, 6^th Street, jalapeños, the Capitol, and Shiner Bock all meld together in my head into one great memory of the weekend.

“You are my favorite recruit,” one of the graduate students confided in me before I left.

The instant feeling of acceptance was amazing. The significance of that one voice reminded me of my visit to Kalamazoo. It made Austin feel like home.

Still, my friend Erin told me, “You know you’re going to go to Michigan.”

I didn’t understand her reasoning, but her comment lingered in the back of my mind all winter long.

I also visited Chapel Hill, North Carolina. I remember mostly the amazing woody, mildew smell in the air. It’s the smell of summers, hanging out with my sisters at our aunt’s plantation house. It made Chapel Hill feel like home.

Next time, I didn’t have to travel far: Ann Arbor, Michigan. I approached the visit with a less-than-positive outlook. I hadn’t been back to Ann Arbor since I spent the past summer there, and I felt that I already knew everything about the place. I was confident there couldn’t be anything new to experience.

I was wrong, though. I found a new bar, and a new friend. Remy is a first-year graduate student and a smart, bubbly blonde, not unlike my friend Erin. She and I hit it off right away.

“What made you choose Michigan?” I asked her at one point.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “I just knew it was the place for me.”

I guess I had forgotten that Ann Arbor felt like home.

***

I was accepted to Indiana first, and began to get anxious when I didn’t hear from anywhere else.

“If any of the schools don’t accept you, I might have to punch them in the face,” my dad, always the jokester, wrote me in an e-mail that week.

“Yeah, right,” I responded.

After all the letters arrived, my dad emerged the victor. I was accepted at every school I applied to.

I knew I had to decide, but how? The logical scientist in me made a list. Chapel Hill and Austin had the advantage of good weather. Check. Michigan and Chapel Hill were ranked highest. Check. The faculty at Indianapolis was the most interesting. Check. Wait a minute! The faculty at Michigan, Chapel Hill, Austin, and Northwestern was just as engaging. Scratch that. The list wasn’t helping anything.

I wanted the decision to be my own, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what Erin had told me. I still didn’t understand how she knew I would go to Michigan. It made me uneasy that I couldn’t agree with her, yet couldn’t disagree, either.

All at once, it hit me. I finally understood the significance of Remy’s remark, the very words I had pronounced four years earlier: I just knew Michiganfelt like home because it reminded me of Michigan. At Michigan, I wouldn’t have to be reminded. I would still be experiencing. was the place for me. Every other place

I also realized that adventure is not necessarily starting a new life in a new city. For me, it’s exploring new things in an old city and sharing old pastimes with new friends. I want to show my dad the new bar I found. I want to go to Michigan football games and drink hot cider with my new roommates, just like my dad and I used to do.

And anyway, transplanted white pines won’t survive without proper care, their roots are simply too deep.