Personal Narrative: First Draft

How do you define home? Some would say it’s “where the heart is”, still others would say it’s wherever you pay the rent. Maybe it’s a combination of both. In any case, I can answer that question quite easily. I have spent my entire life in Michigan, and am rooted there for good like the white pine the state calls its official tree.

Here’s a question that may be a bit more difficult to answer: How do you choose where “home” will be? It’s easy for people that get sent to work in a certain city; they don’t have a choice. As a graduate school applicant, I didn’t have this luxury. I had to choose where I would call home for the next five or more years of my life.

When I started to apply, I spent hours researching possible schools. I was meticulous and deliberate about my choices. Two top-ranked schools, two mediocre, a fall back option. They all had to be in cool cities; I was not going to spend a good portion of my life in Iowa (sorry Iowans). At that point, I was confident about what I was doing. I thought for sure I wouldn’t get into either of the top-tier programs.

“I’ll probably just go to Indiana,” I told everyone.

As usual, everyone but me was right. I was accepted at every school I applied to.

Naturally, everyone told me I was lucky. I had options. I didn’t care about options. I wanted them to make the decision for me; to make my life a little easier. I couldn’t decide, because I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I made the wrong decision.

Thankfully, I had had the chance to visit each university. I held out the hope that there could only be one “best fit” and that by visiting, I would discover which place that was. This should make things easier, right? Wrong.

First was a visit to Austin, Texas. I was blown away by the city and the university. Leave it to the first experience to brand a lasting impression onto the brain. Everything about the place was perfect.

“I don’t even need to visit the other schools; I know I’m going to UT,” I told everyone.

I was committed to more visits, though, and next up was Indianapolis, Indiana. I was blown away. Never would I have expected the faculty to be such a fun group. I knew if I went there, I would be in good hands.

The third time I didn’t have to travel far: Ann Arbor, Michigan. I was blown away (notice the repetition). Michigan seemed to have it all: cool faculty and cool students that were as much a part of the school as the school is part of Ann Arbor. As a scientist, the symbiotic relationship resonated perfectly with me.

“You’re going to go to Michigan, it’s where you belong,” everyone told me.

The remaining two visits were no different. Northwestern University and Chapel Hill, North Carolina were both as equally mind-blowing. In no way did I believe it possible that there could be five “best fit” schools, but I knew I could see myself succeeding at each university and enjoying the atmosphere of the location while doing it.

It was at this point when I started to panic. I had to make a decision by a certain deadline and I wasn’t entirely sure I could do it. I would lean toward one of the schools, and then begin to doubt myself. This was hard! I usually know exactly what to do and can defend my actions in the face of criticism. This was a completely different ballgame. In fact, I was on a completely different playing field.

The logical scientist in me then began to make 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 cool. Scratch that. The list wasn’t helping anything.

As a last ditch effort, I grabbed an easy read (Janet Evanovich’s Full Speed) and did some soul-searching-like thinking. I thought about how I felt about what I knew. I thought about how I felt about what I experienced. I thought about how I felt. There was nothing meticulous or deliberate about it. For once, I threw logical out the door. This time, I wouldn’t be able to defend my action with anything rational, and I was okay with that. It was all based on, well, feelings.

As usual, everyone but me was right. They already knew Michigan is where I belonged. They already knew I fit in perfectly in the Running Capital of America. They already knew I bled maize and blue. They knew what it took me months to figure out.

After a couple hours of thinking, I finally realized what I had probably known all along. Thinking about home is never about the tangible. Home is a feeling. Home will be where it already is. Home has to be where it already is. I’m going to be a Wolverine.