The unrelenting Instagram algorithm has one more trick up its sleeve for high schoolers: a flood of talkative videos from college essay tutors, “admissions experts,” and elite college alumni, all preaching their own words of college admission wisdom to an audience that jumps at the bait. 

I’ll admit, when these fast paced, cleverly hooked videos first appeared on my feed, I was immediately drawn into the abyss. There I was, once again, anxiously fantasizing about my post-secondary plans, wondering if I was doing enough, busy enough, smart enough. 

And then I remembered that I’m a junior in high school. That when my parent’s friends ask me about my future, (and I sheepishly admit my ignorance) it’s hurriedly followed up with, “You’re young, you’re not supposed to know.” Enjoy it, they say. Enjoy being able to explore the options ahead of you. 

Yet the idea of a wrong turn on the twisting path of my future haunts me. I squirm in my seat watching the scene in La La Land where Mia has a crisis of identity, wondering if her pursuit of an acting career was the wrong choice. The world of career education preaches the gospel of strategic planning; that every decision must align with my long term goals, mapped out in an endless series of five year plans which define my future.

I’d like to daydream blissfully about what I “could” do, instead of what I’m “supposed” to do. You see, that’s the rhetoric followed by the faces on Instagram which tell me what AP classes to take, what to write in my college essay, what extracurriculars to take and which to avoid. It’s the mindset that kills me. Where is the fun in turning myself into a brand, a picture of perfection to admissions officers who will never see me again? 

It’s like that scene in the Barbie movie where Barbie realizes the contradictions of womanhood. For college admissions, the ideal is similarly inconsistent. 

I’m supposed to be a top student, but not so that I can’t have a social life. I need to take as many honors classes as possible, but not so many that I burn out. I’m told to be well rounded, but not to spread myself too thin. I need to explore all the options, but also find my niche and pursue it immediately. I have to be a high achiever, but not an overachiever, because that would be tryharding. Be passionate, they say, but don’t become too obsessed. 

Be unique, they tell me. Be you, stand out, take the extra step, go the distance, follow your dreams…

I get tired of the language around going to college. For someone whose dreams of education and opportunity have kept me awake at night since elementary school, maybe I’m finally seeing past the ethereal vision and to reality. 

The reality is that I’ve found myself choosing classes based on the impact they’ll make on a resume more than the area of passion they will awaken. I’ve dabbled in the never-satisfying yet hyper-competitive pursuit of the best grades, test scores, and essay word counts. I’ve dug myself out of a comparison trap fueled by the dreams of others. 

Maybe I’m just a depleted overachiever realizing I don’t want to peak in high school. Or college, for that matter. The “dream school” fantasy shouted from the rooftops of every like-and-share-hungry ivy league influencer is, frankly, not my dream. 

Here’s to the educational utopia which celebrates depth of learning over volume, which doesn’t force upon the least of its romantics an unmatchable mold for by-the-book success. The carefully constructed brand will never live up to the richness of a unique and current reality. 

“This is the dream,” Sebastian told Mia in La La Land. “It’s conflict, and it’s compromise, and it’s very, very exciting!”