Rejection. No matter what people say, no matter the compliments, the WTF’s, the tears, outrage, and sorrow, not getting accepted to my first-choice graduate program felt like rejection. I found out late last week that U.G.A. declined my application–a throat punch. My wife and I love Athens more than we can love another place. The place, however, is nothing to cry over. The thought of leaving the people we love is devastating.
Going in to the application process I was aware of the reasons U.G.A. could reject me. They were all departmental, circumstantial, and political. The issues with modern academia were working against me. However, my grades, test scores, extracurricular activities, and talent far exceed the smallest requirements for admission. For two years I aimed for acceptance to this program. I had close relationships with several faculty members, all of which supported and went “to bat” for me. I knew the minimum GRE requirement by heart. I managed my grades to their standards. By the end, I was a product of their department. Yet, I am not a “fit” for their department.
Anger never crossed my mind before writing this post. I am human, after all. Reasons aside, instead of looking forward to a few more years in the best city I know with the best people I know, I have to research moving somewhere less-awesome where I can only hope my wife will be happy as I while grad school devours our time and patience. It is unfair. C’est la vie.
There are many positives. Academically, the other schools I am applying to are better “fits” for me and the work I want to do. This could be the beginning of a great adventure. Twenty years from now, my wife and I will look back and be grateful for our journey. Oh, the people we’ll meet! Oh, the things we’ll see! Oh, the newness of it all!
For now, I am just too bitter to be excited, too angry to feel positive. With each friend I have to tell the news to, a bit of sour milk seeps into my veins and poisons the potential for positivism.
See, I was a great planner. I had 5 yr, 10 yr, and 20 yr plans. When I would be married, when I would have kids… As I grew older, and fewer of those plans came to fruition, I began to believe I was a loser. I lost control. Control was all that mattered.
Now, I know the error of my ways. I live more in the “now” than ever, because tomorrow is not promised. (Insert all other clichés related to the above).
A committee of historians decided that my present life must end. It won’t be the last time. I am too aware of the circumstances surrounding a career in academia to have any hope otherwise. But that doesn’t make it hurt less. In fact, it hurts much more than if I were unqualified. Then, at least, I’d have some say.
Anthony Sadler 