I didn’t get into grad school. This was something I’d prepared myself for since I decided to apply. I knew that there was a chance I wouldn’t get in. It’s a very exclusive program, they only take 6 students. I kept telling myself this. But you start to imagine what it would be like if you get in. What your life would be like. How things would change. You imagine that you’re smart enough, good enough, all of that. That they’re blown away by your writing, that they want you in their program. That you’re exactly what they want.
You let your hopes and dreams get a bit too big. You let that bubble of hope expand until it’s filling your chest and you feel just a little lighter.
I’ve always tried to temper hope with realism. Being optimistic is all well and good, but being unrealistically hopeful has always felt like a recipe for disaster.
I was excited by the opportunity and challenges that grad school would present. I was excited to further my education. I was excited that I was taking steps toward my future. That I was finally doing something for me.
But I didn’t get in.
I know what I need to do, I need to move on to plan B. But I feel like I need to time process this. A lot of negative has happened recently and has me pretty down. This is just the icing on top of it.
I know that I am smart enough and good enough, I know that there were many very talented writers that applied (over 550, apparently). I knew that they could only take 6. I knew that it was a long shot.in
But what it feels like is that my writing is not good enough. I am not smart enough.
I am not good enough.
And I need a bit of time to recover from that, I think.