The Waiting Room
I thought the hard part was the work. The late nights where I convinced myself I could write an essay and reinvent my entire personality in 650 words. The mornings where I pretended I wasn’t tired even though I had slept like a phone on 2%. The years of “be consistent” and “build your profile” and “trust the process,” like my life was some long-term savings plan. I thought once I hit submit, something would unclench inside me. I thought the moment the last application left my laptop, I’d feel free. Like I’d just put down a bag I’d been carrying since ninth grade. Like I’d finally be able to breathe without measuring the air. I imagined the relief would arrive immediately, maybe with a sound effect. Maybe angels. Maybe a quiet, satisfying exhale where my brain finally goes, “Okay. You did it.” But that’s not what happened. What happened is this: I’m waiting for college decisions right now, and it hurts in a way I did not prepare for. Not the dramatic kind of pain where you cry on ...
