Once upon a time I was a high school student. When I began my college search, I’ll admit that I thought I was in pretty good shape, though, like many of my Generation X counterparts, I wasn’t overly confident about anything in life.
I had pulled good grades and SAT scores, had an above-average array of extra-curriculars, and wrote myself a darn good essay. I figured I was headed in the direction of one of California’s many excellent public universities just like the majority of my peers. I flirted with the idea of applying to Pomona or even Emerson in Boston, but I never got beyond first blush. Those schools just seemed too out of the ordinary … so unexpected. After all, my friends—most of whom were good students themselves—were all headed to U.C.’s. That’s what good students in California do.
One day my mom popped a startling question. “Are you going to apply to Stanford?” she asked with just a hint of a smile.
Stanford was practically in my backyard, just a 45-minute drive from my home in San Jose. Not only did it feel too close, but it was also expensive and—most importantly I thought—only appropriate for those who had already done magnificent things in life like publishing books and scaling tall buildings. I figured my chances of getting in were slim but decided to send in an application out of curiosity’s sake.
Much to my surprise, I got the thick-packet in the mail and was instantly intoxicated by the thought of attending a name-brand school. How could I choose UCLA over Stanford? Wouldn’t the high-powered people I would meet become life-long connections to the rich and famous? Wouldn’t I study with some of the most renowned academics to ever walk the Earth? Wouldn’t I gain the instant respect of having a prestigious degree attached to my resume forevermore? I enrolled without hesitation.
A happy ending, right? Ten years after graduating from Stanford I now have the unique opportunity to reflect on my college education with a healthy dose of perspective, not only because of the wisdom that comes with age and self-understanding, but also because I chose to enter higher education as a career and have seen several other institutions up close, some name-brand, others not.
And here’s what I’ve figured out. Yes, my Stanford education provided me with incredible opportunities and connections, and certainly all of my professors knew their stuff. But here’s the reality check. I can probably count on one hand the number of times I actually raised my hand in a classroom to speak in class. A year after graduating I couldn’t think of any professors I could put down on my resume as references … I simply hadn’t gotten to know any of them. I was intimidated by the large classes and famous faculty. Some of the teaching assistants who taught my classes didn’t know a thing about teaching. I passed all my classes and enjoyed myself for four years, but I can’t really say I was engaged in my education. It wasn’t until I attended graduate school a few years later that I realized the intellectual joys of exchanging ideas with faculty and fellow students.
I certainly don’t blame Stanford entirely for my lack of engagement. I could have made more of an effort to find those connections with my faculty, overcome my fear of asking questions in large lecture class or gotten involved in a research project. But the fact was that at 18 I didn’t have the wherewithal or the confidence to do those things, and at no point did a member of Stanford’s staff or faculty give me the encouragement I needed.
Only recently did I figure out my biggest mistake. Never during my college search process did I stop to think about the type of institution that would be the best match for my personality and learning style. I was merely concerned with going to the very best college I could get myself admitted to, figuring that the more selective the institution, the better the education. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
If I had the ability to turn back time, I’d do many things differently. I’d take a moment to think about the kind of learning atmosphere in which I thrived. If I had done so, I probably would have realized that a small, residential, liberal arts college—possibly a women’s college—would have been a much better match for me.
Currently I work at Saint Michael’s College in Colchester, Vermont, which is very much the kind of institution I wish I had attended as an undergraduate. Few Saint Michael’s students graduate without making at least one—and usually several—connections with faculty. I’ve even taken a couple of undergraduate classes on campus to see for myself exactly how the classroom experience differs. The personal attention and small classes mean students are encouraged, cheered and challenged. Students simply have no choice but to be noticed by—and engaged with—their professors.
I’m not saying the education one receives at a name-brand school isn’t worthy, it’s just not the best choice for all students. The trick is taking the time to do a little honest self-assessment, and attempting to resist the lure of prestige. Find the best school for you based on the learning environment you seek, regardless of name-recognition or selectivity. Ten years later, you’ll be glad you did.
