My Honestly Vain and Egotistical Desire To Be a Student at TC Columbia University.

I want to be honest to say that Columbia University admission was a plan in the making for more than 10 years. Back then I lived in Belarus. One of my mom’s friends had her daughter immigrate to the United States and getting her education at Columbia University.

Apart from my fascination about the greener grass on the other coast, I’ve always kept an idea that one’s value is determined by education one receives, or rather the name of the school one gets written down in the diploma.

I felt insecure and unworthy most of my life despite being an A student, getting into a top university in my home country and receiving multiple recognitions and diplomas from the local government acknowledging my academic achievements.

The truth is getting a degree from a top university in my country didn’t change anything in my life, nor did it repair my distorted vision of myself that would be disvalued even more by a “pfffff, so what?…” attitude of the people as soon as they hear I was just a teacher.

Ready to take on that challenge I would set the goals that would somehow elevate my status in other people’s eyes. I didn’t get into the top university again, but I did manage to get into the university in the USA which was a dreamland for many Soviet people. I felt thrilled because my destiny was about to change, and I thought I found my worth.

Some years passed by, I graduated from an American university with all A’s and a 4.0 GPA and was punched in the face by the circumstances that surrounded me in 2013. Although happily married and expecting my first child, I lacked work authorization, I was jobless and on government assistance. I felt defensive and dumb, squelching across the black line of my life.

The changes came slowly. In 2016, I started working as a public-school teacher. It drastically changed the economic situation of my family but threw me into a depression that I was fighting for four-five months. Since then,  the fight with balancing my work and life has been occupying my mind.

I swing between the idea of teaching being unsustainable for me and still not being able to find the area of expertise that I want to grow as a professional.

The “new teacher” learning curve is demanding as ever; it tests my belief in myself and makes me realize I’m still missing the leverage while I might swing between jobs, compete with other applicants, stand my ground at school when defending my decisions about how to teach my students in front of a white male administrator and have my voice heard even if I am a beginner teacher.

This is where I believe leverage matters. Indeed, leverage is acquired not only through education. It’s wrong to assume all graduates perform successfully in their professional fields, demonstrate leadership and do aspiring things.

However, to me, in my personal story, the courage to become more significant than the place I work in (and that’s the only way to be truly successful) starts from the permission I can give to myself to have my voice heard when I feel undoubtfully sure about the expertise I have.

It’s what makes your resume stand out, undoubtfully. It’s that one-sentence statement “I’m a graduate of Columbia University” that opens up the doors and brings you to the top during the competition. It’s my vain desire to be reckoned with even if I’m an immigrant, even if I’m a new teacher, even if I’m not the loudest screaming voice in the jungle of the public school system politics.

In fact, Columbia is more than just a noble goal, it’s my nuclear button, it’s my obsession, it’s that end of the game card that will allow me to say, “I told you so…”, and I’m eager to be brutally honest and egotistically loud about it.

The decision to apply to Columbia was long-awaited. But first, there was a  voice telling me “who do you think you are?”, “know your place,” “settle with what you have already.” And then, there was exhaustion and self-hate that culminated in “What the heck! Why not me? Why do I always need to be so self-destructing?” It continued with obsessing vision board with pictures of Columbia and graduating students plastered all over it.

I envisioned how I would walk along the hallways, sit in the classrooms, buy that sweater from the school bookstore with the hot description “Columbia University”, post a dumb picture on Instagram with my thumb up and the words “finally made it to my dream school”, and a bunch of other silly crap I have in store from this vain desire of mine.

And then, there will be the time when I sign a $100, 000 contract and present a motivating speech where I will say “Some time ago, I was on government assistance” or “when I was a school teacher on a maternity leave, I was broke and desperate,” and the people in the audience will whisper, “Wow, she did it!”, “What a strong woman!”

They say “never assume that loud is strong and quiet is weak. The fiercest storms rise from the calmest seas.” I’ve been a quiet one for all my life. Somehow, it doesn’t seem to be working anymore.

At the same time, what I observed in a public school system, the loudest voices always go out of breath and disappear sheepishly in the crowd while those pink elephants that once were unnoticed are now the force that needs to be reckoned with and acknowledged.

I honestly long to be safe. I genuinely desire to find financial stability and make my “Psss, just a teacher” career into a strong power. I desperately want to be counted with.

I obsessively believe my aspiration to grab the higher seat with the Columbia degree will liberate me from the guilt and the stigma that teaching is indeed still tough and not well compensated. I don’t want to Uber and waitress. I don’t want to be something else to supplement my income. I want my initial choice of being an educator to be free of regret and my efforts to be paid off. I want to be cool, in demand, vainly proud of what I am. And it’s all coming. Very soon.

For now, I look at my admissions letter over and over again. I’m worth it. I’m worth it, indeed. Just wait until they know, too…

Have a happy day! Keep creating!

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