091. The Click

tldr: if you’re not there to hear it…

I never had to try in school.
Correction: I tried really hard in school.
But, for me, it wasn’t hard to be successful.
Correction: It was really hard for me to meet my own standards for success.

Still, to some extent, “trying” in school, was fun. Especially when it came to mathematics. For most of my life, mathematics was just one of those areas of study where I could fuck around and find out. For instance, when I realized multiplication was repeated addition, learning my times tables became a sort of game. Or, when my Algebra 1 teacher threw down the gauntlet guaranteeing extra creadit for those who worked on Khan Academy, I spent the next two nights working through every Algebra 1 module there was on the website. [She didn’t give me the extra credit though, which I am still salty about. Something something “After all the work I put into Khan Academy, I didn’t need the extra credit” my ass.]
Correction: I tried so hard in school because I felt that I had to.

When I was in elementary school, I realized that some colleges can provide the financial support to help low income students attend their institution. Now, back then I didn’t know about Stanford or MIT or any other top school some people spend all their lives stressing over getting into. I just knew that I wanted to be able to go to college, because that’s what I needed to be able to become a teacher. So from an early age, I could see a fraction of the bigger picture: do well in school, to one day go to college. And throughout K-12, but especially in high school, I could see some of the puzzle pieces start to click into place. A good grade here. Skipping precalculus and taking calculus there. Forming good relationships with my teachers. Bit by bit, I saw the puzzle form before my eyes.

And then it got to my senior year of high school, and the pieces were clicking into place faster and faster than I could’ve ever imagined. All my hard work was paying off, and I was going to complete the puzzle. For once, I felt in control of my future.
Correction: I had never felt so out of control in my life.

Because you can put in all this hard work. You can try your best to present yourself as this awesome applicant to the schools you’re applying too, just like every other awesome student applying. But at the end of the day, it isn’t in your control if you get accepted into a college. That’s just a fact. You can do everything you can, and still not meet the mark for some admissions officer you’re likely never going to meet. All you can do is have faith. And I suck at having faith. [Faith is the part of religion that never really clicked for me.] So I felt deeply and completely out of control in my life during the college application season my senior year.

But I’m certain that isn’t how I came off to other students or teachers during that time. I mean sure, I was nervous– who wasn’t. But as an optimist, I came to terms with the fact that after I submitted my applications, there was nothing to do but wait.
Correction: There was more to do: stress.

The week before I got into MIT Early Action, I was rejected from the QuestBridge National Match. My friend on the other hand, had gotten into Stanford. This scared the living shit out of me. So, I started to scramble that week, filling out one last application for my local university’s honors program. I put together 20 pages of application in the span of a day, and submitted the application that Friday. In my mind, I thought I wasn’t going to get in anywhere.
Correction: I got into MIT the next day.

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My grandpa and I used to do puzzles together. He would sometimes be a bit sneaky and hide a piece or two in his flannel pocket, so at times I would be searching and searching for a piece only for it not to be on the board. But the one thing he would always do, is hide the last piece of the puzzle. And it would anger me relentlessly. Until it clicked into place. And everything just clicked together.

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When MIT put the final piece of the puzzle into place, something clicked for me. All my hard work. My endless nights. My evening calculus class with a horrendous college professor. The years I stressed about if I would ever be able to go to college. The school years without friends. The school years I finally made friends. All of it. I could see it. I calmly and happily admired the bigger picture being completed.
Correction: I cried for ten minutes on the floor of my hallway.

I was on the phone with my guidance counselor, and she was telling me how much I had deserved this, and how much my life was going to change in ways I couldn’t comprehend. And I was sobbing. I think it was at this point, when something clicked for my mom too. Because later that day, when she came to pick me up after academic decathlon, she came bearing a gift: a complete luggage set. As if to say: you can go anywhere you want for school, but you have to GO.

Go somewhere other than my local university, where they don’t even offer the math classes I was taking my sophomore year at MIT for masters students. Go somewhere where I could make a difference in the world. Go somewhere beyond the 10 mile radius I lived in for most of my life.

She almost gave me permission, and I took it.

This permission she gave me– that’s what makes me think something clicked for her. I think she realized just how hard I had been working for all of my life. And realized how much I had stressed about being going to school. And realized that I was going to be starting a new puzzle, and if she wanted to help put in some of the pieces she better hop on board before I take off. It clicked.

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This past week, I told my noncustodial parent I’m not in a place to have her in my life, as a parent or otherwise. And I knew, at least on the face of it, that this was sad in a way I didn’t quite get. But I thought about it more and came to this conclusion: the puzzle that I spent all of K-12 putting together. The one where the final piece was placed December 14, 2019 in an acceptance letter to MIT. My noncustodial parent won’t ever understand this puzzle clicking into place.

She doesn’t get to see the bigger picture. It just won’t click for her the way it did for me. The way it did for my mom. She doesn’t get to be a part of that.

And that– that’s— sad. Not in a way I need her to fix. Not even in a way I think is fixable.

So when I think forward to this next year: eventually getting into graduate school, and getting to actually graduate, I realize, that it’s sad that she won’t get to see my undergradute years finally click into place. She doesn’t get to get it.

And I’ve gotten over it.
Correction: I will.