11
Do we ever lose what was once ours?
I don’t know why I thought
writing this would be easy, or why
I thought it would resemble the
same process of all my past Daily
pieces. I thought I would make my
short trek to the Law Quad, bask in
solitude with a carefully curated,
mood-setting playlist and dedicate
two hours to pouring my heart
onto paper. In my head, it should
have been that seamless. Automatic
almost, or at the very least, a well-
rehearsed routine, considering how
integrated the Daily became in my
life.
Instead,
writing
this
article
has been quite the opposite. For
the last five days, I’ve started to
write, then stopped, then started
again, drilling into all corners of my
consciousness to find some profound
yet understandable way to articulate
my feelings about graduating. And
yet, I found nothing, just blockage.
And the thought that writing my
final column for the Statement
section — my home, my child, my
haven wrapped in one — would be
easy, was admittedly naive.
Yet for some reason, I’m not
surprised. I’ve been feeling this
way for quite some time now: a
stoic limbo of mixed emotions, as
if everything in my life is ending
and starting all at once, leading to a
catastrophic explosion of numbness.
My world is changing right in front
of my eyes: My college friends and I
are leaving the city we spent the last
four years making our own, moving
to different corners of the country in
hopes of starting our capital-A ‘Adult
life.’ Family members are getting
married, my childhood house is on
the brink of being sold. The weekdays
of classes and extracurriculars are
soon to be replaced by a nine to five
(or six? maybe seven?) job.
And yet, altered they may be, each
facet of my life will carry on without
me, all morphing into someone else’s.
Ann Arbor will remain relatively
unchanged
by
my
departure,
destined for an annual influx of new
students. In fact, its functionality
will
be
virtually
unchanged,
completely
unbothered.
The
University will continue to be the
maize and blue, work-hard-play-
hard, Leaders and Best institution it
prides itself on. Football games will
still happen every weekend in the
same rowdy Big House, with parties
in driveways I once frequented every
Saturday still filled to the brim with
excitedly inebriated students. Pizza
House will still be open late into the
night, Revive will still have weird
hours and the Law Library will still
close its doors to undergraduate
students at 6 p.m.
My freshman year dorm room
will be filled with four brand new
bright-eyed students — they will
quickly learn the joys, trials and
tribulations of sharing a sleeping
space with three other people. My
senior year home will be transferred
over to the next set of tenants —
sophomore frat boys, if I remember
correctly — and the legacy that my
four best friends and I curated for
our little blue house will soon be
forgotten. Even so, I’m confident
the love we gave and memories we
created, be it our affinity for cabbage
guacamole or our unique and often
overused vernacular, will be sealed
into the foundations of its walls.
My
two
chosen
student
organizations,
The
Michigan
Daily and the Michigan Fashion
Media
Summit
(MFMS)
will
persist
as
campus
trailblazers,
fully stocked with eager, intelligent
undergraduates ready to lead. Both
organizations were crucial to my
college experience, and yet, my
time with each of them is already
up: I wrote my goodbye to the Daily
this past December, and caught a
glimpse over the last few months of
just how seamlessly something I love
can function without me a part of
it. I finished all that was needed for
my role as Vice President of Digital
for the MFMS when the day of our
annual Summit concluded.
Two hours after the Summit
was over, I left for the airport to
go to Nashville. I was on the plane
when the idea hit me: I will be
passing on all I worked to make
my own to someone else, someone
ready to assume the responsibility
and impact of implementing new
innovations. It feels weird to say that
it was a difficult reality to confront,
ushering in the thought that my
attachment to everything might
purely be out of self-interest. Maybe
my work at the Daily was more about
earning a Managing Editor position
and having a staff of writers to direct
than it was about being a part of a
self-sustaining paper. Maybe every
role I applied for was more about
satisfying my ego than contributing
to something I love.
And in entertaining these ideas,
I found myself slipping deeper
and deeper into clouded, intrusive
judgment on how the best is all
behind me, how I will be forgotten,
how I should have held on tighter to
my time here while it was still in the
palm of my hand.
Thankfully, in that very plane
seat, I quickly realized how distorted
my outlook was. Seeking a change
in perspective, I forced myself to
ruminate on the positives of the day,
the past month, the past year, the
past four. I immediately was drawn
to the things I accomplished with
my respective teams by my side, the
beauty in the friendships I made,
the tangible, inventive products we
delivered.
For the Daily, I daydreamed of
my start as a Statement Columnist,
my first interview with former
Statement Managing Editor Maggie
Mihaylova, who quickly became my
mentor. I dreamt of the day I was
voted on to be Managing Statement
Editor in December of 2020. My heart
grew fonder when remembering
how scared yet invigorated I was for
the time ahead, how much pride I felt
in people trusting me to lead, how
heavy the weight of responsibility
felt in making sure I got it right.
I thought of the two years of
hiring and working closely with
remarkably
talented
writers,
editors and designers, getting to
know their amazing, thoughtful,
wonderful brains as well as I could.
My eyes widened at the realization
of just how many Daily staffers I’ve
watched grow, assuming their own
leadership
positions,
eventually
succeeding me.
ANDIE HOROWITZ
Statement Contributor
S T A T E M E N T
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
4—Wednesday, May 4, 2022
Reflections from a U-M
reject turned graduate
The first time I walked through
campus as a student, I wore a
Michigan crewneck that my mom
bought me at a department store,
hoping it would cover up the deferral
and two rejections I was carrying
around on my back. The font spelling
out the name of the school was just
the tiniest bit off-brand, but it would
take a keen eye and a long look to
recognize that it wasn’t the real
thing, so I figured I’d get by.
And then I hit the Diag, where I
was swarmed by M Den–approved
apparel, and my sweatshirt turned
into
an
advertisement
for
my
fraudulent presence on campus. I
took it off in a bathroom in Mason
Hall before my first class, and it sat
at the bottom of my backpack for the
rest of the day.
***
I spent mst of my life listening to
my family tell me that I belonged
at Michigan — it was progressive,
it would challenge me, “it’s just
so you” — but I was academically
burned out by my junior year of high
school. My heart wasn’t in my first
U-M application — which earned
me the deferral and first rejection —
my grades weren’t good enough and
neither were my standardized test
scores. So I committed to Michigan
State, my safety school.
I wasn’t necessarily bitter about
ending up at State, so I decided
to settle in and make peace with
where I was. I made friends; I
found a major I liked; I acted like
I was going to spend all four of my
college years in East Lansing. But
my family wanted me in Ann Arbor,
so I grudgingly applied to transfer.
Rejection number two landed in my
inbox a few months later.
If I had any lingering desire to
end up at U-M when I submitted
that second application, there was
absolutely none when I applied for
the third and final time in my second
year at State. My heart wasn’t in
that application either, but my
grades were better and I had kind
professors who were willing to write
recommendation letters for me. Still,
I’m partially convinced that what
ultimately got me into this school
was pity, the admissions committee
finally deciding to give me a chance
after noting how much money I’d
spent on application fees over the
years.
Evidently, third time’s the charm.
When I got in, it was a hollow
victory; not only did I not want to
leave Michigan State, I really didn’t
want to go to Michigan.
***
That first walk through the Diag
in the fall of 2019 was marked by a
deep bitterness. At the will of my
family, I had left behind friends,
opportunities, the relatively more
affordable East Lansing renter’s
market and, most importantly, over
30 untransferable credits. This
doomed me to a fifth year in college,
perhaps the most frustrating thing
about the entire situation. A fifth
year was never a part of my plans; it
didn’t feel right to me that I would
spend the majority of my college
career at a university that I resented
because I was sure it didn’t actually
want me.
Now, three years later and just
days away from graduation, Ann
Arbor is the first place I’ve ever felt
truly comfortable calling home.
I would describe my eventual love
affair with the city as an unfolding.
At first, I was determined to keep my
arms crossed firmly over my chest.
This would be the place where I got
my degree and nothing more. Maybe
I wouldn’t have a lot of fun, but at
least I would have my convictions.
But the first thing I was willing
to concede that Ann Arbor had
over East Lansing ended up being
the key to my unfolding: I could
actually walk around Ann Arbor. At
Michigan State, memorizing CATA
routes was essential for getting to
anything on time; at Michigan, I can
walk from my apartment (two blocks
from East Quad) to Kerrytown (on
the other side of town) in less than
half an hour.
KATRINA STEBBINS
Statement Contributor
Read more at michigandaily.com
Read more at michigandaily.com