On our school’s counseling Canvas page, where students can access materials for course selection and message counselors with questions, there used to be a banner image with a clipart student standing at the start of a path, and the caption “The road to college readiness.” 

   I’ve been thinking about that clipart road a lot recently; I’m currently in my junior year, with college applications–the mythical end to that path–looming mere months away. In many ways, I’ve been on that path my entire life, guided along it by signs in the form of advice from my parents, counselors, and peers. Yet, I never could quite figure out where I was on that road; I’ve found lots of signs telling me where to go, and been graciously gifted more maps than I can count with big red arrows saying “you are here.” But the issue is, none of these maps or signs point in exactly the same direction, with circuitous paths zigzagging haphazardly directing the “right” way to go, even at times contradicting one another. The only consistent commonality is a destination vaguely labeled “success.”

   While my parents and teachers have been helping to pave the road in ways I didn’t realize since before I even really knew what college was, the first time I looked under my feet and perceived the path and saw some level of clarity in that fuzzy shape of “success” was at the end of eighth grade. During my last year in middle school, I was faced with the decision–thanks to Broward County’s numerous magnet programs–of which high school to apply to. I ended up selecting an all-magnet high school that is 40 minutes away from my house on a good day, to which none of my friends were going, and mostly because it’s what all the grown-ups around me said would set me up for the right future. I chose to attend Pompano Beach High School. In truth, it was the right choice for me and I have been happy here, but it was the first major choice I was involved in that was made with “getting to the right college” as a major factor.

   It was soon after this that the YouTube algorithm figured out, in its unnervingly-infinite wisdom, that I was an incoming high school freshman, and started recommending me videos about “what you should be doing as in your freshman year to set yourself up for success.” The videos talked about how you should make sure to take AP level classes, but don’t take too many or you’ll make the transition to high school too hard on yourself. It shared the wisdom about how you should join clubs so that you could get leadership roles later on, but you should make sure they’re things that align with your interests–implying that I needed to know the things I would still be interested in and hopefully be signing myself up to spend much of my time taking responsibility for two or three years down the road. This was my first conscious awareness of this contradictory, dizzying set of directions that really only made me feel lost. I realized that to successfully follow through on all pieces of the advice was actually impossible. These were “either/or” directions; there was no way they could be “both/and.” Eventually, after seeing enough of these videos to take some of their advice to heart, I began avoiding them; being forced to parse through directions pointing me this way and that for an era of my life that hadn’t even begun became more stress than it was worth. 

   But as I went through my first few weeks of high school, I still tried to put the advice I had heard from parents, counselors, and YouTube into practice. 

   Take a challenging course load so colleges know you can handle more complicated material. 

   When I picked my classes for freshman year, I chose the most rigorous that were offered on the course form. I maximized the options for AP classes.

   Get involved in many interesting and unique activities, but make sure it all contributes to a cohesive story about who you are and want to be.

   I joined theater, American Sign Language club, and the newspaper staff. All were activities I was excited to participate in for different reasons. 

   Make sure you are well-rounded and show balance. 

   I managed my homework, extracurriculars, and still tried to connect with friends and family in my free time. 

   Finally, at the end of that first year, it seemed I was on a linear path at a steady pace–happily and proudly gliding as the crow flies. I had found my groove, discovered activities that I really enjoyed. I discovered one version of my voice writing for the newspaper and another (baritone) one as I sang in theater. I figured out how to manage my workload and still get some sleep. It was going well. 

   But–surprise!–just as I thought I was soaring, I had a fighter jet streak by me and make me question if I was off course. Another student in my class, it turns out, knew to pick his courses from ones not on the standard course sheet from the wisdom of two older siblings. With several more AP courses freshman year, it turns out he got a faster start on meeting the class rank landmark on the path. After feeling like I was ahead, or at a minimum on track, I now felt behind. I hadn’t even considered this version of peer pressure up until that point. 

   It’s been nearly two years since the end of my freshman year. I am now closer to being a college freshman than I am to the start of my high school career. And yet, despite that proximity, the path seems windier than ever, with the contradictions about how to best get to that closer-than-ever metric of my success feeling more amplified and numerous than ever. The offers of advice come even more frequently now. 

   Don’t lose your passion for learning, but cram your time so full of activities and your head so full of facts that you ache for a simple break.

   You can’t do any of this without a good night’s rest, but we can’t have you slacking on getting that homework done.

   Be able to creatively express yourself while managing the soul-sucking, creativity-stifling, burnout-inducing workload you need to make yourself a solid college contender.

   I have continued in all the clubs and activities I joined my freshman year and am now in leadership positions in many of them. I have continued to take a rigorous course load and have worked hard to do well. I have done service projects, organized a group of 10 year olds to collaborate on writing a chapter book, taken my standardized tests, and been part of several theater shows. I have mentored younger students on how to navigate the same processes that intimidated me just a few years ago. In short, I have checked most of the boxes on my four-year-long to-do list. And I have done it in a way that is truly unique to me, who I am, and what I care about. By all accounts, I am doing everything I have been told to get to where I think I want to be. 

   And, yet, I still feel like I do not know if I have done enough. I do not know if I am where I am supposed to be at this point. On any given day, I can learn about another person’s accolades and achievements and be convinced that I have taken a wrong turn and am not where I thought I was (have I seen that tree before?). And from talking to my peers–and even those a year older than me and so close to graduation–I know I am not alone. 

   When I actually reflect back, I realize that the moments that I most question whether I have made the “right” moves along the way are in response to the decision points where I have followed my passions–where I have taken the “road less traveled.” 

   Recently, I reached out to a friend, Keanu Silva, who is now a sophomore in college. I asked him to reflect on the advice he would now give a high schooler about this journey. Silva shared that the best advice he has is to “focus on trying to become a real person, if that makes sense; to not aim for a statistic but to develop a cohesive relationship with school.” He went on to explain that he thinks the best advice is to encourage students to “challenge themselves, not give up, and try new things…not just do things to make an application look good.”  

   This might just be the best advice I’ve heard from anyone.