An Asymmetric Game

I like my job, but one of the best things about school is knowing that I’m not going to be there forever. Too many days like today and I’d understand why most people are the way they are.

A while ago, perhaps a month, I didn’t know if I truly wanted to be accepted. I mean, I haven’t felt a longing for school and taking time off was clearly the best course of action. But then I couldn’t get a good long-term real job and decide to apply. I started my current job a month before I take the GREs and about three months before the apps were due. My point being: if I got this job directly out of school, I don’t know if I would have applied for school at all.

I’m going because, partly, it’s most likely the best course of action. And perhaps it was just a preemptive defense mechanism, but I began believing that it wouldn’t be the worst thing if I didn’t get in. I can’t say I truly wanted to be rejected, but there were moments. There’s a fair bit that can be said about finally starting one’s life; as it is, school feels like more prolongation. It may not be a bad thing, but still.

Like today, eating lunch in the cafeteria, the guys talking about TVs–and I know that that hi-def big screen is now at least a half decade away. No school? Maybe a year. It’s a bit depressing.

It’s Saturday morning now and I’m sitting under a few blankets because it’s god-awful cold. I’ve done only a few things the last few days but always thinking about the school situation.

The school that accepted me is not my first choice. The rejecter was, more or less, my first choice. The one I haven’t heard back from yet–they’re the best school I applied too. At least the rejection makes the choice of where to go easy. The remaining schools form a clear hierarchy in my thinking.

I am joyed that I will (unless something unexpected happens) be a graduate student next year. My reservations of going have been buried and, right or wrong, I’ve convinced myself that it’s better long-term than the alternative. Yeah, but if I got into this other school, I’d be simply ebullient. I may not go there–it’ll depend a lot on money–but the ego-trip of being accepted by a school of that quality would be…well, great.

So, yes, I no longer have to preface my comments regarding the future with "If I get into grad school…" or "If I don’t get into grad school…" Now I’m starting with "If I go to X school…" or "If I get into Y school…" The lack of information is still frustrating. It’s like working on a problem and figuring out how it got screwed up but not knowing why. It’s something, but not completely satisfying.

One of the reservations I have about the school that has already accepted me is the town it’s in. I’ve never been there, but those I know who have don’t have great opinions. Which is fine. All I really need is a few good bars, a good record store, and a (relatively) cheap standard of living. I’m told that they have that. I should be spending most of my time reading anyway.

But yeah. It may not matter, but with my control issues, I just really want to start making plans and figuring out how I’m going to get all my shit to this new town. And I can’t do that until I know which new town I’m moving to.

Yesterday there was a letter in my mailbox from a graduate department I applied to. It’s about that time and I had been expecting the school’s decision. But it felt too light — a bad sign — rejection is smaller than acceptance.

I was right, at least. And though the rejection is an obvious disappointment — I wouldn’t have applied if I didn’t want to go — I do appreciate the brevity of the form, giving the usual bullshit (lots of qualified applicants, too few spots, we regret to inform you) and little else. They should have saved a tree and sent an email. I would respect that.

I call up Mr S to tell him. He’s surprised and more than a little curious about reasoning. I talk later with Mr K and it makes a bit more sense: the two areas of the app the school cares most about were my two weakest. Still.

I call up the parents and explain it to them. It’s sad, but the other two schools still look promising. I think I’ve become an optimist, god forbid, and I’m not as upset as I thought I would be. I can’t say I didn’t expect the reject.

I start getting on the cold weather gear, the plan being a few Beers of Condolence. The phone rings, though, and I’m thinking it’s my sister. But it’s not: instead, the director of graduate studies at another university has given me a call. This was expected, but not last night.

He asks a few questions. Can I talk more about my research interests? Well, sure, though I don’t really know what they are. But let me try and spin it. What made you apply to this school? Let me wing this…ah, that sounds good. Then he says they accepted me. He explains the basics of the funding while I’m doing fist pumps in my kitchen.

Twenty minutes after the first call, I call Mr S again. I call the parents again. I call Mr K again — I ask: you interested in a few Beers of Celebration? Damn right.