The truth is, I’m terrified. I’m terrified of my future, because it creeps closer every day. I’m terrified of handing over the next step of the rest of my life to the stranger who is my school counselor because no matter how well she thinks she knows me, or no matter how many times she’s done this before, she doesn’t know. But that’s the rat race of high school, right? We put our futures in the hands of teachers who dictate what’s important. Teachers who beg us to think outside the box, but then decide that the perfectly wrapped box of good grades and an American education is the best choice for a teenager to make. Teachers who tell us that this logarithm worksheet takes critical importance over Wednesday night yoga classes, or track practice, or taking your dog to the vet. These are the admissions counselors who read over brief applications and make judgments on if you missed enough dates and girls’ nights and football games studying to be admitted to their prestigious and honorable college. Your entire high school career has boiled down to a short essay answer and a 1 or 2 or 3 or 4 point are-you-generically-intelligent-enough GPA. In fact, in under 500 words, why don’t you please convey your character and purpose of being in life. We’ll read up, judge you from there, and send you a letter with our template congratulations or condolences.

To Whom It Doesn’t Seem to Concern:

Cordially, A number.