I can’t lie and say that NYU was ever my dream school. By association I saw dollar signs and hype, and I didn’t think I’d ever go there because at the time I was far from considering journalism as a major.
The Olmsted Building at Penn State Harrisburg; where most classes take place
But going to Penn State really opened my eyes to what I was missing back in New York City. I went to Penn State – Harrisburg, which wasn’t in Harrisburg, but was deceitfully located in a little place called Middletown. The area was filled with cemeteries and fast food restaurants. The classes were fun and easy, and I had a lot of downtime, but not much to do with it. Although I met a lot of great people, I missed being back in the city, seeing my friends and family, eating great food, and always having somewhere to go and something to do. Around the beginning of my sophomore year I also made the switch to journalism after struggling to decide between other majors like English, comparative literature and Chinese studies. That was when I realized that Penn State probably wasn’t the best fit for me.
The Silver Center for College of Arts & Sciences at New York University
So in the spring of 2010 I applied to NYU, which I’d heard was one of the higher-ranked universities for journalism. I crossed my fingers and hoped for the best; all the while sure I wouldn’t be accepted. I made all the necessary preparations for life at Penn State – University Park (the main campus where I intended to transfer to for my junior year, since it was guaranteed to be more fun than little ol’ Middletown). With my roommate, I picked out an apartment located in some complex that practically looked like a resort. I scheduled my classes for the fall semester and made all the necessary plans like moving my things up to the mountains where the school was located.
Penn State Harrisburg’s Library
Then I got NYU’s acceptance letter. Excuse the overused saying, but it pretty much hit me like a ton of bricks. For five or six minutes I just stood there reading the letter over and over again, sure that I was dreaming or that they’d made some mistake. The next half hour was spent with me grinning like an idiot. Then came the realization that I’d have to choose between my life in Penn State and my life if I went to NYU. I’d be giving up all the friends I’d made at Penn State, all the plans, all the comfort. I’d have to come back and live with my parents (and as relaxed as they are I was still dreading it after two years of living in a separate state during school), I’d start over at a university I’d known next-to-nothing about, I’d basically be a junior trapped in a freshman’s mindset, and after hearing horror stories from a friend attending NYU, I knew the classes would completely kill me.
The Inside of Elmer Holmes Bobst Library at New York University
But above all else, I was excited. This was a fresh start for me, and I’d be back in the city I’d so missed and loved. I could walk through the streets and see more than 10 people walking around. Oddly enough, I couldn’t wait to take the subway again, which was still dirty and constantly packed, but beat waiting five hours for the only bus in town to arrive. I wouldn’t need to worry about cooking my own meals. I’d be more academically challenged than I had been at Penn State. I’d meet some really influential, top-grade professors.
So despite my complete lack of preparation and the tiny voice of uncertainty whispering in my ear, I filled out the papers and officially became an NYU student.
Did I make the right decision? The truth is, sometimes I’m still not sure. You’ll just have to get back to me in a few years.