The Art of Letting Go: My First College Counseling Class
Recently I attended our school’s traditional senior luncheon event, which, to my mind, was scheduled oddly and conspicuously in March. Don’t these girls have two plus months of school remaining?, I wondered to myself. Get back to being students; there’ll be plenty of time for all the pomp and circumstance of graduation! However, as I enjoyed the festivities and took in the spectacle of what was to be my first ever graduating senior class as a college counseling professional, I found myself deeply and indelibly moved by the experience.
As our 30 senior girls lined up for pictures after being escorted by their parents and siblings, I felt (and let) tears fall down my cheeks that were equal parts joy, sadness, and relief. I casually remarked to our Head of School after the event that I now understand why we space this process out; each event serves as a sort of emotional release valve, such that when commencement actually happens, we won’t all devolve into weeping puddles of goo in front of our students (but some of us might – I might).
This is my first year, and first professional foray into, college counseling. After spending 13 years in highly selective college admissions, I was excited for an opportunity to engage more deeply with students, their families, and their dreams. Instead of having to say no so often to so many great kids, I wanted to be able to say yes and help my students find people and places who will say yes to them. In my former life as a college admissions professional, I was always a “BLANK Director of Admissions.” Like many young people who are drawn to the admissions world, I remember gushing in my job interview with equal parts unbridled enthusiasm and youthful naiveté about just how many lives I would impact year to year.
However, after many years I realized that my job was far more about directing in admissions as opposed to counseling. As is equally common in admission offices, every year or so we’d have turnover, and every year brought in a fresh crop of passionate, motivated, and well-meaning young professionals who also wanted to make that impact in individual student lives. I took pains (and perhaps some pride) in reminding our interviewees that we were an office of directors; we helped direct students to the right information and the right opportunities, but we did not counsel them. We did not dress their wounds and we did not discourage them from reaching for what might be characterized as the unreachable (based on GPA or test scores). We maintained a necessary and appropriate distance from those extraordinary children that we worked with because, at the end of that cycle, we were going to have to tell some of those extraordinary children that we did not have room for them.
However, after many years I realized that my job was far more about directing in admissions as opposed to counseling. As is equally common in admission offices, every year or so we’d have turnover, and every year brought in a fresh crop of passionate, motivated, and well-meaning young professionals who also wanted to make that impact in individual student lives. I took pains (and perhaps some pride) in reminding our interviewees that we were an office of directors; we helped direct students to the right information and the right opportunities, but we did not counsel them. We did not dress their wounds and we did not discourage them from reaching for what might be characterized as the unreachable (based on GPA or test scores). We maintained a necessary and appropriate distance from those extraordinary children that we worked with because, at the end of that cycle, we were going to have to tell some of those extraordinary children that we did not have room for them.
I don’t think it’s fair to say that I ever got used to telling kids no who were, by all metrics, many times brighter, more accomplished, and more engaged than I was as a college applicant, but I did understand why we had that task. I am eternally grateful to my many mentors, friends, and colleagues who still do this undeniably difficult work with compassion, grace, and humility. We were called to and coached within that task because, sometimes, students were not a good fit. Despite their best intentions, students often presented with great information but not a great story, or at least not the type of story that would become a chapter in the illustrious books of the institutions I worked for. They were told no, (which I am 99% certain that they all interpreted as a direct and harsh judgment on the essence of their being) because they belonged in another book, telling their story with like-minded students.
When those on the outside of our college world ask me what exactly a college counselor does, I tell them that I am a storyteller. I tell student stories in compelling, authentic, and aspirational ways to benefit their college admission experiences. I also help students understand their own story, such that when they do find the right institution, they have a stronger sense that their story does in fact fit there as opposed to anywhere else. It’s not a bad line of work for an English major/wanna-be author, and it’s the best summation I’ve been able to arrive at for how we do our business (besides, no one wants to hear about the painful intricacies of AP testing anyway).
When those on the outside of our college world ask me what exactly a college counselor does, I tell them that I am a storyteller. I tell student stories in compelling, authentic, and aspirational ways to benefit their college admission experiences. I also help students understand their own story, such that when they do find the right institution, they have a stronger sense that their story does in fact fit there as opposed to anywhere else. It’s not a bad line of work for an English major/wanna-be author, and it’s the best summation I’ve been able to arrive at for how we do our business (besides, no one wants to hear about the painful intricacies of AP testing anyway).
I had anticipated that, upon my arrival in college counseling, that the children would be the best part of the job. Having seen them for so many years striving and achieving in ways that boggle the mind, I was extraordinarily excited to engage with them. For perhaps the first and only time in my life, I was 100% correct. Working with my 30 seniors (who I have to believe that I will never, ever forget) has become one of my life’s great joys. I never would have thought that my running list of incomparable life experiences would have read: meeting and marrying my wife, raising our daughter, and seeing 30 unique and vibrant young women off to college and university.
Even those who were most challenging – especially those who were most challenging – have become my favorites. You’re not supposed to have favorites when working with students, of course; I suppose I’m uniquely blessed to have 30 favorites. From the most directed to the most wishy-washy, these children have given me a gift that I don’t think they understand or have internalized. They (and their parents and our school community) have ceded their faith and trust to me, a relative newcomer to this game, in a way that has buoyed me up when things seemed darkest, and given me strength when I needed it most. It’s a well-worn cliché to say that we learn more from our students than they learn from us. I grew more with my students than I think they grew with me. That might seem a bit unfair to those in my charge, but it’s the Scouts-honor truth; I should have been paying them for the privilege to walk with them.
Even those who were most challenging – especially those who were most challenging – have become my favorites. You’re not supposed to have favorites when working with students, of course; I suppose I’m uniquely blessed to have 30 favorites. From the most directed to the most wishy-washy, these children have given me a gift that I don’t think they understand or have internalized. They (and their parents and our school community) have ceded their faith and trust to me, a relative newcomer to this game, in a way that has buoyed me up when things seemed darkest, and given me strength when I needed it most. It’s a well-worn cliché to say that we learn more from our students than they learn from us. I grew more with my students than I think they grew with me. That might seem a bit unfair to those in my charge, but it’s the Scouts-honor truth; I should have been paying them for the privilege to walk with them.
Now, when colleagues still on the other side of the desk ask me about college counseling, I emphasize that while the task is somewhat standard, the communities you enter into never are. It’s important to find a place that reflects and builds upon your own values. I would not be able to do the good work that I (hopefully) do without knowing that, for better or worse, my colleagues and my school have my back and are engaged in the same beautiful journey that I am now on. We walk together out of mutual respect and love for this school community. We take up these hard conversations, we deliver the bad news, and we counsel those who have risked it all and lost not because we are simply paid to, but because we are the right people for these times. I could not do this task and I would not have these relationships if I had entered a school community that did not share and support my vision. I am grateful to those in this community for their fire and commitment.
Which brings me to today. From senior luncheon, to senior pranks, to prom, to commencement, each of these moments will be another chance for me to pry my fingers loose from these amazing young people, to let some of those emotions go. No more conversations about the killdeer that’s arrived on campus with my birdwatching senior. No more weird food challenges with my senior who has an inimitable palette. No more last minute wrangling to get essays done with a senior who has grown in ways that I never could have expected. These will be memories that I will cherish for the rest of my life, that I will stash away in the desk drawers of my mind only to pull out lovingly many years from now to remind myself of these beautiful, formative moments.
I am reminded of the words of my personal hero, Mister Fred Rogers, who, when testifying in front of the US Senate to defend dedicated public broadcast funding, stated that he wanted to provide “an expression of care” to the children who watch his shows. It is my hope that these seniors, and all who come after, will benefit from our expressions of care and go on to spread that care and love in an exponential fashion to the world around us. I will continually seek to honor the efforts we put forth together to engage with each other in personal, compelling, and unique ways. I pray that the stories these children have written in their lives will unfurl beautifully and breathlessly forward. I trust that the colleagues around me in secondary and postsecondary institutions will continue to advance our shared work in a noble and meaningful manner. In these ways and for these reasons, I will never be able to forget my first graduating class. Their expressions of care will resonate onward and outward and I will feel their impact for the rest of my life.
I am reminded of the words of my personal hero, Mister Fred Rogers, who, when testifying in front of the US Senate to defend dedicated public broadcast funding, stated that he wanted to provide “an expression of care” to the children who watch his shows. It is my hope that these seniors, and all who come after, will benefit from our expressions of care and go on to spread that care and love in an exponential fashion to the world around us. I will continually seek to honor the efforts we put forth together to engage with each other in personal, compelling, and unique ways. I pray that the stories these children have written in their lives will unfurl beautifully and breathlessly forward. I trust that the colleagues around me in secondary and postsecondary institutions will continue to advance our shared work in a noble and meaningful manner. In these ways and for these reasons, I will never be able to forget my first graduating class. Their expressions of care will resonate onward and outward and I will feel their impact for the rest of my life.
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