A Sense of Place
Once upon a time (did you just say “uh oh”?) I was a high school senior. (It was a very long time ago.) My father and I were on our way to a college visit in Upstate New York and, with each passing mile, a pit was forming in my stomach as I stared out the window.
“Turn around,” I finally blurted out. “Let’s go home.” Let’s just say Dad was surprised—and not particularly pleased—by my unexpected command from the co-pilot’s seat.
“What’s the problem?” he asked (in his best version of his "displeased dad" voice).
“There are too many cows,” I replied. I think he cursed, but my memory is fading.
I had had an epiphany: a rural campus was not what I was looking for in my college quest. But before I’d had this close encounter with all those bovine beauties, I had not grasped that particular truth about my preferences. Urban/rural, big/small, (cows/pigeons), close to home/get-as-far-away-as-possible were still nebulous considerations…until I was on my way to one of the options on my list and discovered I couldn’t imagine myself there. The trip made it tactile for me.
I rebooted my search. Woodsy places were scratched as I added several urban options. And then I had epiphany #2: I wasn’t a fan of high rises. “That’s a dorm?” I gasped as the tour guide pointed towards the sky. My list shifted again: urban (ish) and smaller became the refined cohort.
I call it the Goldilocks Test: Is the campus too big, too small, just right? "Too many cows" was my initial (and very personal) reaction. Your “cow” could be anything from "not enough green space...” to “too much traffic" to "where can I get my hair done?" to "I need a museum...a jazz scene...a gay scene…" I’ve heard city kids express surprise that suburban crickets are “so loud” (that always cracks me up) and others desperate to pop their “suburban bubble” and find more heterogeneity in their surroundings. It’s your call.
On Tufts’ writing supplement to the Common Application, one of the questions asks "What makes you happy?" And that's a fair question to ask as you consider “place.” A skier might need a nearby mountain, a surfer might wash out if he can't catch wave after class. Larry Bacow, Tufts’ President Emeritus, often asked applicants if they wanted to wear flip flops in January. “If the answer is yes,” he’d quip, “stop looking at schools in Boston.” Should that be the highest priority of your college search? Of course not. But is that personal preference something that matters? Yes, it is.
Back to me circa 1981: When our wood-paneled station wagon (can you picture it?) pulled into the main driveway of the place where I ultimately enrolled I yelled "This is it!” from the back seat. (Mom was with us this time.)
Once again, Dad was incredulous. “We haven’t even parked the car!”
But I knew. When I imagined what my college would look like, this is what it looked like. And I didn’t really know it until I saw it.
A sense of place is important. And it’s very personal. The college you choose will be your home for four years. And you should like where you live.