[ot-caption title=”Easily more frightening than college decisions. (via Wikimedia Commons) ” url=”https://pcpawprint.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/03/Giant_Wood_Spider_Nephila_pilipes_in_Kawal_WS_AP_W_IMG_1704.jpg”]

I am a very interesting person.

No, really – I could muse for hours on art and literature, supply a retort regarding many a film or television show, debate controversial topics in a nonthreatening way, and even share a humorous anecdote or seven. Witty banter is my specialty. I am quite knowledgeable in fields such as “How to Contour,” “What is a Derivative,” and “But this is Only a Blue Canvas Why is it in a Museum I Could Do This.” I can usually keep up if the conversation veers towards foreign policy or science. Regardless of all I can answer, though, people keep asking the one question I can’t. And, I don’t want to talk about it.

I don’t particularly understand what vague interest a nearly perfect stranger has concerning where I spend the next four years anyway. I can write a pass off for my parents, who may be genuinely more invested in the whole endeavor than I. However, the investment of my grandma’s nearly senile friend-of-a-friend, Mo the department store clerk, and the adult uncle of family friends I had never met before remain an enigma to me. It’s not as if they are just trying to find common conversational ground; when people ask about college, they mean business. Inquiries start small (“Oh, are you going to college?”) and somehow morph into those of an investigative journalist trying to crack the teenage psyche through hypotheticals (“If you could pick any school, in the whole world, and you’re on fire, and the only way to stop the fire is deciding, and ISIS has your dog, and you’re upside down, where would you go?”). I imagine that, probably, if I gave in to the inquisition and voiced my top choice, the most I would receive back would be a head nod and possibly the first name of a long-graduated attendee of said school who just loved it. However, to the dismay of my impromptu interviewer, I usually just compliment them on the exemplary nature of their question, and move on to something I actually care about.

Okay, obviously I care about it. But, truthfully, the resulting acceptances and rejections of this week are not at the forefront of my mind. I know that I would be happy at any of the schools I applied to, I know that it’s not personal, and I know that the education I will receive will ultimately depend on my own willingness to push myself. All things considered, if a person would like to know the degree to which I am worried about something, I may suggest probing into the current situation in Europe, prevalence of sexual assault, or even the abundance of giant spiders in Australia.  I am much more worried about whether my future roommate will have the same aesthetic sensibilities as I do than what campus the dorm we share will be on. Please ask about my love for tiny cactuses instead.

To my fellow seniors expecting news this week: much like every time that one guy predicted armageddon, this is not the end of the world. Things will all work out.

Contrary to popular belief, it’s okay to not have all the answers.