My parents always told me I could do anything I set my mind to. Envision my face on Thomas the Tank Engine but doing more than climbing mounta yins - maybe trekking to space or scuba diving. When you're little, you have all the potential in the world. You could be the president of the United States, create revolutionary technology or become the world's greatest musician. Tell a giraffe from a zebra by the time you're three, and you're a toddler genius. Learn all fifty states and capitals by the time you're four, and you're a child prodigy. The world is your oyster.
This philosophy lasted me a good 17 years. For the most part, I really believed the world was mine for the taking until the summer before senior year, when I realized the world was perhaps not my oyster after all. I couldn't go to any college I wanted, I couldn't date anyone I chose, and time was running out for me to achieve a school record in (let's be honest) any sport.
My parents weren't so quick to accept this fact, because they didn't, and still don't, believe it. During October of my senior year, my dad looked my college counselor square in the face and said, "We've always told Abbi she can do anything she wants to do," and my mom chimed in, "she could go to Harvard if she wanted." I cut in as the voice of reason saying, "You don't understand. I can't just go to Harvard. It doesn't work like that." My college counselor echoed, "It's probably a little late in the game for her to decide that she wants to attend an Ivy." My parents stood their ground and insisted that I could find a way into whatever school I chose. Needless to say, after this incident, I wrote off my parent's philosophy.
This feeling was only solidified when I started college. Struggle through economics to slide by with an A-minus? Kiss the Commerce School goodbye. Get a B in an introductory class? Write off law school, business school and any other dreams of higher education. It always seemed like small errors had serious, future-limiting consequences. I really believed I had no chance of getting into anything moderately competitive because of my first semester GPA.
This sentiment has returned in full force as I send in internship applications, or rather send them off to a black hole or to a recruiter's desk where he laughs evilly and throws it into the trash can. I will not be Anderson Cooper's personal assistant this summer, since he isn't looking for one and there are thousands of people who are probably more qualified than me anyway. I can't just decide I want something and then go after it and get it. Real life doesn't work that way.
All along, I've had to try and reconcile my parents' optimism with the real world's pessimism, but it's not easy to balance polar opposites. Instead of finding a middle ground I usually acclimate to whichever side I'm around most, but in the midst of the stress of internship applications, I think I found might have found a balance.
A good friend often reminds me of Bethenny Frankel's advice: "All roads lead to Rome." The first few times I heard this phrase, I didn't get it. As I walked home down Rugby Road, I thought about her words of wisdom. I thought: I can't take Rugby Road to Rome. I can take it to the Rotunda, but that's not the Parthenon. Obviously, my girl had it wrong. All roads don't lead to Rome. I couldn't understand the literal meaning. I wasn't even going to take a shot at the metaphorical one.
But a few days later it hit me. I could walk down Rugby, take a couple turns, be en route to the airport and on a plane to Rome. Maybe Rugby isn't a straight shot to Rome, but you can definitely get there from it. Maybe I can't be Anderson Cooper's assistant this summer, but maybe eventually I can be his boss. (Well, OK, I'll settle for co-worker, confidante or member of his team.)
In the end, I'm grateful for my parents' delusional assurance, because it always made me feel that maybe I could do anything I chose. They might be right, as much as I hate to admit it - they usually are. I can do whatever I put my mind to, but I might not be able to get there exactly how I plan. I might not step into my dream job this summer, or even after graduation, but that doesn't mean I never will. Now, if only I could figure out where my Rome is.
Abbi's column runs biweekly Tuesdays. She can be reached at a.sigler@cavalierdaily.com.
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