I always thought the perfect answer to, “What are you planning on doing after high school?” was, “Become
independently wealthy.” Unfortunately, the odds of winning the Texas lottery are 45 times as bad as the odds of being struck by lightning, so I have to consider other options.

1) I always assumed I’d go to college. One I’ve considered is the University of Washington in St. Louis. I wasn’t fascinated the first time they sent a letter, but they were persistent. Even today they sent a 32-page guide to financial aid and scholarships. They snuck into my list of attractive schools when I realized they have all of the majors I’m considering: economics, international relations, political science/government and chemistry. At more than 7,000 students, they offer the size I want without being, for lack of a better word, a megaloposchool. But for some reason I just can’t get excited about Washington University.

2) But American University could be interesting. Rather than St. Louis, which isn’t even Missouri’s capital, American University is located in Washington, D.C. When you envision yourself in public office someday, there’s no more attractive location, especially when I already know I love D.C. Many of their students intern at Congressional offices, which would be good exposure to Capitol Hill, and, again, they have the majors I’m after. The only problem with American University is its $43,000 tuition, room and board and fees.

3) I’d also thought about an option outside of college. I thought entrepreneurship was the closest thing to the independently wealthy idea. It seemed so simple — start a business, attract an initial cohort of customers, establish a group of regulars and watch as the profits pile up. It only required two people to tell all their friends, and their friends to tell all their friends, and all of them to come in frequently and I would have it made. Obviously, it was foolproof.

Disregarding not knowing what sort of business I’d start, anything about marketing, whom I’d approach for start-up capital and having no prior experience, I felt prepared.

Unfortunately, this only counts in Candy-Cane Tree and Unicorn Land, and I don’t know anyone who lives there, nor how to get there, so this plan stays in the idle musings category.

4) Then, at the end of July the University of Texas hosted its 26th Annual Honors Colloquium, to which faculty invited about 700 students to find out what UT is like. Up to that point, I’d viewed the University of Texas as a cop-out. It seemed like someplace I should go if I couldn’t go anywhere better. That was wrong. You can do as well as you want to there.

Most importantly, I was impressed with how excited everyone seemed to be there. The student mentors seemed as if they were having a the best time of their summers, and the government professor was inexplicably pumped about checks and balances. Even though it would mean following my sister to college, UT became someplace I could see myself without feeling like I should be somewhere else. Finally I’d found somewhere that felt right, and if all goes well, I’ll be James Santucci, UT 2012.

If you hate writing essays, stop reading right now. Actually, you shouldn’t have begun this page, because you know I like writing them, and you’ve probably already judged me. Well, I do, and there’s no changing that, so here’s my story.

I remember at the beginning of last year, I, too, was like you. I was entering my junior year, and to that point most of my essays had been of the form prompt-form-go. This did not work well for me. Prompt-form-go isn’t how I write, and, despite years of public school urging to the contrary, that was not about to change. Then I took English III AP. For the first time we were actually allowed to think. The prompts were more abstract, in the vein of “analyze how the author creates a cohesive narrative.” Ms. Brunot, do you want us to talk about tone/imagery/figurative language/syntax? “Yes.” This approach led me down some interesting paths.

I was refreshed as quickly as an Internet page taking too long to load. Freedom to think in school was a new liberty. This year, it’s a commonality. The wonders of the

Internet put something to think about never more than 15 minutes of search time away. The University of Chicago alone has four different essay topics that require abstract thought. With more than 3,800 universities in the United States, that’s a lot of possibility, which brings me to what I’m really trying to say. The biggest difference between senior and junior year hasn’t been the workload. Rather, it’s been the amount of choice that goes into that workload.

Junior year was an intense year. AP U.S. History alone was enough work to keep me satisfied, but with three time-consuming extracurriculars, two other APs, a level five French class and more commitments than I’d initially realized I had, the time was not mine to allocate. Teachers, sponsors and coaches told me how I would spend my time, and I listened because I wanted to participate.

Senior year is at least markedly different. Sure, the workload is significant, but a large portion of it — college applications — is entirely my prerogative. Technically, I don’t have to apply to any colleges. Do I want to? Absolutely, and that’s the only reason I’m filling out applications. The first thing everyone dreads about applications — essay writing — is something I like to do anyway. They’re great stress relievers somehow. Really believing this can lead to an essay deluge heretofore unparalleled! Maybe at least.

The trick is not to drown in a deluge of your own creation. With so much to do, even a constructive stress reliever, if it takes too much time, can be a negative. “All things in moderation” comes to mind, clichŽd as it may be. It’s good to write college essays early, but putting yourself in a position where you have to write two essays a night for a month just to complete all of your applications on time sets you up for failures in other places too. If you’re spending all of your time on applications, completing quotidian assignments can get difficult. Maintaining some sort of application-schoolwork equilibrium is the most important aspect of the senior year time squeeze. The prerogative to do so is the most notable difference from junior year.

But if you can pull off the balance between everything you want and everything available, it can be a rewarding year. No one will put more hours in the day, but for the first time, you’ll have a lot of choice about how to use them. If Frost was right about the road less traveled by, that should make all the difference.

I don’t know if you remember the scene from “Jerry McGuire” when Tom Cruise gives his epic “I can’t quit you” speech, but that’s usually how I feel about this change from high school to college. The difference is that while Cruise was praying that his always-blonde love interest would take him back, I know that high school will never have me back again.

I’m excited for college. Next year, I will probably be at the University of Tulsa studying economics and generally dominating this life thing, and there are few things about which I’ve ever been this excited. My first debate tournament ranks up there, along with nationals at Disney World for academic challenge last year, but that’s about all I can think of off the top of my head. The thing is, though, I just can’t seem to detach myself from the world I’ve built these past four years.

About 10 minutes ago I was cleaning my room, trying to free up some space on my bookshelves for the 17 Shakespeare plays I just bought, and I kept finding nostalgic things. The afro I wore as a joke toward the end of my junior year to see if the administration would write me up for a wearing a head covering on campus (they didn’t notice), a few trophies from various tournaments, old binders and spiral notebooks from classes past, pictures, and a woman’s shoe that I found after the middle school tournament we hosted my sophomore year (I still have no idea whose it is) are only a sampling of what I found. As much as I complain about how banal this suburban life is, looking back, I’ve really enjoyed it, and as much as I tell myself and anyone who’ll listen that I’m ready to be out of here, I still can’t convince myself that I’ll be able to pack up and leave behind a number of people with whom I know, despite what we say, I will probably fail to keep in touch.

A few days ago I found three CDs my friend Iris burned for me a year and a half ago. One of them stands out, probably for the angst. There is plenty of angst on this one CD, probably more than enough to fuel several freshmen guys, which, if you know anything about freshmen or remember being one, is plenty. In any event, a common theme among the songs is “What are you waiting for?” Every time I listen to this specific CD I try to answer that question, but I haven’t been able to. Do I know that I’m ready to be somewhere else? Absolutely. Do I know where that somewhere else I’m ready to be is? Also absolutely. And there is certainly no doubt that I’ve gotten what I’m going to get out of high school and that it’s time to move on, but, barring, obviously, the district schedule, I’m not sure why I can’t take a leap of faith into a future that might not yet exist.

More on Iris — she’s at Vassar College right now. I asked her about how she picked that school, and whether she was sure she was making the right choice. She basically told me that she had no idea until February, so I guess I have some time. We talked while she was home over the break, and she seems really happy with where she is. I’m hoping this means something along the lines of “No idea is the best kind of idea,” but I guess we’ll see soon.