As I was saying, this essay has taken me a while to write, like a year, or I guess my whole life, if you think that every moment is a culmination of all the moments that came before it and each one is indispensible. I do. It’s taken me so long because I didn’t know what I wanted to say. I just knew I wanted to mean it.

All the people I know applied to college because it’s the next right thing to do. They wrote essays and collected their extracurriculars and responded to a prompt using excellent vocabulary words and badass grammar. That didn’t work for me, mostly because I didn’t do extracurriculars and I always screw up the rules of grammar. Also, I wasn’t sure I wanted to go to college. I wish it had to do with my principles, like I don’t want to be a drone who does the next right thing! But actually it just had to do with my dad being sick. And not being able to leave him behind while he’s fading away, but still feeling left behind by everyone who was moving on. Does that make sense? I was feeling stuck like a bee in amber. All I had were questions. And that’s still true. Now I want to devote my life to the questions. I have to.

While I was sitting on the toilet at a particular momentous dance, feeling real sorry for myself, I read something a dead friend of mine wrote in a book. Tl;dr: Answers are overrated. Live the questions. I don’t know if that’s true, but I guess you could say it’s another question I have.

Here’s the thing, College Admissions Person: Even if you do not accept me to your institution of higher learning, even if I change my mind last minute and decide not to send this application in, I will still find a way to ask questions and keep asking more questions.

Last summer my dad and I read this book together about motorcycles. It was boring as hell, but it got me thinking: Anything can be college, you know? Taking classes at State and chugging beers or driving a motorcycle across the country. Even going for a run can be college, and it is for me a lot of the time. I lose touch with my feet and my legs, and there’s more sky and more horizon. Everything is closer but also more infinite. It’s like wading through stars beyond the ones we usually see, stars that are part of unsolved universes, secret places I want to know. As long as I keep asking questions, I have a feeling that one day I’m going to get close enough to know the nature of these alien familiars—the unknown things that I suspect have really been with me all along. I hope you’ll accept me so I can explore mine. (Mostly I hope I can accept me, but that’s a topic for another essay.)

I’ve attached the questions I have, and I’m sorry that they’re not specific to you or your college. I’m used to writing letters to a very special entity, and it’s too late to change my target audience now.