Would you choose it again?

Dane Sherman saints Among Us

n ervous herds of students whisked by us. m y friend and I sat in gorgeous leather seats staring at the illustrious carpeting, ceilings and huge windows of the ballroom. b oth of us leaned on a small cocktail table with a basic white sign flashing the words “LG b TQ/Prism nd.” s ome of the admitted students pretended not to see the sign at all. s ome students giddily making new friends truly didn’t. o thers stared at our table with a desire to come up, but were not comfortable enough to out themselves in front of all the other admitted students.

From the few brave souls that decided to venture to our table, one question emerged over and over again. It was an especially stark question when an admitted queer student of color described a fear to attend n otre d ame and hesitantly asked, “Would you choose it again?” b efore the computerized confetti even began to fall, my entire quarantined family around me began to erupt in screams of excitement. I had gotten into my dream school: s tanford. h owever, for those in the position to choose, making a college decision can feel life-defining. In many ways, it is. n o matter what options we hold, these decisions can put a lot of weight on the shoulders of an 18-year-old who barely has figured out what they want in life.

I remember college decision season — the beginning of cov I d — when we hoped to be back to school in a few weeks after we “flattened the curve,” and before reality dashed those hopes.

The suspense. The build-up. n ervously clicking into the portal at just the right time. e veryone’s breath held. c -L-I- c -K. m y finger timidly hit the view decision button.

Going to any university, but especially a “prestigious” private institution is an incredible privilege, one ascribed to very few. As of 2021, only 37.9% of adults over the age of 25 hold a bachelor’s degree, with the percentage attending private universities like n otre d ame or s tanford far, far lower. That’s a fact I see reflected in my own family; my older siblings and my mom don’t have college degrees at all.

It is closing the door on one version of your life that you will never get to live. Whether it’s a different school, a job, community college or some other life path, going to college is letting go of another opportunity, another version of yourself. m any versions of ourselves exist out in the cosmos in lives we will never get to live.

I applied to 10 schools and got into seven of them. o f the seven, n otre d ame was not on my list of contenders. I forgot to check the decision until a couple of days later, showing my dad on the phone with a disinterested “ o h, I got in.” The screams, computer, confetti and excitement were not there for n otre d ame.

When I got into s tanford, it spread like wildfire. I got a random email from my high school principal where he wrote, “ d ude, s TA n F ord !!!!!!! s o awesome, well-earned and richly deserved. s o proud of you, and so appreciative of all that you do.” Texts flooded from family and friends who described pride and the no-brainer decision. o riginally, what moved n otre d ame up on my list from last place was they offered me a lot more money than anywhere else. Forcing me to give the conservative, c atholic, midwestern school a chance. s ince deciding on n otre d ame, I’ve seen the best we have to offer. b latant racism and classism by classmates to each other. A professor told me that my family and other LG b TQ+ families weren’t real families, handing me a b ible to profess my family’s sins. b eing relentlessly cyberbullied, receiving death threats and being mocked for who I was when running for student body vice president last year. b eing asked while going around the dining halls collecting signatures for a non-discrimination petition, “Well-done, medium-rare or rare? h ow thoroughly do you wish to be cooked in hell?” e ventually, through the dozens of phone calls with students, alumni and faculty, I realized the tension inherent to n otre d ame — a tension that excited me. A challenging intellectual environment that would make me grow and learn the power of friendship with people who I severely disagree with. A place where too many still feel on the outside looking in and too many still exert their privilege to maintain their exalted status, where too many feel empowered to bully others they deem less.

I made elaborate spreadsheets giving point values to different aspects of the college experience that I wanted. I played ball with my dog for hours, listening to music, hoping genius would strike like lightning. I stress-baked cookies hoping the chocolate chips would provide comfort. m y monthly playlist for April 2020 was “got note from stanny admissions counselor, I think I’m going there.” The playlist is accompanied by an overly dramatic picture of two school logos and “T he cho I ce ” emblazoned above.

With cov I d in the air, schools tried to pull out all the stops for recruiting. A couple of schools sent me their gear. o thers sent me stickers and a couple sent personalized letters about my application. s tanford sent me a virtual reality headset to “visit” their campus with. n otre d ame sent me people to talk with — current students, graduates and a whole community of people who told me about their life here. In my conversations with s tanford graduates, they described concern for the common good, the beautiful fountains on campus, taking quick trips to s an Francisco and incredible speakers who come regularly.

Professors who I consider not only dear mentors, but friends — sharing books, ideas and exciting intellectual conversations over coffee, food and office hours. Friendships which have challenged my beliefs and given me the tools to build a more just world. A class with 7 of 9 students being ordained African priests or classes on development with graduate students who have spent 20 years in the field. A political climate that isn’t homogenous, where every idea I share must be backed up and rigorously debated. s taying up till two in the morning eating Insomnia cookies and discussing abortion, where my belief is in the minority. m ost of all, a student body that cares — one who spends their mornings in service to those experiencing homelessness, spends their days studying the economics of poverty, and their evenings working with local unions to create more just economic relations.

I’ve also seen the worst of n otre d ame.

As Fr. h eburgh used to say, n otre d ame exists as a lighthouse and a crossroads. A lighthouse that stands apart, shining with the wisdom of the c atholic tradition, while the crossroads is where “differences of culture and religion and conviction can co-exist with friendship, civility, hospitality and especially love.”

Living in the mix of a lighthouse and a crossroads to me is the best opportunity to be a global citizen, to help build the beloved community and to live a life in pursuit of justice. That may not be the right path for everyone and it is not always the four years you were promised in being invited into the “family.”

The saints of this column are the people who have recently been through the taxing college process that doesn’t work its magic for everyone. n ot everyone got into their dream school; not everyone can pay to go to their top-choice institution even if they got in, and those who choose not to attend four-year universities can feel entirely excluded.

This column is especially for the saints who must choose one version of themselves instead of another. I’ve resigned to the fact that these will not be the best four years of my life. I know I would have been happier at s tanford, but n otre d ame was the right choice for me. n otre d ame has caused tremendous pain but also made me grow stronger, like a sword forged in the fire. I would choose it again — the good, bad and absolutely ugly.

Dane Sherman is a junior at Notre Dame studying American Studies, peace studies, philosophy and gender studies. Dane enjoys good company, good books, good food and talking about faith in public life. Outside of The Observer, Dane can be found exploring Erasmus books with friends, researching philosophy, with folks from Prism, reading NYTs op-eds from David Brooks/ Ezra Klein/Michelle Goldberg or at the Purple Porch getting some food. Dane ALWAYS wants to chat and can be reached at @danesherm on twitter or lsherma2@nd.edu.

The views expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of The Observer.