This Isn't a Motivating Factor
I went to a private high school that, for a long time, warped my sense of what it means to be wealthy. Compared to my classmates, I felt solidly middle class: I was on partial financial, didn’t take annual European vacations, and lived in a nice but not palatial home. It wasn’t until I got older and left this suburban bubble that I realized the extent of the advantages I’d been given by virtue of my economic status.
When I came to Yale, for example, and met a diverse student body (I’m a proud alum of my high school, but the fact that Yale felt economically diverse to me says something about just how skewed my perspective was), I began to learn about all the subtle ways my life had been made easier by my parents' level of education and class. When I was applying to college, I didn’t have to worry about the laborious and jargon-heavy financial aid application process; my English-speaking, graduate school educated mother was able to take care of it. I have friends who waived healthcare because of cost; mine is covered by my parents’ work. I have friends who haven’t been able to afford flights home for break; my family’s income has allowed me to travel home to California during every break, which was an incredible emotional relief during my freshman transition. I’ve never felt pushed towards a “lucrative” major, in the way many of my low-income friends have. And most significantly, I applied to a scholarship which has covered my SIC for my first two years, giving me the freedom to focus on my intellectual and social life rather than work.
This is not to say that money hasn’t made a huge impact on my Yale experience. I was fortunate in my college process and able to chose between several schools I liked. I had a nostalgic attachment to Yale—it was my dream school as a type A third grader, but my decision ultimately came down to money. Yale offered a package that simply wasn’t feasible for my family. My other options were much more generous. During my college process, I’d always assumed that the hard part would be getting into college—once I was accepted, a school like Yale, with its massive endowment, would make it possible for me to attend. My little sister, about to turn fifteen, told my mother privately “Mom, I don’t want to have a quinceneara. You should use the money to send Julia to Yale.”
Eventually, we were able to negotiate a feasible offer (and my sister’s quinceneara is next week). The cost of tuition is still an incredible burden on my family, especially with three younger siblings who are presumably college-bound. I’m aware of the sacrifices being made on my behalf by the people I love most. No, this isn’t a motivating factor, driving my intellectual success in any positive way. It’s a little seed of guilt weighing on me during every study session, a distraction rather than a stimulus. It’s the feeling that I should avoid intellectual risks to maintain a high GPA. It’s the panic when I think of my siblings and wonder if the money my parents are pouring into my education wouldn’t be better spent on their futures.
I have no intention of glossing over the fact that I’m privileged by acknowledging these difficulties. I’m well aware that my situation is one with enormous advantages. There’s no extraordinary hardship here; mine is probably a very typical experience for the upper middle class students who make up a significant proportion of our student body. But the reality is, affording college tuition has put significant strain on my family and affected my experience at Yale. If I’m one of the lucky ones, and I’m struggling, how much exponentially harder must it be to be a low-income student at Yale? This institution has the ability to improve and equalize the experience of students, to remove a strain that detracts from our growth here. What’s stopping it?
When I came to Yale, for example, and met a diverse student body (I’m a proud alum of my high school, but the fact that Yale felt economically diverse to me says something about just how skewed my perspective was), I began to learn about all the subtle ways my life had been made easier by my parents' level of education and class. When I was applying to college, I didn’t have to worry about the laborious and jargon-heavy financial aid application process; my English-speaking, graduate school educated mother was able to take care of it. I have friends who waived healthcare because of cost; mine is covered by my parents’ work. I have friends who haven’t been able to afford flights home for break; my family’s income has allowed me to travel home to California during every break, which was an incredible emotional relief during my freshman transition. I’ve never felt pushed towards a “lucrative” major, in the way many of my low-income friends have. And most significantly, I applied to a scholarship which has covered my SIC for my first two years, giving me the freedom to focus on my intellectual and social life rather than work.
This is not to say that money hasn’t made a huge impact on my Yale experience. I was fortunate in my college process and able to chose between several schools I liked. I had a nostalgic attachment to Yale—it was my dream school as a type A third grader, but my decision ultimately came down to money. Yale offered a package that simply wasn’t feasible for my family. My other options were much more generous. During my college process, I’d always assumed that the hard part would be getting into college—once I was accepted, a school like Yale, with its massive endowment, would make it possible for me to attend. My little sister, about to turn fifteen, told my mother privately “Mom, I don’t want to have a quinceneara. You should use the money to send Julia to Yale.”
Eventually, we were able to negotiate a feasible offer (and my sister’s quinceneara is next week). The cost of tuition is still an incredible burden on my family, especially with three younger siblings who are presumably college-bound. I’m aware of the sacrifices being made on my behalf by the people I love most. No, this isn’t a motivating factor, driving my intellectual success in any positive way. It’s a little seed of guilt weighing on me during every study session, a distraction rather than a stimulus. It’s the feeling that I should avoid intellectual risks to maintain a high GPA. It’s the panic when I think of my siblings and wonder if the money my parents are pouring into my education wouldn’t be better spent on their futures.
I have no intention of glossing over the fact that I’m privileged by acknowledging these difficulties. I’m well aware that my situation is one with enormous advantages. There’s no extraordinary hardship here; mine is probably a very typical experience for the upper middle class students who make up a significant proportion of our student body. But the reality is, affording college tuition has put significant strain on my family and affected my experience at Yale. If I’m one of the lucky ones, and I’m struggling, how much exponentially harder must it be to be a low-income student at Yale? This institution has the ability to improve and equalize the experience of students, to remove a strain that detracts from our growth here. What’s stopping it?
