There’s nothing like caffeine-induced jitters to affirm that you are indeed an Ivy Leaguer. This time last year, I’d never pictured myself strutting down Thayer Street, wielding an atrociously overpriced cold brew from Ceremony on my way to a consulting club meet-and-greet. And yet, a week ago, there I was: the physical manifestation of sleep-deprivation, lucrative ambition, and imposter syndrome—caught up in the frenzy of a new life I’d only just begun.
How, you might ask, did I end up here?
I would call it fate, but that doesn’t do justice to the hours of supplementals, Common App malfunctions, and endless transcript requests I had to chase down to even consider the possibility of transferring. What kept me going during this process, though, was visualizing myself walking to class at Brown like a woman on a mission, spiral notebook in one hand and, perhaps, a coffee in the other. Picture Meryl Streep as Miranda in The Devil Wears Prada, or Sandra Bullock as Margaret in The Proposal. In this scene, I had a purpose. I was intent on something. I was, for lack of a better term, the main character.
At my previous college, I fancied myself a lost artist. When people asked about my post-grad plans, I’d offer hazy answers—that I was drawn to writing, or that I enjoyed looking at a good piece of art. Beneath that mask, I felt unsettled by the disarray of my disparate interests and the prospect of what lay ahead.
When I came to Brown, however, I resolved to refine my trajectory and use the opportunities here to meticulously curate a ten-year plan just like everyone else. To abandon my tendency to float around aimlessly and choose something of my own. Something that, like a cup of coffee, would give me the boost I needed to feel a sense of belonging.
I’d never, ever—not even once—drank a sip of coffee until my first day at Brown. In fact, the only caffeine-adjacent product I consumed regularly during my first year of college was matcha-flavored ice cream from Trader Joe’s. I used to look smugly down on those who needed their morning cup to function, confident that I was not nearly sleep-deprived enough to succumb to such an addiction. But things changed. It started when I discovered the concept of a “coffee chat” on day one of orientation. Suddenly, coffee wasn’t just a drink that looked cool—it was an initiation ritual, the price of admission to clubs, jobs, and networks.
I should have started off gently. Should have eased my way into this new life. But I decided the only way to really fit in at Brown was to go full throttle. I scanned Ceremony’s menu for an item that would embody the new me. As I did so, I realized that coffee orders say a lot about a person. Strawberry matcha? Far too colorful. No one would take me seriously if half my drink was pink. My eyes scanned down to the next item. Brown sugar espresso latte? Far too sweet. Something that tastes like dessert shouldn’t count as coffee and doesn’t belong in a business setting. I needed a change. I needed to prove to myself that I was tough and ready for a challenge. That I was a girl who meant business. No more matcha ice cream. I knew just what to get.
I felt sophisticated as I asked for a large black cold brew. The words rolled off my tongue as if it wasn’t my first time ordering something from a coffee shop that wasn’t a chocolate croissant or cake pop. When it was ready, I snagged the cup and quickly studied Google Maps for directions before setting off for Sayles Hall, proudly displaying the dark mahogany liquid as it caught the September sunlight.
Though my lips pursed with the first sip I took, I quickly convinced myself I liked my coffee this way—bitter, cold, and strong. From then on, I became intent on incorporating this quirk into my new Ivy League personality. My signature order became the sidekick I carried with me to the countless extracurriculars I had signed up for. My stacked Google Calendar—which I had begun using for the first time—and the empty cups of black coffee accumulating on my desk were a testament to my exhausting efforts at conforming to what I mistakenly thought was the expectation, and everything I’d been missing before. It wasn’t all fun and games anymore. I had made it to Brown. It was time to get serious like everyone else… right?
But there’s only so much caffeine the human body can handle. Only so many versions of a perfectly drafted resume to distribute to various clubs and associations and societies. Only so much you can change. It all came to a head one night when, after consuming two cups of cold brew after 4:00 p.m., I couldn’t fall asleep for the life of me. Eyes wide open and fingers jittering from a caffeine overload, I sat and reflected for the first time since I set foot on campus.
I had almost forgotten the entire point. I didn’t come to Brown to blindly hop on the pre-professional pipeline. I didn’t come to ditch my passions for writing and art for consulting (a job title I quite literally had to consult ChatGPT to define just a couple weeks ago). I didn’t come to Brown to abandon the equally creative and confused parts of me. I deleted all the tabs on my computer for clubs I only wanted to join because of the long line at the club fair. I cancelled the consulting coffee chats. I cleared my G-Cal of Investment Group meetings (I hardly know what a stock is), pre-law associations, and all the other sporadic events I’d been dreading, leaving only those which felt most like me—post- magazine, TEDx, and a capella. I now saw vacancies in my week: time I could devote to binge watching The Summer I Turned Pretty with my new friends, knitting on the Main Green, or just simply existing.
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While this two-week whirlwind may sound melodramatic and irrational and erratic (all of which are true), every moment was useful to me. Even though I am now at Brown, I am still very much the same lost and meandering version of myself I was a year ago—more drawn to writing, reflection, and exploration than to a neat pre-professional path. And thankfully, that was, and is, still okay. That’s why I came to Brown. To explore and experiment and exchange ideas and, ultimately, to find peace and purpose in the passions (prestigious or not) that give me a sense of home.
I’ve been at Brown for three weeks, and I haven’t felt more at home than right now as I clank away at my keyboard. A matcha latte sits beside my desk as I type away. I am sipping it, relishing the sweetness of the milk and subtle flavor that doesn’t make me cringe. It reminds me of my matcha ice cream, only in drink form. I’ve been experimenting with new flavors as of late—I’ve tried vanilla, lavender, and, yes, even strawberry. My plan is to work my way through Ceremony’s entire menu. I haven’t found my new signature drink, but I have ruled out black cold brew, at least for now.
I have nothing against those who truly enjoy black coffee and business attire and consulting firms and corporate lingo. All the power to those who seek purpose in the grind and fun in the competition. All I am saying is that maybe that’s not me. And maybe that’s okay. Maybe this is where I am meant to be after all—drinking my matcha and writing my heart out and wondering what’s on the menu at Andrews tonight. Because, maybe, even at an Ivy League, it’s okay to not know everything.