It's easier not to take all the name–calling and fly–swatting so personally when I remember it's mostly motivated by jealousy: anyone would kill to know the ins and outs of Penn life like I do.
Longer than my resume, however, is the list of things I've been rejected from. And that list is long. The bar is simply higher here, and despite my 6'0 stature, sometimes I can't reach it.
This summer I was a middle aged rabbit going through a messy divorce. I was a grandmother with a penchant for S&M, and bank robber who could communicate only in song.
After my freshman year, I transferred from Dartmouth to Penn, which makes me a statistical anomaly: only a couple dozen students transfer out of the smallest Ivy League a year.
Competition is everywhere—whether it’s in a math class where we can only get an A if we “beat” our classmates, or whether it’s at the gym where we must beat the girl next to us.
Any fan of the seminal 90’s sitcom Seinfeld knows the plight of loveable loser George Costanza and his fondness for giving up: “Yeah, I’m a great quitter."