April, you chaotic overachiever.

While flowers were blooming and people were frolicking (who are these people?), we were knee-deep in acceptance letters, portals, financial aid packages, and the kind of decision-making that makes you question every life choice you’ve ever made, including what you had for breakfast in 2007.

Because here’s the plot twist no one prepares you for. Getting into too many colleges is stressful.

Yes, yes, tiny violin, I know. It’s the kind of problem that comes wrapped in gratitude and pride and a constant urge to say, “I know, we’re very lucky,” before anyone can roll their eyes. And we are. I am. Deeply.

But also? It left us in a full-blown state of analysis paralysis.

My son, who is my brilliant, resilient, somehow-still-standing-after-the-last-three-years son, applied to a lot of schools. And then, in a move that felt both thrilling and personally inconvenient to my nervous system, he got into most of them.

Good ones. Great ones. “Wow, that’s an amazing option” ones.
With solid packages. Real choices. No obvious eliminations.

Which sounds dreamy until you realize that every “yes” becomes a tiny existential crisis.

What college do you pick when they are all good? What spreadsheet do you build when your heart refuses to be quantified? How many times can you say “fit” before it loses all meaning?

April became a blur of campus comparisons, late-night conversations, and me pretending to be very chill while internally hosting a TED Talk titled: “What If We Make the Wrong Choice and Ruin Everything?”

Spoiler alert! There was no wrong choice.

That’s the part no one tells you when you’re in it. When the options are all strong, the decision stops being about prestige or practicality and starts being about something much quieter and much harder to articulate.

Gut.

Feeling.

That intangible whisper that doesn’t care about rankings or brochures or what sounds impressive at dinner parties.

And in the end, that’s exactly what he chose.

He listened to himself. He trusted his instinct. He picked the place that felt right in his bones, not just on paper. And, here’s the plot twist that surprised absolutely no one who knows us. He stayed close to home.

And here’s where the irreverence softens just a bit.

Because the last three years? They weren’t easy. For either of us. We’ve been through things that don’t show up on applications or acceptance letters. The kind of things that shape you, stretch you, sometimes break you a little. And then, if you’re lucky, knit you back together in a way that’s stronger and more honest.

So yes, I would have supported him anywhere. Across the country, across an ocean, on a campus that required three connecting flights and a sherpa. I meant that.

But there is something quietly beautiful about the fact that, after everything, his gut led him somewhere that keeps us close.

Not clinging. Not holding on. Just…within reach.

And just like that, Decision Day arrived.

A button clicked. A deposit made. A future chosen.

And the noise, the endless, buzzing, what-if-filled noise of April, finally went quiet.

No more comparing. No more second-guessing. No more “but what about…”

Just forward.

Together, but also not. Because this is the beginning of his next chapter, not mine. I just get the privilege of watching it unfold from a slightly closer seat than I expected.

And maybe that’s the real lesson in all of this.

Sometimes the hardest decisions aren’t about choosing between good and bad. They’re about choosing between many good things and having the courage to trust the one that feels like yours.

So here we are. Decision made. Stress (mostly) dissolved.

And me?

I’m just over here, incredibly proud, slightly emotional, and deeply relieved that I no longer have to open another college portal ever again.