When I Dropped Out At 20, My Sister Told Everyone: “She’s The One Who Didn’t Finish.” Twelve Years Later, I’m Yale’s Dean Of Admissions. One Essay Read: “My Family Moved Past My Aunt’s Setback.” The Name? Amanda Chen. My Niece. I Picked Up My Red Pen And…

office in the morning, sorted mail, assembled packets for meetings, fetched dry cleaning for editors who spoke about literature as if they had personally invented it, and read manuscripts from the slush pile late into the evening when everyone else had gone home. I made twenty-eight thousand dollars a year. My apartment in Brooklyn measured barely continue reading …