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…

barely sort the morning mail. Nobody noticed. Publishing offices are full of people quietly enduring absurd conditions in order to remain close to the thing they love. One editor was going through a divorce and sleeping in a friend’s guest room. Another had a trust fund and still complained as if deprivation itself were a literary credential. I floated continue reading …