We often conflate our college dreams with the American dream. That dream, first articulated by the writer and historian James Truslow Adams during the Great Depression, is to live a “better, richer, and happier” life than the one into which you were born. We now associate college with the American dream because a degree has long been seen as the ticket to moving up.
But if the American dream is really about building a better life, then what we should want most for our kids is not simply a “richer,” but a happier life. And if we really embrace this idea, it changes everything about how families discuss college options.
The notion of a dream school is baked into the admissions process. Teens are encouraged by social media, their peers, and often their parents to find that one perfect college. But the dream-school mindset treats admissions as a prize to be won rather than a path to be traveled.
In a survey of more than 3,000 parents I conducted for my new book, Dream School, parents said what they wanted most out of the college experience for their teenagers was to find a “fulfilling career” and “great friends.” Interestingly, they chose a fulfilling career as a top priority three-and-a-half times as often as they picked a lucrative career.
Parents may say happiness matters more than money, but students hear a different message: success means prestige, and prestige means wealth. When I surveyed more than 325,000 undergraduates, half of them reported feeling “a lot” of pressure to major in something that would lead to a high-paying job—second only to the 67% who said getting good grades was their most intense source of pressure.
Psychologist Richard Weissbourd told me that many young people today are “achieving to achieve.” He sees this firsthand in his classes at Harvard’s Graduate School of Education. Each year, he runs an anonymous survey, asking students if they exaggerated their career goals in their graduate-school applications. About half admit they did. Why? Because the system demands they present a polished version of their life plan before they’ve even had the chance to explore.
Not surprisingly, most recent mental health data reflects this mismatch. While teen mental health issues get plenty of attention, the rates of anxiety and depression in young adults (ages 18 to 25) are roughly double those of teenagers. By the time students reach college, the constant pressure to perform, to define, to project certainty has taken a toll.
This pressure is most acute at the very institutions families often label as “dream schools.” Often, the more prestigious the college, the earlier you are expected to have everything figured out: what you’ll major in, what career you’ll pursue, who you’ll become.
But when students land somewhere less obvious, something interesting happens. In my survey, many parents described a surprising sense of relief when their children didn’t get into their top choice. Free from the unrelenting status chase, their kids thrived in environments where they could explore, learn, and engage without fear of falling behind.
One student I met compared the admissions process for an elite school, like many do, as a lottery ticket, pinning all his hopes on a top-ranked college. When he finally “won,” he was so focused on the prestige that he overlooked what Columbia University actually offered. Once he arrived on campus, the high of the win started to wear off: a class he wanted was oversubscribed, research opportunities went to graduate students, and everyday life felt like one long competition. The prize he thought he had claimed came with hidden costs. Only later, after transferring to the University of Minnesota, did he find professors who were willing to work with him on research and peers who became close friends rather than competitors. Looking back, he realized the real jackpot wasn’t prestige at all, it was fit.
The mother of another student told me her daughter, a National Merit Scholar, had her heart set on Vanderbilt University, but after being waitlisted and visiting campus, she felt overlooked. Plan B was the University of Oklahoma, where every visit felt like the red carpet was rolled out. Faculty and staff treated her like she mattered, and the admissions representative even called her their “number one recruit.” Once on campus, professors mentored her and she got to know the university’s president, who later wrote her a recommendation for a Truman Scholarship that Oklahoma provided one-on-one coaching for. As her mother put it, Oklahoma loved her back in ways the supposed dream school never did.
That sense of belonging, of being seen and supported, is what transforms an ordinary school into the right school. It’s also what so many families say they truly want from higher education, yet what the dream-school narrative often obscures.
What these students discovered is what countless others eventually learn: the dream isn’t a particular college; it’s what you find once you’re there. A true “dream” college experience has less to do with rankings and more to do with the conditions that help students flourish.
It begins with a supportive start, since roughly one in four college students drop out after the first year. The best schools build scaffolding through first-year seminars, proactive advising, and residence life programming. It also depends on mentorship and connection. Graduates who thrive later in life often point to professors who cared about them and mentors who encouraged them. Just as important is a college that delivers real preparation for life after graduation, whether through internships, research with faculty, or programs that connect coursework directly to careers.
The fixation on a single dream school narrows opportunity, heightens stress, and sometimes backfires. Maybe the real dream is to let students go to college to figure out who they are, not who they are expected to be. That means shifting the conversation at the dinner table, on campus tours, and in high schools away from “What’s your dream school?” to “What’s your dream college experience?”
Instead of asking teens to pin their hopes on a single acceptance letter, we should help them imagine an experience that could be found in any number of places. When we do that, we expand opportunity, lower anxiety, and align the college search more closely with the original American dream: not simply a richer life, but a happier one.
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