We often mistakenly link our college aspirations with the broader ideal of the American dream. This concept, initially defined during the Great Depression, emphasizes the pursuit of a “better, richer, and happier” existence than one’s origins. The association between college and the American dream stems from the long-held belief that a degree paves the way for upward mobility.
However, if the essence of the American dream truly lies in fostering a better life, our primary desire for our children should be a life filled with happiness, not just wealth. Embracing this perspective fundamentally alters how families approach discussions about college choices.
The idea of a “dream school” is deeply ingrained in the college admissions process. Teenagers are often encouraged, by social media, their peers, and even their parents, to identify that one ideal college. However, this “dream school” mentality can transform the admissions process into a competition for a prize rather than a journey of self-discovery.
In a survey I conducted with over 3,000 parents for my upcoming book, *Dream School*, parents expressed that their primary aspirations for their teenagers’ college experience were to find a “fulfilling career” and “great friends.” Notably, the desire for a fulfilling career outweighed the desire for a lucrative career by a factor of three and a half.
While parents may verbally prioritize happiness over financial success, students often perceive a different message: that success is defined by prestige, which in turn equates to wealth. A survey of over 325,000 undergraduates revealed that half felt significant pressure to major in a field that would lead to a high-paying job—second only to the 67% who cited achieving good grades as their primary source of stress.
Psychologist Richard Weissbourd noted that many young people today are “achieving for the sake of achieving.” He observes this firsthand in his classes at Harvard’s Graduate School of Education. Each year, he conducts an anonymous survey asking students if they exaggerated their career aspirations in their applications. Approximately half admit to doing so. This is because the system compels them to present a perfected vision of their future before they’ve had the opportunity to fully explore their interests.
Unsurprisingly, current mental health statistics reflect this disconnect. While mental health concerns among teenagers receive considerable attention, anxiety and depression rates in young adults (ages 18 to 25) are approximately double those of teenagers. By the time students enter college, the relentless pressure to perform, define themselves, and project certainty has taken a toll.
This pressure is particularly intense at the very institutions that families often label as “dream schools.” Often, the more prestigious the college, the earlier students are expected to have their futures mapped out: their major, their career path, and their overall identity.
However, when students choose a less conventional path, something remarkable often occurs. In my survey, many parents expressed relief when their children were not admitted to their first-choice schools. Freed from the constant pursuit of status, their children thrived in environments where they could explore, learn, and engage without the fear of falling behind.
One student described the admissions process for elite schools as akin to buying a lottery ticket, placing all his hopes on a top-ranked institution. When he ultimately “won,” he became so fixated on the prestige that he overlooked the actual offerings of Columbia University. Upon arriving on campus, the initial excitement faded: desired classes were oversubscribed, research opportunities were reserved for graduate students, and daily life felt like a perpetual competition. The prize he thought he had won came with unforeseen drawbacks. Only after transferring to the University of Minnesota did he find professors willing to collaborate with him on research and peers who became close friends rather than rivals. In retrospect, he realized that the true prize wasn’t prestige but rather finding the right fit.
The mother of another student recounted that her daughter, a National Merit Scholar, had her sights set on Vanderbilt University. However, after being waitlisted and visiting the campus, she felt overlooked. Her plan B was the University of Oklahoma, where she felt welcomed on every visit. Faculty and staff treated her with importance, and the admissions representative even hailed her as their “number one recruit.” Once on campus, professors mentored her, and she became acquainted with the university’s president, who later wrote her a recommendation for a Truman Scholarship, for which Oklahoma provided individualized coaching. As her mother put it, Oklahoma reciprocated her affection in ways that her supposed dream school never did.
That feeling of belonging, of being seen and supported, is what elevates an ordinary school to the right school. It is also what many families express they truly want from higher education, yet this is often obscured by the “dream school” narrative.
What these students discovered is a lesson that countless others eventually learn: the dream isn’t a specific college but what you find once you’re there. A genuine “dream” college experience is less about rankings and more about the conditions that foster student flourishing.
It starts with a supportive environment, given that roughly a quarter of college students drop out after their first year. The best schools establish support systems through first-year seminars, proactive advising, and residential life programs. Mentorship and connection are also crucial. Successful graduates often cite professors who cared about them and mentors who encouraged them. Equally important is a college that provides practical preparation for life after graduation, through internships, faculty-led research, or programs that directly link coursework to career paths.
The fixation on a single dream school limits opportunities, amplifies stress, and can sometimes backfire. Perhaps the true dream is to allow students to attend college to discover who they are, rather than conforming to who they are expected to be. This requires shifting the conversation at home, during campus visits, and in high schools away from “What’s your dream school?” and toward “What’s your dream college experience?”
Instead of encouraging teenagers to place all their hopes on a single acceptance letter, we should help them envision an experience that can be found in numerous places. By doing so, we broaden opportunities, reduce anxiety, and align the college search more closely with the original American dream: not just a richer life, but a happier one.
