When I was accepted to Harvard, everyone I told had the same response: "Wow! You got into Harvard?" I was instantly elevated to a higher level in their minds just because I was now a "Harvard student." But even though everyone suddenly thought I was smart and successful, I had never felt so inadequate in my life.

I was shocked and bewildered when I got in. I could not believe I had been accepted by the seemingly unapproachable Harvard. I was convinced Harvard had made a mistake. I hadn't made any significant scientific discoveries. I didn't get a 1600 on the SAT. I wasn't even valedictorian of my high school class.

My father used to say that Harvard had confused me with another Anne Krendl. "They switched your Social Security numbers," he'd say. "When they figure out their mistake, they'll let the right Anne Krendl in." It was a joke we shared, but a part of me always believed it. When I came to Harvard, I was convinced I had to justify my right to be here. Maybe I didn't deserve to get in, but I would prove that I deserved to stay. I still had time to discover the cure for cancer, I could personally find all the homeless people in the Square a job and I had one more shot at being valedictorian. But none of that happened.

Despite all my efforts, I was still intimidated by Harvard when I arrived with my parents for Orientation Week, when I attended my first lecture and even after I survived my first semester. But more than anything, I was incredibly intimidated by my classmates.

I will never forget how overwhelmed I was by my peers throughout my years at Harvard. They all seemed to know what they wanted to do and how they would make their mark on the world. I wanted to share that knowledge, so I followed the same path as many of my classmates--I decided to pursue my lifelong dream of becoming a doctor. After all, medicine was an "acceptable" career to pursue at Harvard.

Though I dove into pre-med classes and fulfilled the requirements, I always felt that pre-med was just an excuse for me to put off deciding what I really wanted to do. Being pre-med gave my life the stability and security I thought every Harvard student should have. I knew what classes I had to take and when to take them. But more importantly, I knew the path the rest of my life would follow--I would go to medical school, complete my residency and begin to practice.

Having my life plotted our for me so nicely gave me the sense of fulfillment for which I was searching. But as my junior year drew to a close, I made a startling realization: I didn't enjoy being pre-med. I was never the first to rush to see the grades when they were posted. I never understood how to synthesize an ester. And I never could calculate the force and friction of an object sliding down a ramp.

I left for the summer, gained a new perspective on my life and decided to abandon the pre-med track. I came back to Harvard where my classmates were searching for the highest-paying jobs. I half-heartedly went through recruiting because I didn't know what else to do. But when faced with an offer of a consulting position, I panicked. I finally realized I didn't want the same thing that so many Harvard students wanted.

But more importantly, I realized that it didn't make me any less of a Harvard student not to want those same things. Throughout my Harvard career, I thought I had to live up to some mythical stereotype of the Harvard student. I made myself believe that I wasn't really a Harvard student unless I wanted to be a doctor, graduate student, lawyer, consultant or investment banker. It took me a long time to admit that I didn't really want one of the traditional jobs. I never considered myself an "academic"; I never really felt at home in the lecture halls. The only place that felt like home to me was The Harvard Crimson.

My extracurriculars were my saving grace. They made me feel as though I was making some sort of impact of Harvard; they were my way of making my mark. At that point, I concluded that I wasn't meant to be a consultant, doctor or even a lawyer. For the first time in three years, I couldn't follow the crowd. I had to follow my heart. Once I decided to trust myself, I realized what I really wanted was to try something out of the mainstream for the stereotypical Harvard student--journalism.

As I prepare to graduate, I share many reservations with my classmates. Four years ago, I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up, but I'm no longer certain. I know the direction I want the next few years of my life to take, but I don't know what I will be doing 15 years from now. It has taken me four years to come to terms with the fact that I don't have to follow a certain path just because I'm at Harvard. I have finally accepted that Harvard graduates aren't limited to certain fields but can choose to pursue any field in which they are interested.

My Harvard education has shaped me into an entirely different person than I was four years ago. Ironically, my classes have taught me very little about what I actually need to know to make it in the real world. But the Harvard experience has shaped me in ways that no other school could have.

And after four years of struggling, working and searching, I finally feel that I may actually deserve to call myself a Harvard student.

I just hope they don't double-check those Social Security numbers before June 4.

Anne C. Krendl '98, a Romance languages and literatures concentrator in Lowell House, was an executive editor of The Crimson in 1997.