This is the story of one student's path to graduate school, from the initial curiosity about the subject through the application process.

Mrs. Atkins, my second-grade teacher, saw the potential in me. A prolific reader and crack speller, I became Mrs. Atkins' unofficial teaching assistant, working closely with a boy who had fallen far behind his peers. Her talent as an instructor and appreciation for my work inspired me; from that year on, I made certain that all my teachers knew I was there to serve and assist them — at times subjecting myself to the abuse doled out to those deemed "pets." Twenty years later, I followed Mrs. Atkins lead, becoming a secondary school teacher in English and dedicating myself to both students who struggle and those seeking increased challenge.

Throughout my years in school, I had the feeling that one day I would stand in front of the classroom. I admired the dedication of my teachers, and I could feel the impact they were having on me and others studying under their tutelage. Far more than simply providing me with information, my high school teachers in particular shaped my way of thinking, my skills in critical analysis, and my appreciation for great texts. Most of all, I was drawn to the English teachers: complex, innovative thinkers who combined fresh approaches with the romantic image of the pipe-smoking sophisticate in the tweed jacket.

Despite leaving high school with a clear professional direction in mind, I spent four years bouncing around in college, initially as a declared English major, emerging — much to the surprise of my friends and family — with a degree in biological anthropology. As hard as I tried to follow a traditional, conservative path in my education, I never managed to complete an economics course, nor could I convince myself to pursue a degree that might actually serve me in a job search. Instead I followed my gut, enrolling in courses I found stimulating and worthwhile.

Much to my disappointment, when I graduated I found the business world uninviting. In an interview for a marketing position, the human resources director asked me a question I quickly became all too familiar with: "How exactly has a degree in biological anthropology prepared you to work in marketing?" My response typically met with blank stares: "I have earned a liberal arts degree from an excellent university. The focus of that degree is irrelevant. Much as I did when Alan Dershowitz attempted to dress me down in front of 700 of my classmates, I will stand up to any intellectual challenge the world of marketing may present."

We'll call you, they told me.

So it was off to food service. Fortunately, a former teacher rescued me from the deli, delivering me with his personal connections to an entry-level position at a local investment bank. My career there lasted four years; I made steady progress, but I knew that finance was not for me. The words of Mrs. Atkins, not Warren Buffett, resonated with me. What I knew my entire life — that one day I would be a teacher — now became my clear mission.

Unfortunately, during my undergraduate years I had not prepared myself to enter the field of education. If anything, my comfort in the classroom motivated me to consider alternatives; I didn't want to pursue a career in the only area I had truly explored. During college, that strategy led to personal and intellectual edification; after graduation, it didn't lead anywhere.

Once I had decided to pursue a career in education, I set up a number of informational interviews with local teachers and administrators. I discovered that I had two real options: pursue a teaching certificate and a master's degree in education, or pursue a master's degree in English literature and forgo the teaching certificate. After much contemplation, I chose to solidify my background in my chosen discipline (English literature) rather than earn a teaching certificate. Without a teaching certificate, I could not teach in public schools, but my desire to gain mastery over my discipline superseded this pragmatic concern.

In my application to graduate school, I presented my academic and professional missions. Quite conscious of avoiding explaining to the admissions committee that teaching was my "calling" and my "passion," I tried to express myself in the most reflective and genuine fashion. If my personal statement distinguished me from other candidates, it did so through its sincerity — not flash and sizzle. To demonstrate my interest in graduate school, I took several courses in the subject before gaining admission to the program.

Apparently my approach worked; I gained admission to the graduate program in English language and literature. My academic work, coupled with my graduate teaching experience, prepared me to land a full-time faculty position at a prominent local independent school.

In retrospect, I can see that two factors benefited me most in this process: research and dedication. Admissions committee members can immediately eliminate candidates who don't display sound knowledge of their field of choice and a true desire to work and excel. A lack of depth and devotion is transparent; the solid candidate diligently and patiently builds not only his background in the field, but also his understanding of the admissions process.