There are five minutes left on the timer. I shut off my meditation playlist on Pandora, set the thermostat to a comfortable 68 degrees and clear the desk of everything except my computer, pencils and five pieces of scratch paper.
I lit a peppermint-scented candle a half hour ago and the smell has finally drifted over to this side of the room. I also made peppermint tea and rubbed peppermint oil on my wrists and behind my ears. It’s supposed to be calming and help me focus. I have trouble focusing sometimes.
As the timer counts down and passes the one-minute mark, I grow impatient. I hit "Start Exam" and try to convince myself this is no different than any practice test I’ve taken. But it’s hard to keep my thoughts straight knowing this is the real thing, I’m actually sitting for the online October 2020 LSAT - Flex exam in a $76-a-day Hampton hotel room.
Less than six months ago, around the time of spring break in March 2020, the U.S. was introduced to the COVID-19 virus. I’d heard reports about it since January but dismissed them and speculations of a possible pandemic as irrelevant conspiracy. If any of it was true, I’d hear about it from U.S. news stations instead of on YouTube, right? So, I ignored any news of it as hearsay until spring break when people went nuts for toilet paper and hand sanitizer. Then everything shut down.
When stay-at-home orders were put into effect, classes went virtual. I was okay with that since one of mine was already fully online and the others transitioned easily. We finished the semester, and I prepared for my study abroad trip to Japan. Then that was canceled, and I had to figure out how to make up the six credits to still be on track to graduate on time a year later.
I enrolled in a 10-week independent study course. In any normal summer, it would’ve been easy to secure interviews, get access to records and visit the relevant historical sites. In fact, I’ve done all three of those things with no issues for the last four years. But this summer was different, because everywhere was shut down due to the pandemic. Access to practically everything I needed to fulfill the goals of my independent study required many phone calls, many emails and a lot of waiting around for someone, anyone, to answer my phone calls and emails. That class consumed my summer. So all the time I thought I had to study for the law school admissions test slowly withered away.
I originally planned to spend the first part of the summer in classes and the rest leading up to the August test studying. But the class lasted four weeks longer than anticipated and took up much more of my focus. By the beginning of August, I was on anti-anxiety meds, having nightmares every night and could count on one hand the number of hours of test prep I completed. So I moved my test to October and spent the month cramming.
The check-in process was easy enough. I downloaded the required software for remote proctoring and was connected to someone in five minutes. The camera light on my computer turned on, and the proctor ran through the directions - show me your license, scan your test space, hold up your scratch paper, begin once you’ve read the directions. Once I finished reading them, I put in my foam earplugs. Everything was now quiet, I couldn’t even hear myself breathe. But I could hear my heartbeat rising as reality set in: This was the real thing. Experts advise test takers to think of the exam as no different than the countless practice tests they’ve surely taken, but I can’t help but think this is nothing like that. Breathing in hard the smell of peppermint, I hit "Start."
There are three sections - reading comprehension, logical reasoning and logic games. Logic games is my best section. I usually get every question right during practice. I breathe a sigh of relief, it’s the first section on my exam. I read the rules, draw a diagram and scan question one. The first question is usually the easiest and requires no extra work. I browse the answer choices and none of them match up with my sketch. Sometimes the first game is rough. I skip to game two. Same thing. Move on to game three. Same thing. The last game is even worse than the others. I have 25 minutes to go, and I haven’t even answered one question. I’m screwed.
When I returned to school after a two-year leave of absence in 2017 to study journalism, I knew quickly law school was the long-term goal. I knew I wanted to be a lawyer since the age of 10 when my mom suggested it might be a worthwhile passion since I liked to argue. I couldn’t argue with that. I knew it wasn’t ever going to be as exciting as my other passions like creative writing and video production, but I also knew I loved it enough to make it the future career I would stick with. A career in law is intriguing, challenging, and most importantly, safe.
It’s safe because you can take your law school education in endless directions. I can graduate and pursue big law. It’s crazy hours but crazy money as well. I can graduate and pursue public interest. It’s rewarding and eventually there’s loan forgiveness. I could pursue a federal clerkship and work in the government. I could work in the White House or in a small firm pursuing divorce settlements or criminal cases. I could open a business, consult for a business, write contracts for a business.
There’s a potential for endless possibilities for job fulfillment, income and security. There is, at least, if I can get there. The pandemic caused a lot of pain and suffering for a lot of people physically, but it had plenty of secondhand negative effects as well. For me, those negative effects included changes to the law school admissions process.
Some experts and admissions offices claimed this admissions cycle has seen more than a 100% increase in applications at certain schools, some more than a 200% increase. There has also been a 189.5% increase of scorers scoring in the 99th percentile of LSAT test takers since remote exams began in June. LSAT scores and GPAs are the two most important factors in law school admissions. Oftentimes, the LSAT score outweighs applicants’ GPAs since it is the only truly standardized measure for admission. This all meant this year was going to be more competitive than any other year in recent history.
As applicants during COVID, we’re not only facing normal competition in admissions. We’re facing this increase in high scorers, competing against people who always planned on applying this year, those who applied just because it’s safer to be in school than the job market right now, those who have always wanted to apply but never had the opportunity before the extra time the pandemic gave them to study and apply, and those who don’t know exactly why they’ve applied now but do so anyway. So this is just one more level of uncertainty added on to the constant stressor that is COVID.
If classes are online next semester because infection numbers continue to rise, should I avoid moving costs and stay where I am? Are hybrid classes worth living on-campus? Are there proper measures in place to safely resume in-person learning? My mind runs a thousand miles a minute thinking about these things. I’ve lost weight. I’ve gained weight. Sometimes, I binge on Mac and cheese, other times tequila. I’ve spent 23 hours out of the day obsessively checking updates on admissions decisions to predict a pattern that probably doesn’t exist. I look at COVID case-rates in the surrounding areas of the 25 schools I applied to while filling in Excel sheets so I can figure out which campus has the lowest risk of transmission. These stress -inducing behaviors have caused me so much anxiety that has only led to more anxiety about this whole process.
With 25 -minutes left on the timer, 25 questions to go and no clue where to begin, my mind goes blank. My subconscious remembers how the logic games are supposed to be answered and takes over. The time is up and I have one minute to reset for the next section. I screwed that up, but I have to push it out of my mind and focus for the remaining two. I breathe in searching for the peppermint scent, it’s faint. Focus. Focus. The next section begins.
It’s logical reasoning. I can’t focus my thoughts. I’m still thinking about the last logic game. I figured out what I was missing. Too bad I can’t go back. Time is up. The last section is reading comprehension, my worst section. My brain is tired. I use the last one-minute break to refocus. Focus. Focus. I can’t. I can’t stop thinking about the questions I couldn’t figure out in the last section. Time is up.
I didn’t get the score I wanted on the October exam, so I signed up for a test two weeks later in November. I faced the same issues, however, and had to sign up for January. I knew January had to be different, because it was the last exam most schools would take for this admissions cycle. I tried to find new ways to refocus my brain under intense conditions, because what I was used to wasn’t working on test day. As each day passed, I grew more anxious.
January was getting closer, I had finals and every day I saw the number of COVID-related deaths rising. I felt almost silly worrying so much about a test when people are dying and struggling to find work while I worked remotely and didn’t have to worry about catching anything from being around other people. But this was my future, the future I’d already spent years of my life and tens of thousands of dollars working toward, and I couldn’t let it slip away.
About a week before the January LSAT, I received my first acceptance, a full ride and a $30,000 stipend. Then I received another, another full ride. Both were fulfilling, but the fear still loomed because neither were schools ranked at the goal I’d set for myself. Then, I received a third acceptance and full ride from the first university I attended that I dropped out of in 2015. It felt as if something in the universe was telling me everything would be OK. That’s when I realized that at this point it’s out of my control. I gave it my best shot on the January exam and put my all into my applications. Now I have to be patient and wait.
There are five minutes left on the timer before the test starts. I shut off my meditation playlist on Pandora, set the thermostat to a comfortable 68 degrees and clear the desk of everything except my computer, pencils and five pieces of scratch paper.
I light a peppermint scented candle and set it on the desk next to my computer. I sip on my peppermint tea and rub peppermint oil behind my ears. It helps me focus.
The timer counts down and passes the one-minute mark, I focus on my breathing. I hit "Start Exam" and remind myself this is just a test. I’ve taken two before in rooms just like the one I’m in now, and the check-in process is quick and easy. I already have the required software for remote proctoring downloaded and connect to someone right away. The camera light on my computer turns on, and the proctor runs through the process - show me your license, scan your test space, hold up your scratch paper, begin once you’ve read the directions. Once I finished reading, I put in my foam earplugs. Everything is now quiet, I keep focusing on my breathing. My heartbeat is steady as reality sets in. This was the real thing, the last exam I’ll be writing.
Breathing in the smell of peppermint, I hit "Start."
The first section is logic games, my best section. I read the rules, draw a diagram and scan question one. The first question is usually the easiest and requires no extra work. I browse the answer choices and find my answer right away. I’m finished quickly. Sometimes the first game is easy. I move on to game two. Same thing. Move on to game three. Same thing. The last game is even easier than the others. I have nearly half the time still remaining, and I’ve answered nearly every question. This is great.
The time runs out and I take one minute to reset for the next section. I breathe in deep, searching for the peppermint scent, it’s still strong. I’m focused. The next section begins.
It’s logical reasoning. I finish with a quarter time left to spare. I check over my answers and time runs out. I use the last one-minute break to refocus. My brain is tired, but I refocus. I’m focused the whole time. Time runs out.
This time I get the score I wanted on the October exam, a 99th percentile score.