The Connections Game (And the One You’re Actually Playing)

What four seemingly unrelated college choices might actually tell us about what matters most.

I’m a fan of Connections, the word game in the New York Times where you group four seemingly random words into categories. Some days it’s easy—like “Types of Pasta” or “Units of Measurement.” Other days, it’s a blood sport. You know the kind: you confidently group four yellow words only to realize that “Grill,” “Roast,” “Criticize,” and “Drag” aren’t cooking terms—they’re all ways of talking smack.

The best part of the game? When you finally crack a category, not because the words are obvious, but because you saw the link.

And lately, I’ve been thinking:

College admissions works the same way.

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“Wait, These Four?”

Here’s a real list I saw last week:

• Emory

• Villanova

• UC Santa Barbara

• Wake Forest

At first glance, that list looks like a dartboard. East Coast, West Coast. Jesuit, public, private. Research-heavy, pre-professional, liberal arts.

But here’s what they had in common—if you actually knew the kid:

• All are midsized schools, where undergrads aren’t lost in the crowd

• All offer strong programs in psychology and neuroscience

• All have a lively but not overwhelming social scene

• All are located in places where this particular student felt like she could wear Birkenstocks, talk about existential dread, and not feel weird about it

The category, it turns out, wasn’t “Ranking” or “Geography” or “Major.”

It was “I want to be known, challenged, and a little barefoot.”

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Categories You Won’t See on the Common App

College admissions—at least the kind that actually works for the student—isn’t about finding the “best” school. It’s about finding the best-fit category.

And most of those categories are invisible to outsiders.

I’ve seen students build lists around:

• Places where they could double-major without red tape

• Schools that offer small music scholarships even if you’re not majoring in it

• Campuses where a shy kid could become bold without faking it

• Colleges that felt just far enough from home to exhale

• Schools with vegan options and Division I football (listen, people are vast)

And here’s what I tell families: That’s not random. That’s wisdom.

It’s pattern recognition. It’s intuitive sorting. It’s the real work—quiet, often unspoken—of figuring out not just where you’ll get in, but where you’ll belong.

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Why Adults Get It Wrong

Adults often look at a student’s list and immediately go into admissions consultant CSI mode:

• “Which are your reaches?”

• “Where’s your safety?”

• “Are these all test optional?”

• “Which one is the Ivy?”

Let me be clear: those are fine questions. They matter. But they miss the point if we don’t ask the better ones too:

• “What drew you to these?”

• “What’s the vibe you’re chasing?”

• “Where did you feel most like yourself on the tour?”

Because if all we’re doing is sorting by admissions data, we’re not helping students play the right game. We’re just grading them on how well they play someone else’s.

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The Real Game of Admissions Is Internal

I once had a student who applied to a strange mix of schools:

Rice, Tufts, Colorado College, University of Miami, and Boston College.

The counselor at her school said, “This doesn’t make sense.”

But it did. It made perfect sense.

She was looking for a school where she could study public health, dance without auditioning, join a cultural affinity group and not feel like an outsider, and be in a city—but one that didn’t swallow her whole. She was first-gen, bilingual, and looking for mentors who didn’t require explanation.

You could not have paid me to find those in Naviance.

But she found them.

Because she asked better questions.

Because she understood her own categories.

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So, What’s the Throughline?

If you’re reading this as a student—or as the parent of one—try this game:

Look at your college list, and treat it like a Connections puzzle.

Take four schools. Ask yourself:

• What’s the unexpected category that links them?

• What do they all make room for in your life?

• What are you solving for—emotionally, socially, academically—that no spreadsheet can name?

And if the category is “My mom loves these” or “They gave me swag at the college fair” or “I don’t even know anymore,” then stop.

That’s not a failed list. That’s a clue that the game isn’t done yet.

Ask a better question. Follow the pattern. Trust your own logic.

And don’t let anyone tell you the game is about winning.

Because the truth is, you make the categories.

And the people who belong to them? They find each other.