The rain poured relentlessly as I hustled to my first class of the day in Pupin Hall, taking my usual route from Ferris and up the steps of Low Library. After a few short weeks, Alma Mater was now a friendly face to me. However, I thought back to when she was just a weirdly regal centerpiece for the Glow Party in August, adorned with only the finest glowstick jewelry.
That’s right, it had been a month of college. NSOP and the following weeks were a blur, characterized by the frenzy of freshman fervor. There was always something to keep up with, someone to know, something we just had to do now that we were in college and in New York City. Whether it was the hype of getting signed into Carman just to get busted by an RA, or sitting in a sweaty room in Reid discussing classes and potential activities with my new, ambitious and intelligent friends, I felt like I always had to be on. I felt like I was supposed to be finding my groove like everyone else, but I was just kind of lost.
I auditioned for two a cappella groups, which I thought would be logical since I sang a lot in high school and was desperate for familiarity (neither sports I played in high school were offered in the club or intramural programs). I didn’t get into either of those groups, nor the dance troupe I had auditioned for. I eventually learned that each group had a single digit number of openings for an average amount of 80 eager individuals. Yes, it was extremely competitive, but I still couldn’t help but feel a little blue. Was I ever going to get involved at this school, or was I just not good enough in the first place?
Fast forward: It was a Saturday, and my friends and I had heard about a frat party. We had been to this frat before, swearing we had fun even though it might have surpassed the sweatiness of a Barnard dorm during NSOP week. That night, we awkwardly danced in a packed tuna can fashion until Public Safety came to shut down the fire hazard of a festivity. But at least this time, it was a darty, which meant fresh air! (It also meant we had to go.)
We were debating between pants and shorts since it had dropped to a chilling 72 degrees. Banter ensued as usual, but this time it was different. One of my friends had two callbacks for different plays at Columbia; her excitement pushed her through the hours of dancing and monologues. However, she didn’t get into either production. Another friend described her rejection from a campus fashion publication even though she has created her own in the past. Yet another friend endeavored to walk on to the varsity lacrosse team but quit, and another didn’t get a spot on a radio show. I quickly realized that I wasn’t the only one that didn’t experience immediate success in everything they tried. But my new friends were so ambitious, driven and intelligent, I thought. There wasn’t a rejection that could negate that fact.
During these conversations with my friends, we introduced each other to new clubs and hobbies we hadn’t necessarily been involved with in the past, broadening each others’ knowledge of what there was to do on campus. Of course, a lot of my friends were already taking grand steps in getting involved, but there was overwhelming support for everybody on their own paths. The beauty of Barnard seemed to present itself to me the one moment I wasn’t hysterically searching for it.
So while I am still trying, I’ve learned that everything will be okay. I am taking my time, not trying to live up to the expectations of what people think Ivy League students should do, keeping myself afloat amid stress culture. To me, finding your groove means searching in places you didn’t necessarily care to look before. A key component to finding your groove is time and patience. So, to my fellow first-years: In time, we will all know ourselves to be the bold and beautiful women we were meant to be. But, take a step back and breathe, because that boldness and beauty is already inside of you.