One of the most dreadful parts of starting something new is the introductions. Every time I’m asked to meet new friends, coworkers, or classmates, I suddenly forget everything about myself. I’ve even blurted out that I have no interests or hobbies, knowing full well that’s a lie.
I always struggle when it’s time to write a quick bio or share my interests. I’ve never considered myself boring. I know the things I like to do, like watching movies, listening to music, going for drives, and spending time outdoors. These are simple, safe joys. Things I should be able to share. But when the moment comes, I freeze.
My only real complaint about Welcome Weekend and Orientation was the endless cycle of awkward introductions. The dreaded “getting to know you” games. The word icebreaker alone makes my stomach twist. I don’t think of myself as shy, but in those moments, it feels like I lose all sense of self.
By the end of the weekend, I had practically memorized the monologue: my major, my hometown, my fun fact. I recited it over and over and still hated every bit of it. Eventually, I realized that discomfort came from two places: I hated having attention on me in crowded rooms, and I felt like I didn’t know who I was.
The connections I made that first week didn’t stick. Maybe I didn’t try hard enough to build something real. Or maybe I wasn’t showing people the real me.
What’s funny is that the people who’ve known me best, through all the different eras of my life, would never describe me as forgettable. When asked what kind of person I am, they could go on for hours. So why is it that when I need to speak for myself, I draw a blank?
I try to comfort myself by saying this is normal. Not just for first-year students, but for anyone who feels uneasy with vulnerability. Over the next four years, I want to practice showing up as myself. The real me, not the rushed answer that mimics the person who spoke before me.
So maybe the real challenge is knowing that I don’t need to shrink myself down to a rehearsed script or mirror someone else’s answer just to fit in. I’m learning that identity isn’t something you recite on command; it’s something you reveal over time, through shared laughter, quiet honesty, and the courage to be a little awkward. The next time I’m asked to share who I am, I hope I’ll speak from a place of truth, not just the facts, but the feeling.