Six weeks ago, I was ecstatic to find my place in the frenzy of panhellenic recruitment at UT. Everyone around me had convinced me that this was the best decision I could make. After all, the promise of everlasting sisterhood and philanthropy is a spell that is easily cast on the most unsuspecting teenage girls. It took a mere three days for this excitement to erode into doubt, and it took a few hours to process that doubt and come to the sudden realization—this is not where I’m meant to be.
I made my decision to rush merely days before the deadline. The concept of Greek life was foreign to my European family. I hardly knew what Rush entailed until it was rigorously endorsed by a friend of a friend, who gushed about how it would be perfect for me. Her enthusiasm was infectious, so I was persuaded to throw my hat in the ring.
Little did I know the nuance that went into everything during rush week—down to the air you breathe. All of it was calculated, yet so much went unspoken. Looking back, it’s easy to pick apart the insanity of it, but it would be hypocritical to say part of me didn’t get swept up in the rhythm. Each PNM (Potential New Member) was implicitly expected to spend hundreds of dollars on new outfits, attending parties premeditated down to the minute. All while conversing on curated subjects with select girls in a cacophonous swarm of other PNMs. The first day alone left me feeling overwhelmed and oblivious.
On that fateful third day, it was apparent to me that the cause of my discomfort was simple: this wasn’t my world. I wholeheartedly admired those who dedicated themselves to a sorority, but I was not that person. Nor would I be, no matter how much time, money, and effort I spent on keeping up false appearances. My eagerness to join one merely stemmed from a desperation for friendship. The girls I met were by no means bad people, but they weren’t my people.
As I walked back to my apartment after withdrawing, I was dejected for all of two hours before clarity struck me. None of this mattered to me nearly as much as I was told it would. In all honesty, I was relieved. I didn’t have to cram my feet into shoes too small for my feet.
The performance was over.
However, I certainly don’t consider my withdrawal a failure. This endeavor provided me with insight into an integral aspect of college life that I once knew nothing about, while also solidifying my sense of self. I know who I am. I know who I am not.
With a school as vast as UT, anyone is bound to find their social niche. Whether it’s a club, a spirit organization, a sport, or just a study group amongst classmates, finding your place is inevitable. But with the search comes trial and error. There is no shame in giving something new a shot, even if you don’t reach the outcome you desired. There is plenty to learn from rejection—a fact I am slowly coming to terms with, one misstep at a time. And if nothing else, you’ll get a fun story out of it.