I spent the last 6 months perfecting, editing, and rewriting an application for a prestigious national fellowship. I practiced interviews, spoke to past winners, and read everything I could about it on the Internet. I labored over my personal statement trying to convey in just 1,000 words how much this opportunity would mean to me. And let me tell you, 1,000 words are not nearly enough. I revised my resume again and again—rearranging sections, fine-tuning the formatting, and refining my grammar. I threw myself head first into a summer-fellowship and a senior thesis that I thought would make my application stronger, and I spent countless anxious hours questioning whether I had done enough, and whether I could have or should have done more. Needless to say, applying to this fellowship was a grueling process, both intellectually and personally.
At one point over the summer I found myself in hysterics lamenting that I had not actually accomplished anything during my years in college. I looked at myself compared to other winners, and I felt pretty useless. I hadn’t done groundbreaking cancer research, or founded my own charity. I didn’t have a perfect GPA, or leadership positions on 7 different student committees. At the time, it seemed like the most impressive thing I had done so far was that I had survived, and I was pretty sure that wasn’t fellowship worthy (although maybe it should be).
Even though I knew how slim the odds were, there was a part of me, despite the doubts, that really believed I would get the fellowship. Deep down I knew that I had the qualities they were seeking: dedication, passion, commitment to social justice, an ambition to help others, and the ability to do so. When I made it through the first round of the fellowship process and received my school’s nomination, my dream felt that much closer. It felt like maybe, just maybe, the fellowship committee would be able to see in my application what I saw in myself.
Unfortunately, my dream came to an end two weeks ago when I got an email saying that I had not made it into the final round of interviewees for the fellowship. At some level I guess I wasn’t surprised; I had always known the odds. However, I couldn’t help feeling a little devastated. After months of hard work and build up, the let down was enormous. I admit I spent the first few days consoling myself, and my ego, with lots of Netflix and snackbar.
Looking back now, with a little more perspective under my belt, I realize how valuable this process really has been for me, regardless of not actually receiving the fellowship. It’s true that I haven’t saved the world during my 3 years at Williams, but that doesn’t mean that I haven’t accomplished anything of merit. One of the things I realized when writing my application is how important it is to give yourself recognition for the things you have accomplished, even if they are personal, and not strictly academic. One of the biggest things I celebrated in my essay was learning in my time at Williams that my commitment to helping my friends and family, could be translated into a commitment to helping others—both through the focus of my work in classes, and through the focus of my work on campus.
I found a passion while I was here. I made friends from all different walks of life. I found and mastered a totally new sport. I failed and kept going. I cried and kept working. I fell in love. I got my heart broken. I went away for a year. I got to know my professors. I became editor in chief of a magazine I love. Maybe I haven’t done anything exceptional, but I have done things that I am proud of, and, at the end of the day, that is enough. This security is what will get me through the tough days, and on to the better ones. I don’t need a fellowship for that. Moreover, no group of people, no matter how prestiguous, can take this away from me. Life may give me lemons, but I’ve always had a thing for lemonade anyway.