Editor's Note: Through the Looking Glass is The Mirror's newest feature. We welcome submissions from all members of the community both past and present who wish to write about defining experiences, moments or relationships during their time at Dartmouth. Please submit articles of 800-1,000 words to the.dartmouth@dartmouth.edu.
Over the past several years, I have come to expect certain standard questions in an interview. Why did you choose your major? What are your leadership experiences? Now, tell me about a time you failed.
Tell me about a time you failed. First, let me be clear my time at Dartmouth has not been lacking in unforgettable experiences. Two terms abroad, participation in campus organizations and random nights spent with close friends have all been integral to the formation of my identity here. But there is another component of my personal Dartmouth experience that I discuss less all the same, it has been a defining one.
What the past four years have provided me, in addition to the experiences I just mentioned, is a multitude of potential responses to this single, haunting inquiry. Coming to Hanover as a straight-A student fresh from high school, I had rarely grappled with any feelings of inadequacy. It was a simple equation back then try hard and excel. I never thought to question whether my abilities were good enough. By the standards I knew then, they were more than good enough. They had propelled me to the top of my class and straight on to an Ivy League education.
I came to Dartmouth with the expectation that my successes would continue to accumulate as logically as they had before, culminating at the end of four years with a spotless resume displaying my passion and commitment. Yet, as each hopeful application to various campus organizations was met with rejection, I battled my first serious wave of self-doubt. Did I even belong at this school?
For a few months my freshman winter, I considered the possibility of transferring. I had made friends, but I hadn't found the kind of acceptance that had convinced me that Dartmouth would soon feel like home. I felt that I had been denied participation in the very community that had welcomed me as a worthy candidate for its opportunities.
During my sophomore fall, the unanticipated challenges of Dartmouth life converged symbolically during the infamous process of sorority rush. I had a strong group of female friends, but I was convinced at that time that rush was just something you were supposed to do here.
So I did it. I went into rush with an open mind and came out of it plagued by questions of my own worth. I dropped out of the process after the second round having gained nothing but a pervasive sense that I was disliked, unwanted and unknown. Having gone into rush with no expectations, it affected me deeply. I can only imagine how devastating it would have been for someone more convinced of the necessity of Greek affiliation for happiness here.
Going through the process of rush and remaining unaffiliated, by the standards of Dartmouth Greek life, is deemed a "failure" by many. They'll never say it to your face, but you'll hear it in the conversational void that follows when you tell them no, you're actually not in a house. For a long time, that's how I saw it and by extension, that's how I saw myself. I just hadn't made the cut.
Now is the point in my story where I tell you about how I ingeniously overcame all of these early obstacles and rose to the top of the Dartmouth social scene, gaining acceptance into the elite organizations of my dreams. But that's not exactly the case.
In reality, rejection has remained a recurring theme in my life as a student here. But in tandem with this recurrence, an unexpected opportunity for growth has emerged. Failure has been essential to my development, and as much as it can sting, I would never wish it away.
While rejection remains an unpleasant experience, I now realize that chalking it up to personal inadequacy is both useless and misguided.
Freshman me as well as sophomore and junior and sometimes senior me experienced each rejection as evidence of my deficiencies, as another reason that I somehow didn't measure up to my peers. Now, I have begun to redefine the perceived failures of my Dartmouth life as blessings in disguise. As cliche as it is, I have had so many doors open to me because of the ones that have been rudely slammed in my face, and each of these doors has reinforced my sense of resiliency.
Ultimately, the many different labels we place on people at Dartmouth mean nothing to my friends at home, and they all but dissipate upon graduation. Our investment in them is an unstable one. Indeed, we often measure success here by parameters that don't align with those of the outside world.
So in a strange way, my failures have made me more confident in the person I am becoming and in the person I will be when I leave this school. I have come to realize that my failures are not absolute but rather are relative to my environment.
Learning how to navigate life amidst seemingly devastating losses has ultimately allowed me to expand my once narrow definition of success. My path at Dartmouth has diverged significantly from the one I imagined for myself freshman year. But as I prepare for my final term, I am so happy with the people I've known and the places I've been.
While success furnishes validation, failure allows for re-evaluation and thus for growth. I have had my share of successes and instances of elation, but the moments that have tested me are also the ones that have played the greatest role in reshaping me for the better. The most important skill I have developed during my years at Dartmouth has been how to experience failure without experiencing defeat how to fail gracefully.
