Inspired by The Moth Radio Hour (August 16, 2022); theme: Confidence – Too Much, Too Little?

I was the type of kid who knew how to give people what they wanted: teachers, piano instructors, coaches… even parents – not that I always gave them what they wanted, but I knew how to.  This characteristic was somewhat a result of being a child of the 80s, when things like conforming to social norms and being a polite and respectful child were valued above nearly everything.  And somewhat as a result of my own personality and upbringing.  I was a people-pleaser.  I thrived on external validation, and so I learned to read people and give them what they wanted in order to glean that positive energy that fed my soul.

This translated well for my academic performance too – outside of a somewhat traumatic grade 1 experience, my school days were generally smooth.  But first grade was the exception.  I had this ancient teacher, Ms. Hellzel (now really – let’s just look at her name as a starting point… “Hell”-zel!), and she was not responding to my charm.  She seemed generally unhappy and loved to “punish” students by putting your name on the chalkboard – WITH a check-mark (or multiple) if you were really bad.  Going back to my need for positive reinforcement – keeping my name OFF the chalkboard was my #1 goal during first grade. 

Unfortunately, one thing that was a guaranteed “name on the board” offense was having your shoes untied.  If Ms. Hellzel caught you with your shoes untied, it was over.  Sadly, as a 6-year-old, I still hadn’t fully mastered the craft of tying my own shoes. I had these lovely tan saddle shoes, but the darn laces just wouldn’t stay tied.  I was desperate to keep my name off the board and I thought I had derived the perfect solution – I would just take the laces out.  Problem solved!  And so, I did.  I truly didn’t mean it to be defiant or sassy, but, Ms. Hellzel did NOT agree.  Name on board with the maximum number of check-marks for that day.  My 6-year-old heart was crushed.

Once I moved on from Ms. Hellzel’s class, the rest of my school years were relatively smooth.  I performed well on tests.  I genuinely cared about my academic achievements and what teachers thought of me – and they seemed (for the most part) to genuinely like me as a student.  Sometimes my need to achieve backfired though – like the time in the first week of high school chemistry class when we were learning how to use Bunsen burners to heat a glass rod and then bend it into a right angle.  Things were tracking well, but when my glass bending wasn’t going quite as smoothly as I wanted, I attempted to grab the red-hot portion of the glass to “fix” it, resulting in some pretty painful burns and blistering on my thumb and index fingers.

Before I knew it, we were touring colleges.  My parents were both graduates of UW-Madison, which was the top state school and most logical choice for me to continue my education.  But they also encouraged me to tour other Midwest schools so that I would arrive at that conclusion for myself.  We spent the Spring break of my Junior year on a mini road trip to visit Northwestern, Purdue and Notre Dame.  And while the other schools were fine, I felt a bit of a “heavens opening and angels singing” type of moment during our tour of Notre Dame (and we weren’t even Catholic!).  We were there on this perfectly warm, sunny Spring day – one of the first of the season.  Everything was lush and green and the sunshine on my face felt like bliss.  The campus was gorgeous, and I felt like maybe this was where I was meant to be.

While that choice would have resulted in massive student loans and debt, my parents remained steadfast in their support of me.  And when it came time to complete applications during the Fall of my Senior year, I said that I wanted to proceed with applying to Notre Dame.

For most of the schools that I applied to, the applications were straight forward and simple: basic info, transcripts with your GPA and class ranking, extracurriculars – that type of stuff.  I felt like my academic performance, frankly, should speak for itself.  I mean – I had a 4.0 GPA and was currently #1 in my class… never mind that this was a class of roughly 145 students at the only high school in a town with a total population of 3400.  I was convinced that I was invincible, untouchable – who could deny me?

Now the Notre Dame application was a bit more robust.  This application required me to read a book and write an essay about how the book applied to my life.  And it wasn’t like I was opposed to reading… English and literature were honestly my favourite subjects.  I enjoyed writing.  But this was my senior year and I had developed a serious case of senior-itis.  I kept procrastinating – I read a bit of the book, but soon my time was up.  The application was due.

Riding high on my inflated confidence and assuming my GPA would get me by, I took the gist of what I’d gathered from reading maybe 15% of the assigned material and crafted a very uninspired, generic essay – chalked full of stereotypical statements and lacking in original thought or substance.  I tried to fake my way through it – grasping for what I thought some admissions officer might want to hear.

And they saw right through me.  Notre Dame was the only school where I was denied entry – and for good reason.  At first, I was furious – and supremely embarrassed.  Really?  They denied me – the Valedictorian of my class?!  That could happen?  (As a side note, I did come to learn that Notre Dame prides itself on rejecting a high number of valedictorians, but that didn’t fully quell the sting.)

Because of that rejection, I learned a quick and critical lesson – your past won’t always get you where you want to go.  You have to continue to do the work – to put in the time and energy and critical thinking.  People can tell if you’re faking it. 

I went on to enjoy a successful and memorable college experience at UW-Madison (which I was able to attend tuition-free as a Valedictorian attending an in-state school).  I made incredible friends and spent quality time with my grandparents (who lived within biking distance of the campus).  I experimented with my identity, joined the marching band, and explored a wide range of courses: from Elementary Logic to Creative Nonfiction to Drawing.  And I graduated with honors (and debt-free), earning my Bachelor of Arts in Journalism.

I am grateful for all that I learned and experienced – but I also still carry a deep (and likely vengeful) dislike of Notre Dame sports.

Sometimes I think back on a short poem that I shared in my High School Valedictory address:

in a land with no wind

nothing would be a breeze

and i would not be blown

across your path

unknown