Welcome Week

Best and the Brightest

Don’t tell anyone. 

I was actually late to the first information session at the divinity school on Monday morning, so I didn’t hear the head of school say this, but I’ve heard it from people since: We students are the best and the brightest, selected from the cream of the crop. We’ve all worked hard to be where we are and we’re here to work hard.

Except I don’t feel like it. Imposter syndrome aside, it’s been a while since college and while I’m sure I studied more than some, I wasn’t in the peer group of physics majors that went onto grad school at Columbia. I have a lot of ideas and I have an enthusiasm about the topic and I have an interesting experience to add to the diversity of the group, but, as I’m fond of saying, the longest paper I’ve ever written was 11 pages on the music of Oklahoma!. I’m sure that I’m cut out for this, but I don’t feel like it when I’m meeting the person who’s working on a PhD studying a branch of a religion that I can’t even pronounce. 

Feelings are just feelings, though. One of the podcasts I listen to routinely asks writers when they first realized that people write things and the answers are always interesting. We all understand that Shakespeare wrote Shakespeare’s plays, but you don’t really think of Shakespeare as a person sitting down with a pen and paper trying to figure out what Mercutio should say next. It’s a similar thing with academia. I had that discovery that the people who write books and academic papers, they’re humans like me, just a little higher on the academic ladder. Whether I feel like I can or not, I’ll be writing at length about some obscure topic over the course of the year. And that’s exciting, in its own way. 

*****

I can tell. You’re American.

Of course we have get-to-know-you games happening. It’s the first day of welcome week. Getting to know people is implied. 

As a former camp counselor and a frequent interactor with youths, I have a tactic for getting through situations like this: either “supervise” the game or participate as hard as you can so that you get to be in charge for the next game, meaning that you don’t have to participate. As I couldn’t be a game supervisor, I grabbed my name out of a hat and started asking the person with the name the questions they told us to ask. He was not, let’s say, ecstatic about this turn of events. At one point, desperate for an explanation, an acknowledgement of my go-getter attitude, I chirped, “I’m a participator!” and he said, “I can tell. You’re American.”

My thoughts now are along the lines of: I’m sorry? Do you think all Americans are especially participatory in events? Because I have so many people to introduce you to who would also like to sit with you in the back of the room throwing spitballs at everyone else’s honest attempts to break down communication barriers. If I were in charge of this, I would have tugged you into the fray just for spite. 

What I thought then was: Oh dear god, I’m being too cheerful. No one’s going to like me or take me seriously. This is the valley girl effect, but generalized to my whole country. They’re going to think I’m a ditz. I look and sound and act like a dumb American and I’m never going to get past it. I didn’t even know this barrier existed. How do I fix this? Everyone must think I’m so idiotic.

I want to be cool. I want to look less eager to please. I want to fit in so that I can be known for my intelligence and not for my perkiness. But everyone take a second to remember that icebergs sparkle in the sunlight too. 

*****

It’s scary, but it’s what we like. 

I’m sitting in a historic assembly hall at the beginning of a taught postgraduate welcoming ceremony and the dean, maybe, of postgraduate students is giving a quick talk to kick things off. She’s talking about the importance of balancing studying with life outside the classroom, which is made especially difficult for postgrads as we all like to study. It’s okay. We can admit it. “It’s scary, but it’s what we like.”

The gathered group laughed and the talk moved on but I took a note because it was an important moment to me. I’ve earned a place here. I’m going to love what I’m doing this year and I’m allowed to love doing it. And so is everyone else in that room. So much of undergrad and life in my twenties has been about experiencing things and being with friends and figuring out what you love, and I’ll do all of that here too, but I’m so comforted to know that the purpose I came here with is the purpose I’m expected to pursue. Being back at school feels right. 

I think I’m going to like it here.