Finding Joy (and stress) in the Process

I thought about the last time I felt this anxious, as I constantly refreshed my twitter feed waiting on updates from the Truman Scholars Foundation. I’d read every blog, talked to everyone I knew that affiliated and constantly questioned my credibility for this scholarship. I imagined the ideal candidate having a 4.0, going to an Ivy, quoting Shakespeare, and having founded their own nonprofit. I’m not even in honors and sometimes (often) don’t do my required reading for English class. I read the scoring charts, wondered if people like the dean of Harvard law who could be reading my application, would find me acceptable, even though for one question I wrote about something in high school.

In December, I made the tough decision to leave DC, with one of the main reasons being the opportunity to apply. As I anxiously awaited a tweet saying the Texas/Louisiana region was being announced, my heart raced and I was constantly anxious all day Friday. Nothing came. I, along with 2 other TCU nominees had to wait another day.

I woke up at 5 am on Saturday unable to sleep, and decided to get ready and head to the airport for my flight to DC for an advocacy conference. As I got on the plane they made the 10^th out of 16 cities announcement. No more until lunchtime they said. We had a 25 minute layover in Little Rock, Arkansas and I immediately checked my email. If you get an email it will tell you you’re a finalist, if you’re not you get nothing. They had just tweeted LA/TX results were out.

On my flight, I was reading my bible study, Stuck, by Jennie Allen. This chapter was on discontent. It said “We want to be significant.” “When we search and find and don’t find and our disappointed, we miss the picture, we sometimes miss everything, the only thing. God and his plan.” I thought, what if this isn’t in the cards for me. I was so anxious because I had poured so many of my vulnerabilities, struggles, and aspirations into a document that random strangers would pour over for 5 minutes in their leather arm-patched blazers making tons of red marks on my finished product that took so many hours.

But, at that moment I realized how much I’d learned about myself and others just by writing this document. I’d worked the hardest for anything since cross country and certainly in academics. But on the grounds of sharing your vulnerabilities, you reach others. I connected with others and they connected with me. Professors who I would have never had for class helped me, challenged me, and believed in me.

Congrats you’re a finalist. I went numb on my short layover in Arkansas. I called my parents, emailed my professors, texted two of my Truman friends who proofread and then literally 2 minutes later, here I am, enroute to DC. Tears overcame me, and of course I began stressing about the interview which is in a month.

But, truly I can say that no matter what happens with the rest of the process, President Truman, your successors tested my patience and made me a better person. And thanks: to everyone, but especially to Dr. Pitcock, Dr. Bouche, Dr. Jackson, Ms. Kelsey, Whitney, Kam, Leslie, Kathleen, my parents and my friends, who read draft after draft and listened to my tears and frustration, and put up with my anti-socialness, You’re actually the best.