Love Things That Don’t Love You Back

I pole vaulted in high school. For your reference, I stand a mere one inch above five feet, and I’ve got the build of a gymnast rather than a jumper. I was atrocious. I skewered myself semi-regularly, and my most spectacular failure involved a nine-foot pole ending up in some seven different pieces. 

I absolutely loved it. 

When I moved across the country before middle school, and then again before high school, and then again to college, my mom said the same thing every time: “Join things.” Importantly, she forgot to tell me to be good at them. I became a pole vaulter, debater, figure skater, choir singer, volunteer, and even a defensive end on a flag football team. (Let us remember again that I am 5-foot-1.) I met my people in these activities and found the things I loved, outcomes not at all correlated to my natural aptitude. 

The third time I started over, I was alone, beginning my freshman year at the University of Pennsylvania. I had my formula down. I threw myself into everything I could: a capella, spoken word poetry, club figure skating, chamber choir, consulting clubs, campus tours, tutoring. Two weeks later, I was bawling into the phone telling my mom I had chosen the wrong school. No matter how hard I tried, what angle I approached from, I was rejected from everything. 

This was new for me. Not because I had been talented at everything I had tried before, but because I had never encountered such high barriers to extracurricular activities. I had only ever needed two things: a willingness to walk in the door, and a willingness to fail on the way to being better. At Penn, that was not enough. In fact, those skills weren’t even recognized. 

Trust me, I ran the gauntlet in terms of getting in: Four rounds of interviews, 10 essay questions, and a name-drop-who-you-know competition were the bare minimum. But I could never figure out the system. I spent my entire freshman year activity-less. Woe was me. But it was less my personal experience with a lack of extracurriculars that discouraged me, and instead the broader attitude towards failure — or even just non-perfection — within the Penn community. It was truly frowned on to be bad at anything. Embarrassing, actually. In an institution that prides itself on education, the true learning that inevitably involves failure was nowhere to be found. I was incredibly disappointed to be surrounded by brilliant, qualified, astounding peers, none of whom were excited to leap into something they weren’t already good at. 

That is not to say, however, that I blame those peers. The atmosphere of the East Coast, Ivy League schools, and higher education in general, carefully avoids promotion of failure. In a school where everyone already seems to have a head start — something that “got them in” — you’re better off leaning into where you’re already talented rather than playing the field to find something new. Consulting clubs who work for real clients need students who know what they’re doing. Firms start recruiting sophomore year. Connections are made from the first time you set foot on campus. No one has time for failure. This is compounded by the fact that all 10,000 Penn students absolutely ran the schools they came from, and no one wants to go from the top of the stack to the bottom. Starting all over is not only intimidating but terrifying in this peer group, comprised of people who are no longer impressed by anything you’ve ever done. 

These are the conditions, unfortunately, that pose a problem for someone like me, who happens to enjoy things that she’s terrible at. I don’t mind being the first person to fall down and laugh at themselves, and I like improving almost more than I like succeeding. I’ve always been “coachable” rather than talented, well-rounded rather than a prodigy. I’m a math major while simultaneously being someone whose worst subject was always math. I started teaching myself the piano because I can’t read music for my life. In every group I had belonged to before college, I just needed to be brave enough to take the first step — fall the first time. Then, inevitably, others who were just as eager as I would follow. At Penn, I took that step, embarrassed myself, and ended up alone. People turned the other way. If something already comes naturally, if you’re already praised for it, why try anything that wouldn’t get you the same results? 

My closest friends at Penn are a Japanese pop star, a Wharton student who has yet to be rejected from anything, and an influencer. In that friend group, I’m the “well-rounded” one. I’m the only one without a trademark. And you know what? I think well-rounded-ness is underrated. I think failure is underrated. 

I love the University of Pennsylvania, and I am consistently awed to be surrounded by such a diversely talented peer group. But I wish more students loved things that didn’t love them back. Auditioned for a play in college with no theater experience. Sang at an open coffee house for no personal gain other than a fun time. Chose classes based on their interests instead of their future G.P.A. It’s not their fault that these things seem intimidating. As we get older, I believe people tend to mistake talent for adventurousness. At a school of 10,000, people have incredibly diverse experiences and natural aptitudes. This diversity conceals the fact that no one has reached outside of their comfort zone to find something new. 

Every year, thousands of students apply to elite institutions, all with their own astonishing applications. From admission onward, students feel a continuous pressure to excel. Trying something new means falling behind. Stepping out of your comfort zone means ostracizing yourself from peers who all have “found their lane.” We are 18 years old when we arrive on campus. Screw the lane. 

As I head into my sophomore year, I am proud to say I have learned absolutely nothing. (Kidding, kidding. I learned incredibly valuable lessons.) But I’m not going to change my formula. I will continue to throw myself into things I am generally worthless at and then get better. 

Grace Burke is a rising sophomore at the University of Pennsylvania studying math and sociology. She's originally from Denver, Colorado.