Notes

I was six years old the first time I laced up a pair of soccer cleats. The summer breeze whipped through the trees surrounding the field as I hovered near the edge of my group of teammates, my bright orange jersey clashing magnificently with the hot pink shin guards I insisted on wearing over, not under, my socks. I was the quiet, shy kid who's preoccupation with not drawing any sort of negative attention to myself was the defining characteristic of my play on the field. Six-year-old me had it all figured out: you can't make a mistake if you never touch the ball. So there.
This pursuit of perfection, or rather the simple fear of screwing up, cropped up over and over. Don’t want to get an answer wrong in front of the class? Don’t raise your hand. Don’t want to sing a wrong note? Don’t audition for the musical. I encased myself in a glass box that kept me safe, shielded me from harm as long as I didn’t break it. Attaining perfection might be difficult, but limiting opportunities to make a mistake wasn’t.
The problem was: it limited opportunities, period.
Season after season I laced up my cleats and stepped onto the soccer field. I didn’t score a lot, but I didn’t miss many shots either. And my coaches would yell from the sidelines that I needed to talk more, but I didn’t say the wrong thing often either. Did I lead the team in goals? No. In assists or breakaways or stealing the ball? No, but I probably led the team in not making mistakes.
High school came and with it came a flood of new opportunities. Now I had the chance to pursue my interests in business and law and journalism, to perform Shakespeare, to run for class office...but most of these would in some way require leaving the box. If I auditioned for the mock trial team and didn’t make it, would people talk about me? Would they whisper biting speculations about why I even bothered trying out? No, I realize now, but the walls of my box had grown too thick, had expanded too far, and they obstructed my view. I wrung my hands in worry. I consulted with friends. I analyzed and overanalyzed.
Eventually, ambition and passion won, and I found myself signing up to run for freshman class treasurer. The thought of hanging posters with my name on them all over the school made my stomach churn. What if I made a mistake when choosing slogans or designs? The thought of giving a speech to my entire grade made my palms sweat. I would undoubtedly make a mistake beyond the bounds of recovery. But present amid all these worries was a drive to succeed and a genuine desire to help my class start our time in high school off on the right foot.
So I hung my posters after spending a great deal of time brainstorming and selecting slogans and designs. The election, an especially big deal given it was our class’s first one ever, weaved it’s way into my classmates’ conversations, and I braced myself. For gossip, for negativity, for people to whisper that I’d made a mistake in deciding to run.
But instead a girl in my global studies class told me she was going to vote for me. She said with a smile and shrug that I was nice and smart. And someone else in math said I had their vote and someone else on the soccer team. I hadn’t expected support apart from my friends, but through taking a risk I learned that I had some.
Merely running wasn’t the only hurdle of course. My box was definitely not durable enough for public speaking, especially not to a gymnasium full of peers. And yet I was stepping up to the podium. I introduced myself into the microphone and spoke of my goals, my heart a runaway train racing faster and faster as my voice echoed through the room. And then it was done and I was walking away from the podium with shoulders slumped in relief but head held high in pride. I’d succeeded. I guess there my box was a bit more durable then I’d thought.
I went into the election fearing the worst, but still hoping for the best. I found that I was capable of taking risks and having positive things come of it and that my worst-case scenarios were not the reality.
Election results came swiftly and revealed that I was not the new freshman class treasurer. Disappointment washed over me as I came to terms with defeat. Strangely, however, I felt in my chest a warm ray of triumph. In the first months of high school I’d managed to do something I wouldn’t have thought myself capable of. Something that might be no big deal for many people, but was outlandish to someone who had spent years hiding in a box that she convinced herself was so fragile it could fall apart with one wrong move.
The experience of running for class office, early on in my high school career, was a turning point for me. It showed me that in order to have a chance at success I had to put myself out there, and that doing so, even when I failed, wasn’t the end of the world. It gave me the courage to go after things and with enough persistence in pursing goals, I was able to find success in many of them. I auditioned for mock trial and made the team, working my way up to captain. I ran for New York State treasurer of Future Business Leaders of America (in the process, giving a speech in front of a crowd four or five times as large as the one freshman year) and was elected.
When I lace up my cleats and step onto the soccer field, my decisions are motivated by a will to make things happen and not a fear to make mistakes. I make plays, call out to teammates, shoot the ball.
Most of all, I make mistakes capable of breaking the box, but it’s okay. I don’t live inside that box anymore.