Waitlisted. Waitlisted. Waitlisted.

It’s disturbing how much of an impact one word can have on your self-esteem. There was I, toward the end of my senior year, obsessing not about prom or graduation, but this one word. It followed me everywhere, erasing my smile whenever I thought about it, reminding me that no, I was not allowed to be happy. After all, what did I have to say for myself? I was no one important. I was no one to be celebrated. My last four years of high school had gone to vain - because I’d been waitlisted from my dream school.

Back then, it hurt to even think about it. I remember mornings when I would jolt out of bed, tricking myself into believing that just for one minute, one tiny minute, the decision had never come. But, then I would see it: the blaring “Thank you for your application, but…” in my email inbox. I remember physical pain - an ache in my chest, an overbearing exhaustion. My family and friends told me that everything was going to be okay. I was still going to an amazing school, right?

But, in my mind, once more: waitlisted.

No matter what I did, I couldn’t get over it. To me, it seemed as if everyone had gotten into their dream school. The Facebook statuses were enough proof - the 300 likes-100 comment combination a norm for all my successful friends. The most painful part was when I’d stop and try to imagine my life if I’d been accepted.

But, my momentary fantasy would subside on the if.

You see, ever since I was in elementary school, I was told that getting into your dream school is the number one definition of success. Forget GPA and a never-ending list of extracurriculars - if it doesn’t amount to an acceptance letter that makes you weep endlessly, then it’s not worth it.

Or, more specifically, you’re not worth it.

This statement seems too derogatory to be believable, but for a while, I believed it. I convinced myself that my success was determined by the college sweatshirt I was wearing. However, this was my high school mentality. When I stepped onto the UT campus, my perspective completely changed.

Soon, I realized that my self-worth was not determined by a word, email, or blatantly stupid social norm, but my choices. In college, we have to make so many decisions on a daily basis: should I go to class today? Should I run for a leadership position? Should I take on a volunteer opportunity? Should I talk to the person sitting alone in the dining hall? The answers to these questions constitute your decisions, which in turn shape your life path. And if you make the decisions that force you to come out of your comfort zone and explore new possibilities, then that path can definitely become your path to success.

This ideology comes easily to me now, but it took me a whole summer and a month into college to arrive at this conclusion. The first time it hit me was on a Friday afternoon, when I was entering an assisted-living learning center in Austin. Every week, I volunteer at this center with four other students, and together, we teach the elementary schoolers basic finance skills. While explaining the macroeconomic concept of opportunity cost to the young ones (in very simple terms, no fear), one of the wilder kids inched up to my face and said, “How are you so smart?”

And that’s when it came to me: not that I was smart, because of course I already knew that, but that I was capable of achieving greatness even though I hadn’t gotten into my dream school. The mere fact that I was in that learning center on a Friday, making the absolutely right decision of teaching children about the saving and budgeting skills they’ll need in the future, is proof that I can shape my own path. Because that’s the thing: your success is not defined by a higher institution or other people.

It’s defined by you and you alone.

The McCombs School of Business has exposed me to a multitude of academic and extracurricular opportunities that I try to take advantage of everyday. I cannot be more thankful to be immersed in such a competitive and diverse environment, even though it wasn’t my first choice. My time in college so far has taught me that I am essentially “the maker of my own destiny,” to be dramatic. You control where you go. You control who you become.

And no one, no one can take that away from you.

Three weeks ago, I applied to be a part of a community service committee for an organization that I am very passionate about. I knew that the odds were against me, but I took the leap of faith anyway. Why not?

When I saw the “Congratulations…” in my inbox, my heart jumped.

Accepted. Accepted. Accepted.