When I graduated my small town East Texas high school, I thought I had my life pretty well planned out. I was enrolled to attend a University not too far from home to prevent me from visiting every other weekend, but just distanced enough to allow me the façade of independence I craved. I was majoring in news writing journalism, something I excelled at with ease and felt confident I would become incredibly rich from. I was going to make a whole group of friends with little effort, as I had in my high school, and upon collegiate graduation, marry the boy who’s attendance at my future alma mater had highly influenced my college decision. Yes, I had a very smooth life awaiting me, with no thought to a singular bump or turn derailing me from my goals.
Surprisingly enough, life had other plans.
The commencement of my first semester of freshman year found me -a student who had previously navigated the balance of studies, extra curriculars, academic clubs, and collegiate level courses in her high school career effortlessly (read: an overachiever who had never truly failed at anything in her life)- drowning under the load of 16 credit hours with barely a handful of friends and a hatred for my course studies. I was helplessly adrift in a sea of 35,000 strangers, with no networking skills and a newfound capability of soul crushing failure. In my last attempt at salvaging my college career, I turned to Greek Life, an avenue I had previously thought completely unavailable to someone like myself (a large, loud feminist with frankly less than stellar people skills). And to top it all off, I was going to be rushing as a sophomore.
That was where the real fear hit. I knew there were some chapters who would already be turned away from me before I even walked into their house. They don’t want older members, I was told, because then they will suffer in chapter total down the road. Even as I registered for formal fall recruitment, I wondered if I was even making the right choice.
I will admit, there were a few houses where girls seemed to detach from our conversation as soon as I revealed my classification, and one that was even outright rude to me for it. I have even in the years since then had an older member from another house tell me the only reason I did not receive their bid during my rush was due to my older status. And to those houses, I give a simple and heartfelt thank you. You led me home just as well as any other sign could.
If I had rushed as a freshman, I know for certain that my life would have turned out vastly different. It took me a year to learn my capacity for failure, and how to find out what abilities I had in myself to return from it. I discovered that I need a support system to stay successful, and my time alone gave me an appreciation for the sisterhood I found in my sorority. My first year taught me things about myself that I now bring into my chapter and my relationships, things I otherwise would have never understood.
I’ve heard it said that the deeper sorrow carves into you, the more joy you can contain, and I think that holds a lot of truth. Rushing as a sophomore, never mind one so opinionated and strong willed, may have been one of the most nerve wracking things I could have imagined myself doing, but it had brought me to such great heights in my life, that I can’t imagine having lived it any other way. One year, or even semester’s difference would have found me in a totally different pledge class, a different family, or perhaps not even in a chapter at all. So to any woman, whether you be a sophomore, junior, or even senior considering the Greek experience, I say go for it: your contribution to your future chapter is just as valid and respected as any other's, whether it took you a week or two years to find your way home. Falling is just the first step in learning to fly.
