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Becoming fearless
By ella | April 27, 2007
It was February. Cold. Sunny. I delayed getting up, wondering if I should even bother going. But I rose reluctantly, put on my most expensive suit, my smartest boots and a pair of glasses (even though I don’t wear glasses) and headed for the station and a long train journey. In my hand was the map I had been sent and I wondered if I should walk to the building from the station or hail a taxi. It seemed easier to concentrate on the practicalities of the journey. As the train rolled through the countryside I focussed on the study notes I had brought, repeating key points and authors like mantras.
When I arrived, I walked quickly - and increasingly painfully in my uncomfortable boots - past endless buildings, colleges and purposefully-striding students. At the sprawling department an indifferent receptionist accompanied me to a small library and motioned for me to sit down. There was no sign of any place to get the cup of coffee I needed.
I was sweating with nerves; I knew I was in the wrong place and I knew they would know it too. I was certain that I had simply been invited in order to make up an interview ‘quota’. I looked at the students occupied quietly at desks, chatting in corners, working at the computers. Their conversations seemed almost unreal: I barely understood a word. I shouldn’t be here, I thought.
The interviews were running late. As the minutes ticked by I felt increasingly sick with apprehension. There was no chance they would be kind. I tried to picture three senior academics behind their desk wearing only underwear. It didn’t help. Self-affirmation? There was no chance I was going to attempt that.
As I was called in, no-one smiled. There were no preliminaries. For five minutes I was asked to discuss a subject about which I had no knowledge. I floundered my way through my own sea of guessed responses. The questioning moved onto something closer to my area of knowledge. Their heads started nodding as I spoke. The questions became increasingly difficult but I continued as best I could. Instead of firing questions at me they began to converse with me, my answers prompting more questions. By the end of the hour there was almost a kind of a flow to the interview. Almost.
After the interview a student took me on a tour of the facilities. He was overly informal but I was on my guard, knowing that his report on me would be fed back as part of the interview process. I asked interested questions, trying to sound knowledgeable. He quizzed me indirectly, making it sound like conversation. I took up the offer to meet further students, knowing it would look good even though I felt like I was dying and my feet were killing me. I simply wanted to get back on a train and go home to my familiar world.
As I left the library and started the long walk back to the station, the sky was darkening and it started to rain. My feet hurt so badly that I took off my boots and walked barefoot. But I was jubilant. Even though I had failed terribly at school and had no education to speak of, I thought I had finally done well enough to win a place. I knew there was every chance I was on a par with all those I had met that afternoon. On that long, miserable February day, I became academically fearless.
- - - - -
Four days later I received a letter informing me I had won a scholarship to Oxford. The ramifications of being accepted to read for a degree at Oxbridge have been profound and lasting. At school - many years earlier - I felt like a failure in every way (with the exception perhaps of music). Studying at Oxbridge has given me confidence in my own abilities. It has given me confidence intellectually, to hold my own in conversation, to work as an academic. It has given me the self-esteem I never had growing up in school. It has given me the confidence to teach my own child at a time when all other doors have been closed on him.
But most of all it has given me the confidence to encourage my children to achieve whatever they are capable of, to achieve whatever they want to. Because I did.
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Categories: In the Past
Save that I was poor at music, I could have written much the same piece. I would not have written anything like as well though.
Wow. I just wanted to chime in for a moment and say wow. What an amazing experience, and a powerful post. (!)
You have every reason to be proud of your achievements. I was a failure at school (didn’t try hard enough) and I have always regretted not going to university.
Ella, how did you ever fall of my blog radar? Reading this post reminds me of how much I miss visiting you. I’ll be back!
Great post Ella. I can’t think of a single thing I’ve become fearless about. In fact I think I’ve become more fearful in my old age!
Wow, inspirational story.
Congratulations!
Yes, it is an amazing experience!