The lost election

In high school, I thrived in extracurricular activities. After suppressing my extroverted personality for eight hours of class, after-school activities allowed me to unleash it. Clubs were an opportunity to find friends I would’ve never met otherwise. In my four years of high school, I served as a student ambassador, captain of the hockey team, treasurer for Habitat for Humanity and president of the German Club. At one point, I even held an officer position in the Sewing Club, which was laughable because I would’ve failed sewing class if I hadn’t bartered with my older sister; she sewed my projects in exchange for me completing her chemistry homework.

Each of the 33,488 undergraduate students enrolled at the University of Michigan had to get admitted to the #3 public university in the U.S. To be considered by the admissions office, prospective students have to not only earn excellent grades, but also participate in organizations beyond the classroom. After all, we all came with the promise of being the “Leaders and the Best.”

At the University, clubs are far more exclusive than they were in high school. Belonging to an organization grants not only networking opportunities, but career-building opportunities as well. Forget being the president — even membership in a club is barred by applications and rounds of interviews. Every student applying is already known to have excelled in high school with a strong GPA and impressive extracurriculars or they would not be on this campus; prospective members need more to stand out in the application process.

Despite the extensive list of 1,771 organizations on Maize Pages, getting involved on campus is not as easy as the Student Life Admissions homepage claims, often leaving students grappling with rejection and looking ahead to the next application cycle to try again. 

Once, I was a happy fish in a small pond of 1,000-some students at North Hunterdon High School, where it didn’t take much to stand out. No one saw one other as competitors. Now, I’ve become a guppy swimming among sharks — sharks who don’t join extracurriculars for friends, but rather to get one step closer to the next opportunity.

As students spend the academic year battling to secure summer internships, connections afforded by membership in elite clubs seem to grant the best odds. Since organizations and connections are widely sought after, charm won’t be nearly enough to get your foot in the door.

Following my medical retirement from playing rugby, I found a way to stay around the team without having to risk my body. Grasping at straws to remain in my community on campus, I ran to be the team’s fundraising chair. If I’m being frank, I mainly did it because I thought I was running uncontested.

Unlike high school, there are actual responsibilities to be held in college student-run organizations. Sure, I was Habitat for Humanity treasurer in high school, but I didn’t really handle the money. There was a teacher who served as the club’s advisor and handled everything 16 year olds cannot be trusted with, like possessing the cash from bake sales and investing it back into the club. Actually, I have no idea what we were raising money for or where it went. Some treasurer I was.

The administrative positions for rugby, on the other hand, are like unpaid part-time jobs. I recall watching the elation of going to nationals fall into anxiety for the match secretary as the realization of being responsible for booking flights and hotel rooms for 30 players and coaches set in.

Of course, rugby match secretary is just one of the thousands of positions within student organizations that consume hours of Michigan students’ time each week. 

In an interview with The Michigan Daily, LSA senior Erin Page, co-president of Theta Alpha Psi, shared her intense time commitment.

“I would say 10 to 15 hours a week,” Page said. “And that’s divided between my co-president also, so I think if it was just one person it would be a lot more.”

Club elections were a low-stakes popularity contest in high school. I’m not saying I was unfit to be an officer for my high school extracurriculars, just that my campaign strategy was making friends in the clubs rather than actual policy. In college, however, there is an enormous level of dedication expected of all members. Take Page, for instance, who joined Theta Alpha Psi in the fall semester of her freshman year. Her first leadership position was as one of the project chairs and she was later elected vice president of member development. Now, as a senior, Page has worked up the ladder to top dog. Putting in the time early at the University is the only way to be taken seriously in any election to climb the ranks.

So when I gave my speech on why I should be fundraising chair for the rugby team, the smile on my face didn’t conceal the fact that I walked into the election knowing nothing about fundraising beyond my treasurer role from high school where I didn’t really do anything. I couldn’t bullshit my campaign like I had with the sewing club.

Upon learning that I indeed had a competitor, I immediately accepted defeat. My sense of belonging to that organization died the moment I came to my senses about stepping away from rugby. Trying to hang on with an admin position wouldn’t keep me involved.

Following my first loss in an election, all I felt was relief. Being elected as the fundraising chair would have kept me tied down to a team that I had already decided to step away from, one that I had already given so much to. My first time losing an election was a tangible representation of cutting the ties to my past identity.

Holding the position of fundraising chair probably would have taught me a good amount about the inner workings of the finances of a club sport, but nothing more. Leading merchandise sales would not serve my life postgrad in any way. What did serve my life, however, is learning to lose. In adulthood and soon graduating into the real world, I know how to find my identity rather than hanging on to something I once let define it.

With this rejection, I was left mourning, but not for the fundraising chair position — I never actually wanted it. Instead, I was faced with grieving my past self. I didn’t just lose an election for the first time, I also felt the loss of the exuberant, involved side of myself.

I don’t think I ever cared for rugby; it just spared my identity as an athlete that should’ve died when I captained my final high school hockey game. At a school with 33,488 undergraduates, I was desperate to belong to something. I became so addicted to the dopamine rush associated with athletics that my identity had become entwined with something I had no passion for. It wasn’t until I finally stopped chasing identities that I could begin growing into myself.

Statement Contributor Mikaela Lewis can be reached at mikaelal@umich.edu.

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