I stood in front of my computer screen, heart pounding, as I clicked refresh for what felt like the 100th time. It was Ivy Day, the moment of truth that I had been eagerly anticipating for months. Harvard University (Mass.), what I thought to be the holy grail of academic achievement, was my dream school, the beacon of hope in a sea of uncertainty and pressure. But as the page loaded and the words “We regret to inform you …” stared back at me, my world came crashing down.
For years, I had bought into the lie that success could be measured by the name on your diploma. Raised in a society obsessed with productivity and perfection, I had internalized the belief that my worth was tied to my academic achievements. Every late-night study session, every extracurricular activity, every sacrifice made in pursuit of excellence — all of it was supposed to culminate in acceptance letters from the most prestigious institutions.
As I sat there, staring at the rejection letter from Harvard, I could not help but feel like a failure. It was not just a rejection from a school; it was a rejection of everything I had been taught I should be: exceptional, accomplished and flawless. In the eyes of society, I had fallen short, missed the mark and failed to meet the impossible standards set by a culture that glorified perfection at any cost.
In the days and weeks that followed, I found myself grappling not only with feelings of inadequacy and self-doubt but also with a profound sense of uncertainty about my future path. I couldn’t shake the nagging question of what my next steps should be. Would I still be able to achieve my goals and aspirations to become not just a doctor, but the doctor — one capable of changing the world and truly healing people — without the validation of an Ivy League acceptance? Would attending a different school be enough to propel me toward success, or would I be forever haunted by the specter of “what if” in comparison to those who had secured spots at more prestigious institutions? My father often reminisced on the opportunity he could not take after declining his acceptance to Columbia University (N.Y.) due to the financial burden it would have placed on his family. He spoke at length about my future, planning it as if I could do what he never could. Then, the reality of this rejection made me feel as if I had failed not only myself but also my family. The weight of these expectations bore down on me, and the pressure to succeed, to excel, to prove my worthiness in a world that I thought was based on a single admissions decision, was suffocating.
As I allowed myself to sit with my disappointment and confront the harsh realities of the system I believed in, a shift began to occur. It was now three weeks after I had learned I had gotten into Emory University, and I found myself on a two-hour plane ride to Atlanta. My mother never left my side, squeezing my hand with excitement as the student tour guide took me and 10 other wide-eyed teenagers across campus toward the Winship Cancer Institute. It was my first time visiting the school and not only was it warm, lush and green, I could also feel the energy coming off the students as they raced across the Quadrangle. Smiles, excitement and chatter about being approved to pursue an honors thesis. Students genuinely seemed to like it here, and maybe I could too.
It wouldn’t be until months later that I realized my worth was not determined by the name of the institution stamped on my diploma. In all realness, I am still confronting this reality, one day at a time. I have to remind myself that all names are written with the same 26 letters of the alphabet: “Harvard,” “Emory,” “Rutgers.” At the end of the day, I am privileged to be able to pursue higher education in any capacity. I am not defined by the acceptance or rejection of an elite university. Speaking with my parents and realizing their faith and trust in me and my ability to make the most of any environment I’m in, I realized that no institution could define the bandwidth of their love. Wasn’t that why they were sending me over 800 miles away? To determine what I wanted to do and how I would make my dreams a reality? My value as a person was not contingent upon my ability to meet the arbitrary standards of success set by American productivity culture.
In labeling the problem for what it was — a toxic culture of competition and comparison that pits young people against each other and measures their worth by the institutions they attend — I found liberation. I saw through the illusion of the Ivy League bubble, recognizing it for what it truly was: a construct designed to perpetuate privilege and the myth of meritocracy.
And so, I made a choice. I chose to reject the false promises of perfectionism and embrace the messy, imperfect reality of being human. I chose to redefine success on my own terms — to prioritize authenticity and integrity over accolades and achievements. I chose to burst the bubble that had confined me for so long, stepping into a world where my worth is not determined by the prestige of my future alma mater but by the depth of my character and the authenticity of my journey.
At Emory, I discovered pockets of community that shared my interests with the same strong-headed intensity I did. Pockets that valued authenticity and diversity, where success was measured not by the ranking of “Top 10” attributed to its name but by the depth of one’s character and the impact of one’s actions. Surrounded by peers who were passionate about making a difference in the world, I felt a sense of belonging that transcended the narrow confines of academic prestige.
But perhaps most importantly, it was in the moments of vulnerability and connection I have experienced at Emory that I truly began to find myself. Whether it was late-night conversations with friends, volunteering in the local community or exploring new passions and interests in environmental science, I discovered the power of human connection to heal and inspire.
As I reflect on my first six months at Emory, I am struck by the profound impact the school has had on my journey of self-discovery. Walking from my introductory chemistry class to my Ethics and Servant Leadership seminar, I realized the opportunities in front of me. Whether or not I would be able to find equivalent or “superior” ones elsewhere has become irrelevant in the equation. I am lucky to be at a place where I can find common interests in climate justice, like through the Emory Climate Reality Project, and student entrepreneurship, like through The Hatchery, within walking distance. It was here that I learned to embrace my imperfections and celebrate my unique identity, free from the constraints of societal expectations. It was here that I found the courage to challenge the status quo and advocate for change in a world that too often values conformity over authenticity.
In bursting the bubble of my own preconceptions, I have come to realize that true success lies not in the pursuit of external validation but in the pursuit of personal growth and fulfillment. Emory has taught me that life is not a competition to be won but a journey to be embraced, filled with moments of joy, struggle and everything in between.
Emory is by no means a perfect institution, but I can honestly say that I want to be part of the class that changes this community. I want to have a say in making a real difference here, whether that be writing on The Emory Wheel’s Editorial Board hoping to improve a decision made by a campus dean or uniting groups of people who might have met only if we had a football team. In the end, Emory has not only shaped my perspective on life but has also empowered me to live authentically, boldly and unapologetically. And for that, I am grateful.
Eliana Liporace (27C) is from Englewood Cliffs, N.J.
