Day 16: When You Try Your Best But You Don't Succeed

On Saturday night, I stood beside four other competitors in front of a stage at a hotel ballroom. The five of us had made it to the final round of Original Oratory and we, along with the audience before us, anxiously waited to hear the results. Only the first and second place winners would advance to Nationals. I did not feel that I would be named state champion, but I had hoped like I had never before hoped for anything in my life that I would place second. But I placed third, a ranking that I always liked to call "the Abyss" because of the deep gash it always leaves behind. And also because the Third Place serves as the "middle ground" between the Top Two and the Bottom Two in everything. (Except there is no "ground"--it's a precipice that separates the higher ledge on which First and Second stand and the lower ledge with Fourth and Fifth.)

I placed third at the state spelling bee when I was in eighth grade. I placed third in JV Policy as a freshman. I placed third in the American Legion Oratorical Contest earlier this year. Now I'm third in the state for Oratory. And each time, Thirdie's condescending "Nope, almost, sweetie, but you're just not good enough" slap in the face has thrown me against the wall.

Countless phrases that begin with the words "Maybe I should have" keep popping into my head. Maybe I should have made the changes Toks suggested I make. Maybe I should have practiced more. Maybe I should have cut the piece down just a bit so that I could considerably slow down in the beginning. Maybe I should have taken a huge risk before the tournament. In hindsight, I believe that I could have and should have done much more.

All day on Sunday, and all day today, I kept imagining Toks coming to school with a National Qualifier plaque and telling me that for some reason, one of the two Nationals qualifiers can't go to Indiana this summer and so I would have to go instead. But the chances of this happening are, of course, practically zero. Earlier this evening, Toks texted me, informing me that yes, both students are going to Nats. There is now absolutely no hope of me going.

There is a certain type of special sadness that is also hopeful in a beautifully painless way. This is not the sadness that I feel right now. Rather, I think it's the sort of sadness that needs only time. I cried on Saturday night, once I got home from the awards banquet. I cried all day on Sunday as I let myself indulge on dark chocolate and movies. And I cried a couple of times today. I don't think I'm bitter. Maybe I was for a little while on Sunday, but now I'm just overcome by a crippling sadness.

One of the reasons why I love speech and debate was the fact that it never mattered whether I was in the middle of a 5-minute rebuttal or impromptu speech, a 10-minute program or oration, or an 8-minute constructive, and it never mattered whether it was only for practice or for the real thing, I have always felt invested in everything that I was saying. I would think about and believe in the words that come out of my mouth simply because they are my own. I learned that my beliefs and opinions have value and that I could make others see their value through speaking. I think this is what happiness means: feeling like your head and heart are in the right place at the same time. 

But, right now, my heart is trying hard to play catch-up with my mind. 

I know that I am not a failure. But I feel like one. 

I know that this was not worthless. But I feel like it was all for nothing. 

I know that my coaches are proud of me. But I feel like I disappointed them all.

I know that my teammates do not think less of me. But I feel like I have let them down.

I know that this is not the end of the world. But it certainly feels like it is.

I know it will take my heart some time, so I'm waiting.

During my Senior Spotlight speech, I reminded the underclassmen of the uncertainty that is inherent in competing in speech and debate. No matter how many speeches you make, no matter how many rounds you finish, no matter how many tournaments in which you compete, there is never a way to predict the results accurately. So many that can ultimately determine the outcome at the very end are simply out of our hands. We do not have control over who will judge our rounds and what or how they will think. We do not have control over who our opponents will be. We do not have control over which side we will argue. We do not have control over the speaking order. But participating in speech and debate teaches you to master the things over which you do have control such as your words, the tone you use, your attitude towards the judges, and much more. I think I displayed that kind of mastery during the final round and I feel proud of myself. I know that all of my competitors were very good, and I wish it could have been me going up to Indiana but the honor is well-deserved by the two students who are going.

Many people on campus--peers, teachers, school staff--more readily recognize me as a speech and debater than anything else. I have always been the girl who always walks around and sits at random benches and corners, talking to herself in an effort to memorize a prepared speech. For the past four years, I have built a major part of my identity around public speaking. As weird as it may sound, I like being "the speech and debate girl." And I think this is what brings a person true fulfillment: recognition for simply doing something that you love. 

In speech and debate, I have made the hardest decisions. Here, I have shed bitter tears. Here, I have laughed loudly and heartily. Here, I have felt the safety of a true friend's hug and the comfort of a warm hand. Here, I have become stronger in every way imaginable. Here, I have struggled and triumphed. Here, I have grown and learned. God knows that I have loved every moment of this journey. 

To say that speech and debate has been an important part of my life and who I am is definitely an understatement. I now feel incredibly lost without the constant pressure to finish revising my speeches, research and print out evidence, write the aff case, cut cards, scrimmage with my teammates and practice in front of my coaches. Never again will I have to go to practice after school. Believe it or not, it hurts so much to say that. 

I wish it could have ended in another way. I wish it could have ended at Nationals this summer, with my teammates and coaches. But it didn't. It ended on Saturday, and I wasn't completely ready for it. Nevertheless, I will be better soon. I know will be okay.

Risks: 18
Hugs: I've stopped counting.

Current food obsessions/cravings: Wheaties

Playlist(s) on Repeat: "Wallow" (8-song version)