The Mormon's first day at Harvard...

I was sticky in a way I didn't know was possible. I felt as though I had been stuck in a hot tub with thousands of gummy bears for multiple hours. I was wearing what I refer to as my "apple jumper" because I had come to Boston with a wardrobe ill equipped to handle any extreme temperatures and my apple jumper was the coolest item of clothing I owned. My feet hurt as they burned against the friction of a hot day and my brisk pace. I wanted to be early. I wanted to make sure to have my reading done before class (for the first and only time) and I wanted to lose the strange fellow on the bicycle who appeared to be following me. And so began my first day at Harvard.

I searched frantically through my bag for my id card, the library wouldn't let you in without an id. And then he appeared. The Bicycle Bandit... I answered a bunch of introductory questions. I heard about his burgeoning career as a musician. I internally rolled my eyes as he told me about his late night recording session and then proceeded to scold myself for judging a musician on my first day of grad school in "arts in education." I wondered how stoned he was. I wondered how it was humanly possible for the combination of my humidity hair and apple jumper not to have dissuaded his pursuit of me. I waited for him to ask me for money. I anticipated signing a petition. He asked me for neither. Instead he asked me the question I was dreading, the question I knew I would get asked all day.

"Where are you from?" he asked. "Utah." "Oh, are you a Mormon?" 

I proceeded to answer several questions about Mitt Romney. I informed him I was a Democrat. I agreed with him when he compared Mormons to Puritans. I racked my brain to remember the faith base and practices of Puritans. Did they make furniture? Have long beards? Wear frumpy apple jumpers? I actually knew nothing about Puritans…He told me that his parents would be ok with a Mormon just not a Republican… He asked me if I wanted to get coffee sometime. I did the polite thing and gave him my number. It was the first time I had been asked out by a complete stranger. I didn't know better. It wasn't as though I had been given lots of practice turning down random men in bars. I left somewhat ashamed and somewhat proud. At least he knew Mormons could be Democrats. 

I arrived in class. I sat next to a lovely woman. She asked me… "Where are you from?" "Utah." "Oh, are you a Mormon?" "Mitt Romney?" I failed again. At least now two people now knew that you could  be a Mormon and a Democrat. I listened as my classmates spoke. Brilliance! I felt inadequate. I knew they were all smarter. I watched them cry. Discomfort. I wondered what they assumed. I let myself sink into my own apple jumpered, frizzy, left, Mormon corner of existence and disappear. This was day one…

I have thought a lot about my first day of grad school the past couple weeks. I have thought about the mistakes, the assumptions, and the pride I got caught in that day. I have always been from the smaller island off of the main island of misfit toys. I am accustom to feeling peculiar. But never before that day had I felt more like I didn't fit. I wasn't being a "good" academic and I wasn't being a "good" Mormon. I didn't belong to either my secular or spiritual world. I was adrift in my own fears that my classmates would assume I was strange, unintelligent and perhaps even bigoted if they knew I belonged to the most misunderstood faith in the Western world. I let my fears about their potential assumptions keep them from knowing me or better understanding my faith. I prayed Mitt Romney would't say something stupid and assured them that I didn't have the business qualifications of expertise to be kept in one of his binders…

At the conclusion of my first semester we were asked to submit a paper summarizing what we considered the most important "habits of mind" to develop in ourselves as educators and to cultivate in our classrooms. Our papers were visible to anyone in our cohort who desired to read them. One of the habits I focused on was the importance of freeing ourselves of assumption and I wrote about how fearing my classmates' perception of my faith had not only kept me from being knowable but teachable. 

A few weeks into the Christmas break I received an email from the classmate I considered to be the brightest, most intense, and most intimidating. I cried as I read it. Though we came from very different backgrounds and belonged to different faiths, she somehow understood my isolation perfectly. Her empathy emancipated me and I returned the second semester with no fear of being asked where I was from or what I believed. 

The experience opened me to recognize the genuine kindness of my classmates, and I was often taught a deeper understanding of the tenets I believed through their most gracious and generous examples. I was taught deeper reverence for creation and for the eternal potential of being a creator. I was taught to have greater faith in things working out for a reason. I was taught a stronger appreciation for agency and the value of choice and experience. I was taught there was sanctity and value in my own personal story. Most importantly I was taught that empathy transcends belief systems, political affiliations, sexual preferences, or anything else that may divide us. The chief characteristic of deity is empathy and we all could benefit through seeking to better cultivate this attribute within ourselves. 

The past couple weeks I have felt a bit like the frizzy, fat, failure sitting in her apple jumper on her first day at Harvard. I got rejected from school to pursue a phd, looked heinous in the bridesmaid dress for one of my best friend's upcoming nuptials, am only working part time and have no romantic prospects. Most my friends have either experienced great academic/career achievements or are thriving in their personal lives. I have yet to really accomplish either. Like that first day at Harvard I started to feel ashamed of my own story in light of a couple of really difficult weeks. However, as I have reflected on the wisdom of the past year I have realized my story is a triumph, and a miracle. I am no longer afraid to say, I am from Utah, I am a Mormon, I have a deep and unwavering belief in God and Jesus Christ. I believe it was only through the tender mercies of the Lord that I am still alive. I believe if the purpose of my life is merely to attest to that miracle than that is enough for me. I believe we all could do better at following the examples of my dear classmates and seek to recognize and validate the personal narratives of others. I believe that no matter what we believe, we should strive to make empathy the crowning characteristic of our lives.