Embracing Being Out-of-Place

I have received an overwhelming amount of “congratulations” within the past day. I am so humbled to see there are so many people out there who believe in me.

The truth is, I have struggled to believe in myself.

I never felt like I measured up to my experiences, like I wasn’t suppose to be there, whether that be an amazing internship opportunity or my grades in school. I’d like to tell you that I was a straight-A student in high school and college with an endless list of extracurriculars and networks. But when my name gets announced at graduation in May, it won’t be followed by a magna cum laude, or even a cum laude. 

Not even two months ago, I would have been ashamed to tell you my GPA. Ashamed at the large number of companies who turned away my application because I didn’t have a 3.5. Ashamed at the amount of C’s I have on my transcript. Ashamed that I didn’t meet the profile of someone who deserved to work at the Fortune 500 organizations I was applying to. But mostly ashamed and fearful of being discovered that I wasn't good enough or smart enough, for being an outsider trying to fit into somewhere I don’t...

15 years ago, I immigrated to America as a 6 year old who knew not one word of English. I couldn’t even navigate school, much less the world around me. I had never felt so out-of-place, I was the very definition of an outsider. During recess, I sat under the tree on the outer edge of the playground by myself. For a week, I watched the other kids play while I cried. No one approached me. Why would they? To these kids in suburban North Carolina, I was an alien who didn’t speak or look like them. They thought so little of me. When I finally mustered up the courage to go on the swing set, the kids stared at me. I would swing by myself with my head down feeling like I was an outsider who trespassed onto someone else’s swing set.

I came home after school everyday with as brave of a face any 6 year old could pretend to have. Even at such a young age, I knew my parents had sacrificed everything to immigrate to America in search of better opportunities. They left behind their whole life and came to America with a couple dollars in their pockets and were forced to start over in low-level jobs that under-appreciated their skills. So I pretended that I was getting along great, that I belonged with the other kids on the playground playing tag and jump rope.

Being the one who adapted much quicker to a new culture than my parents who were so used to rural China, I had to learn to survive. But it wasn’t for me, I did it for my parents. My mom got by with what little English she knew while my dad struggled with being thrown into a world where he couldn’t distinguish A from B. They both leaned on me to help them navigate the world, from filling out forms to social norms. And while I had acclimated to life in America, I never felt as if I found my place. In school, I was mostly a quiet child who only spoke when spoken to and never asserted myself. I just wanted to blend in and not be seen because I didn’t know where I belonged in the world. Or worse, get stared at for trying to find out.

Even in high school when I was selected for a state-wide executive leadership position, I felt like a fraud. Especially when I learned that the person who held the position before me and after me both graduated high school and attended Harvard. 

Even in college when I placed first in a school-wide competition. I felt like I didn’t earn it. The very same classes that taught me the concepts for the competition were the same classes where I had received not-so-great grades.

Even when I landed an internship at ADP, I felt like someone was going to point out that I didn’t belong, that I didn’t have the right qualifications.

Even after Microsoft believed in me enough to fly me out to interview amongst some of the brightest soon-to-be college graduates. I kept wondering what I was doing in that room and was sure I was going to embarrass myself during the interviews.

And still, even now, as I am about to start the next chapter of my life in Seattle as a Support Engineer at Microsoft. There is still a small voice in my head saying "you are a fraud" as I stare at the "Congratulations! Welcome to Microsoft!" offer letter framed on my desk.

Because I struggled with believing that I belonged and deserved to be doing the things I did, I didn't utilize my full potential. The fear of standing out held me back from contributing my ideas and opinions. The voice in the back of my head reminded me that, if I failed, people would find out that I don't belong. Imposter syndrome is very real, and it cripples one's ability to thrive and succeed.

Now at the age of 21, I’m more out-of-place than ever and I have yet to get rid of that voice. But now that voice has become a motivation, not a restriction. Failing means that I have turned off auto-pilot where I do things as instructed. Instead, I am aware of each detail, and questioning the "why" and the "how" to try to take a different perspective to ask the "what if's" that are so vital to innovation and growth. I have also come to accept that I don’t fit in anywhere and I am starting to believe in myself and believe that I am good enough, smart enough, capable enough - and definitely not defined by the letters on my transcript. Instead of trying to find my fit in the world, I have learned to create my own fit with the opportunities I have been blessed with in order to stand out even more. Sometimes, the people who don’t “fit in” have the power to change the world the most. They are the ones who aren’t afraid to challenge the status quo, to stand out and be extraordinary.

In a world where we're always trying to "fit in" and do what everyone one else doing, isn't it more courageous to stand out? Being out-of-place means that you are out of your comfort zone. Being out-of-place means you will be challenged and pushed. Being out-of-place means you will learn and grow.

My parents didn’t make the huge sacrifice of leaving behind their family, friends, and a familiar way of life for me to be afraid of my dreams, for me to not believe in myself, or for me to “fit in” somewhere.

In remembering my roots, I honor my parents' sacrifice. In remembering my roots, my drive to achieve my dreams become stronger than ever - for me, for my mom, for my dad, for my younger sister, and for you, the reader.

So I am going to continue to being out-of-place. And you know what, I’ll build my own swing set.