Is it Better to Be Embarrassed or Quiescent?

From Le Grande Nomade,

There is a particular kind of quiet that descends on a person as they fill out a Fulbright application. It is not the exact feeling of peaceful concentration of productive work, nor the meditative stillness of studying for an exam. It is a tense, humming quiet. A sort of self-conscious performance of seriousness where the performer is not entirely convinced that the role belongs to them. In many ways, the Fulbright process is less a test of one’s qualifications and more a prolonged confrontation with a familiar companion: self-doubt.

We tend to imagine successful people (in this case, Fulbrighters) as recognizable archetypes. In my mind, this mystical group of people have an expansive vocabulary, a resume that screams of confidence, and a future that seems inevitable. An email signature with fewer exclamation marks than we commoners use. They speak about their work as though the world has been waiting for it. In my imagination, they are people who knew they were destined to represent their nation abroad since kindergarten, when they color-coded their library books and developed a taste for leadership.

This “kind of person” who wins prestigious things is a mash-up from brochures, university web pages, and the mythmaking given to us through social media: "watch me get accepted into all seven Ivy League schools!" (they're not counting Cornell). The tragedy, and maybe the comedy, is that many of us absorb the myth long before we have any achievements worth mythologizing. By the time I sat down to write a Fulbright statement, the imagined winner had already loomed over my shoulder. Their resume was star-studded, and their temper was tranquil. I suspect that this is the same phenomenon that propels imposter syndrome. It is not a belief that we are unqualified, but that qualifications must look a certain way and that our way, inevitably, is the wrong one.

Self-doubt is unfashionable to admit but pervasive to feel. It has its own strange etiquette. You do not reveal it outright; you offer it in self-deprecating increments, lightly salted so that no one mistakes it for insecurity. It’s a way of hedging against disappointment. If you claim you “don’t expect to get it,” then you can’t be accused of hubris if you don’t.

Yet the Fulbright process has a way of turning this polite hesitation into a dramaturgy. You must argue for your brilliance while privately suspecting you’re merely proficient. You must present your research as both globally significant while feeling irrelevant. You must perform confidence for strangers who may or may not believe a word of it.

The tension between the inner monologue (“Who am I to do this?”) and the outward narrative (“Who better than me?”) creates a cognitive dissonance that would be funny if it weren’t so exhausting.

During my first week in Belgium, I met up with another Fulbrighter. In the corner of a wooden booth- I was eating vanilla ice cream, the other a cup of coffee- she tells me that she went over her application, wondering if somewhere along the way she lied about her abilities because to be given this much trust and responsibility felt grand. She, of course, didn't lie, but with self-doubt, it feels like you have. But here is my theory. The people who feel none of this, are not necessarily the ones whose proposals are most compelling. Confidence may be persuasive, but the ability to admit the gap between where you are now and where you hope to be is far more personable.

When people talk about Fulbright, they talk about an exchange program, a diplomatic gesture. But less discussed is how the process functions as a mirror that returns your self-image to you in exaggerated form. Applying forces you to imagine yourself as someone who can and should propose an idea worth sending across borders.

This act of imagining is uncomfortable for anyone who has lived quietly, consumed by work that feels meaningful but unremarkable. But it is also liberating. For many, the most radical part of the application is not the research design or the cultural engagement statement. The best part is permitting oneself to imagine oneself in another part of the world, devoting oneself entirely to a new way of thinking and learning.

Fulbright alumni pages are filled with stories of success that read like the polished origin stories of superheroes. The pianist who revitalized music education in rural Malaysia. The poet whose fieldwork in Latvia led to an award-winning book.

These narratives often skip the part where that same poet procrastinated for two weeks because they felt unworthy, or the pianist who rewrote their proposal six times because they feared sounding either too ambitious or not ambitious enough. Believing in this mythology makes it easier to give up. "It was never going to be me because I am not like them," and "I am not like them because it was never going to be me." It’s not that these people never doubted themselves. No one really cares about the many sketches; all you see are the finished paintings.

This doubt can come up even when everyone around you is rooting for you. For example, I had amazing support from KSU staff and mentors. People who trusted me and dedicated time to supporting my application. In a way, this amount of support increased the embarrassment. Some might feel that if they "fail," they would be disappointing so many people. In truth, most Fulbright applicants, even the eventual winners, are people with ideas and half-finished sentences. They have research ideas that feel too small or too large, with backspaces that outnumber the characters left on the screen. They are people who worry that their project is too niche, or too broad, or too earnest, or not earnest enough. They are people who rehearse enthusiasm because they fear sincerity might betray their uncertainty. They are people who apply not because they are sure of themselves, but because something inside them whispers that maybe, despite everything, they are allowed to try.

For all the mystique, the Fulbright process is less a coronation of the preordained and more an exercise in clarity. It rewards people who can articulate why they care about something and what they hope to do with it. It rewards people who can imagine themselves as part of a larger human project. It does not reward perfection. It does not reward the absence of doubt. It rewards the presence of a plan and ambition. In that sense, the Fulbright application is not about being the “kind of person” who succeeds. It’s about temporarily suspending the belief that such a person exists.

The Lame and the Blind by Charles Albert Szukalski

Of course, there is still the dark feeling in the pit of your stomach saying, "What if I don't get it?". All those requests for letters of recommendation and host affiliations. All those people and all that time for nothing. This is where the act of not trying feels like it saved you from the embarrassment of failing, but it doesn't. Refusing to allow yourself to grow or take risks doesn't stop you from feeling embarrassed; it just keeps you where you are. This is where you have to ask yourself, what is more embarrassing: having tried and failed, no never having tried at all? No one gives you an award for trying, sure - but you don't get one for abandoning your dreams either. Putting yourself out there is hard; living your entire life thinking "what if" is harder.

Perhaps the most honest measure of the Fulbright experience, whether or not one receives the grant, is the transformation in self-perception it forces. I recall, after all was said and done with my application, reflecting on all the work my mentors and I have done. I spent hours editing and re-editing, reading feedback, and reaching out for letters of recommendation. The time, focus, and energy I put into my Fulbright application demanded of me something I had never had to confront before. And for that, I was happy to have gone through the process, even if I didn't win.

 The ability to write about your work with earnest conviction is its own kind of education. The realization that the imagined successful person is, in fact, just another anxious human being is another. Success is often a performance, and applying to Fulbright is the dress rehearsal that reveals the stage lights, the script margins, the makeup smudges. I learned that achievement is less about embodying an archetype and more about choosing, again and again, to step into the light while carrying your doubts with you.

Self-doubt doesn’t disqualify you. It doesn’t even diminish you. It simply means you’re aware of the gap between who you are and who you hope to become.

That’s the real requirement for a Fulbright or any other accomplishment. The willingness to imagine yourself beyond the borders of your own self-mythology.