I faced the sponge-shaped building, petrified by the concept of the unknown.  Simmons Hall, one of the most distinctive dorm buildings on the Massachusetts Institute of Technology campus, towered over me, framed by a grayish sky. Knots twisted in my stomach as my mom unloaded my suitcases from the rental car, paid the parking meter, and wheeled the luggage inside. Six weeks was a long time to be competing with seventy nine of the brightest young minds in the country. I wasn't exactly sure I was making the best decision.

I found out about MIT's Minority Introduction to Engineering and Science (affectionately called MITES) through my chemistry teacher. At the time, I believed her to be wrongly optimistic about my chance of acceptance, but she insisted I was a perfect fit. I subsequently researched the program and was genuinely intrigued by what it had to offer: the opportunity for learning and exploration without the weighty burden of maintaining a GPA. Completely invested, I applied, though largely doubtful of acceptance. When I received notification of my selection, a flood of emotions swept over me, the strongest of which were excitement and a sense that something big was about to happen for me.

But now, standing in front of the physical representation of my excitement, I couldn’t fathom constantly comparing myself to so many intelligent people. The asymmetric building seemed to grow, magnifying the anxiety that was building inside of me. I attempted to swallow my nerves, desperately trying to project a facade of comfort. Climbing up the stairs with an air of confidence, I strode into the belly of the beast. Upon checking in and meeting the program supervisor, I said goodbye to my mom, attempting more to assure myself than her that I would be perfectly okay. I rode the elevator up into Tower C, staring at the floor and wondering how my typical excitement and enthusiasm had melted away into a puddle of worry.

I took the C Tower elevator many more times during the summer. Fortunately, I never felt the way I had the first day again. The elevator became a method of transportation between floors for group projects, late night snack sessions, and movie nights. It became a place for thirty-second pep talks and spontaneous dance parties, and, more importantly, the people riding with me became family. My feelings of insufficiency were replaced by a reinvigorated confidence and general excitement about learning everything I could, both about others and about myself. Gone were my fears of failure; I had realized failure’s importance in my development and the benefits of not comparison, but collaboration.

I had inadvertently found what it was I was looking for this summer: I had reclaimed the love of learning for the sake of learning, a dormant passion of mine that had been buried beneath years of accumulating numbers and statistics. I experienced what it meant to question the world and to be impassioned to work towards the future, not just for a title or status, but for real progress. So much in life is accomplished not by being the best, but by being open to what others have to offer. It was this summer that I solidified that understanding and embraced transformation not just of the world, but of myself, too.