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Oh, hello there.

If you�Ӱ�ԭ��re just tuning in, welcome to the blog! If not, well, welcome back and buckle up. It�Ӱ�ԭ��s going to be one heck of a ride this semester. Before I jump too far into anything, I would like to introduce myself for those who are a bit new:

My name is Beatrice, your friendly neighborhood disaster, sophomore, and Nutritional Sciences major with a Pre-Medical concentration here at the University of New Haven. Before I started this blog specifically, I spent my summer writing about my microplastic research that I did through the 2023 SURF program offered here at the university. This didn�Ӱ�ԭ��t only serve as a record of my work, but it allowed students to see the sides of research that aren�Ӱ�ԭ��t always on display, such as:

• Blasting the Cupid Shuffle while dissecting samples
• [Drops empty beaker] [shatters] �Ӱ�ԭ��Ah, shoot, I needed that�Ӱ�ԭ��
• Sample taking an hour to filtrate? Solution: headbang the wall
• [Calls campus police] �Ӱ�ԭ��Hi, so I�Ӱ�ԭ��ve locked myself out of the lab
• Hangry scientist = bad scientist

In summary, I�Ӱ�ԭ��m definitely not your local Doc Ock trying to fight a teenager in red and blue. While my summer research was still wrapping up, I had the privilege to be a mentor for the 2023 First-Year Leadership Program (FLEx), a program that I was a participant in last year. FLEx offers a chance for incoming first-year students to unlock and learn new leadership, teamwork, trust, and communication skills that will help them progress through their collegiate journey as natural leaders within their community.

This year, I was in charge of nine very respectful, humorful, disciplined, and intellectual students who I found to be possibly some of the best and most innovative first-year �Ӱ�ԭ��ducklings�Ӱ�ԭ�� who I�Ӱ�ԭ��ve ever met. To all of them, I wish all the best and the happiest of times.

My decision to serve as a mentor for the FLEx program wasn�Ӱ�ԭ��t entirely because I wanted to pass on the lessons of my first year to new students:

I had beef to settle with a pole.

What is this beef you ask? Well, it�Ӱ�ԭ��s certainly not your run-of-the-mill jerky. Last year, there was a challenge on the ropes course that I wasn�Ӱ�ԭ��t quite able to complete, and I wouldn�Ӱ�ԭ��t rest until I had done it. Essentially, the challenge was to climb a 35-foot pole and jump off of it to hit an obstacle in midair before being safely lowered to the ground. While there was no pressure to attempt this feat, one of the main themes taught during FLEx was �Ӱ�ԭ��Challenge by Choice" �Ӱ�ԭ�� becoming comfortable with being uncomfortable.

And let me tell you: heights make me want to find the nearest porta-potty.

But, after some encouragement, I strapped on my gear and started the climb. At first, it wasn�Ӱ�ԭ��t so bad: the rungs passed over my hands easily and I kept my focus steadily on my path ahead. Yet, as I neared the objective, I realized that getting on top of the pole would be much more difficult than I anticipated. After a few shaky attempts, I managed to get one foot up, but the other refused to budge. I didn�Ӱ�ԭ��t know what to do; balancing was never a strong suit of mine, and apparently it was needed.

Seeing my uncertainty, my peers shouted words of encouragement that hardly registered as my mind was so much louder. You�Ӱ�ԭ��re going to fail, it insisted. You�Ӱ�ԭ��re going to stay here, stuck and afraid, unlike those who had the guts to move forward and succeed. At least five people before me had struggled too, but completed the obstacle anyway. Coward. Slowly, the tears started to roll off my face. My first semester of college hadn�Ӱ�ԭ��t even started yet and already more than ten people saw what it looked like when I cried.

Eventually, after a few more panic-inducing minutes, I gave up. I was lowered onto the dirt, shaking, and all I could hear was my mind sneering you were the first one to fail over the scuffle of counselors that came over to help me. That day, the telephone pole represented more than a fear of heights. It was my inability to give up control over a situation, a lack of trust in myself, and an overbearing fear of failure. Sometimes experiences aren�Ӱ�ԭ��t always about the lessons you learn from people, but the lessons you learn about yourself while doing them.

So, fast-forward a year. I�Ӱ�ԭ��m climbing up the same pole. People are cheering. Fast-forward a year, and I was 18 and afraid.

Afraid of failing. Afraid of falling. Afraid of trusting.

But I wasn�Ӱ�ԭ��t 18 anymore. I had learned what it was like to fail. I fell. I didn�Ӱ�ԭ��t always have control of things, but that was okay. I got into a program meant for juniors and seniors as a first-year student because I had believed in myself. I found a major that I loved, and a place with friends and professors who make me feel as though I belong �Ӱ�ԭ�� something that has eluded me most of my life.

Fast-forward, I�Ӱ�ԭ��m on top of the pole. Fast-forward, I�Ӱ�ԭ��m taking the leap of faith. Fast-forward, I hear the wind in my ears.

I am not afraid.

This isn�Ӱ�ԭ��t just a �Ӱ�ԭ��Daily Life of a College Student�Ӱ�ԭ�� type of thing. It�Ӱ�ԭ��s the almost 24-hour glimpse at what happens outside of the classroom: laundry battles, blasting music, crying over your workload, heartbreak, etc. I understand the stress, the fear, the overwhelming feeling of guilt you got after you ate four slices of pizza because you were too stressed out: I get it. But know that all this is okay. It doesn�Ӱ�ԭ��t define you.

You�Ӱ�ԭ��re going to do great.

I promise you that.

If anyone feels compelled to leave a note or ask a question for me to answer in a future post, feel free to email me at bglav1@unh.newhaven.edu and leave it there (preferably with respect, or else this will no longer be a thing. Haha).

With peace, love, and peanut butter,
Beatrice

Beatrice Glaviano �Ӱ�ԭ��26 is a nutrition sciences major at the University of New Haven.