My Tiring, but Worthwhile, Journey of Applying for a Fulbright Fellowship

My journey to receiving the Fulbright Fellowship was very in tune with the cliched phrase- when one door closes, another door opens. Sometimes, people like to say that even two doors open, but I think that depends how optimistic you are that day. I had never heard of the word “fellowship” before my senior year of college, unless it was in the context of “Lord of the Rings”. Meeting with my University’s fellowship director changed my life- a quick-witted and talkative blonde woman that could rope anyone into a conversation with her charm and intelligence, Dr. Walton. I intended to have a short conversation about teaching abroad, which turned into reviewing dozens of options and possibilities that I didn’t know were existent- ones that I thought I never had a shot at receiving.

To back up, working with students and helping others has always been a passion of mine. You could ask my mother what I would claim I wanted to be when I grew up when I was in sixth grade, and the answer may vary between being a teacher or lawyer- but mostly a teacher. When it came to college searching, I scoured the Eastern Coast for the top education programs, and stumbled upon Salisbury University. A small Eastern Maryland community, by the congested Jersey standards, became my new home for four years. This is the type of place that, although it is only about ten minutes south of the Mason Dixon Line, I found a collegiate family of kind and caring professors and classmates with a Southern charm. It was this atmosphere of devoted professors that pushed me through not one, but two fellowship application rounds.

In order to understand my journey, you need to also understand that my intentions of job careers shifted after studying abroad. Living in New Zealand for six months and studying my art minor changed my goals from working English Secondary Education to International Education. I can never fully and truly impart on others the complete impact that studying abroad had on me, and I think it’s an experience that is better understood by living it rather than telling about it. This change in mindset terrified me. Most of my life I had thought that I knew what I wanted to do, and people around me began asking my goal aspirations in eighth grade. Realizing that I could alter my plans felt liberating, and this was just the start to not only a new plan in life, but also the adjustment in my needing to always have a plan. The major cause of giving some life slack comes later on though.

I sat in the Fellowships office and looked at a pamphlet with descriptions of fellowships, and I realized at that moment that although it was August, and the applications were due in October, I was going to do everything in my power to win one of these fellowships. I think that I went into this process a bit headstrong, or maybe I never truly realized how prestigious the fellowships actually are. Either way, I devoted every Friday of the next two months sitting in the fellowships office and trying to culminate a winning application. I knew that the process would take work, but I had no idea that the “work” involved would entail sixteen drafts of essays, a language evaluation, recommendations, interviews, and a lot of time. Like I said though, I was dedicated to submitting the best application that I could produce, which was tough as I simultaneously wrote my Honors Thesis.

Languages have always been an interest of mine. Being able to dissect words, compare languages, and communicate with others makes a nerd like me very excited. Having a mother that traveled the world as an “Army Brat” in a military family introduced a variety of languages in my house. English was the prominent language, with Spanish mixed in occasionally, and French and German would add a flair, but you knew that she was angry when the Portuguese came out. Of all of the places in the world that I wanted to travel, locations that my family once lived in lined the top of my list. My heart was set on a Spanish speaking country, and I wavered between Spain and Ecuador. While volunteering with an English Language Immersion program at my college, I connected with students from Peru and Spanish, and I knew my choice was clear. The countless stories that my mom had told me encourage me to go full force into writing why I would be a good candidate to teach in Spain. Mid October I pressed the submit button, which began three of the longest months of my Senior year of college.

My messenger app binged in the middle of my elliptical machine workout, and a classmate asked how my results turned out. If I thought that I was breathless while working out, I was wrong. That moment I couldn’t breathe. I fumbled to open my email, and I scanned for the word “congratulations”. There it was. It can be assumed that my workout was never finished, as I raced out to call and make my announcement- selected as a semifinalist. Depending on the country, the odds can be stacked highly against you. Spain is one of those popular countries that takes the lead for application totals. That year I applied with about four hundred other students from across America, including Ivy League students. Dr. Walton told that me that being selected as a semifinalist was a win in itself, even if I did not make it to finalists. Of the twelve of us students from my University to apply for a Fulbright- four of us made it to semifinalist positions, and only three made it to be named Fulbright Fellows. You can guess whose name was not mentioned at the graduation ceremony to be honored for winning one of these prestigious awards.

A crushing defeat- one that I felt determined my chances at winning any other fellowships or scholarships. This was the moment that life truly hit me. I had laid all of my hopes on this opportunity, and losing it felt like a loss. It was the motivational life stories of my professors, especially my Honors College dean, who whipped me back into the realization that I couldn’t quit. I threw myself back into applications, specifically for teaching positions in South America. I focused my attention on a teaching assistantship in Chile through their Ministry of Education, which lead to an alternate position offer. At the same time, I was applying and interviewing for local teaching positions. One of the hardest choices that I had to make my senior year was whether I would accept the known, and stable, position that I was offered to teach in a middle school, or keep pursuing my dreams of International Education with no guarantee that I would find a position.

The search continued, and Dr. Walton’s office had become my fortitude for dream searching. She would name countries and as I ranked my interest level in trying to teach there. It was a text that arrived soon after graduation that caught my attention. It was the “I found this opportunity and I think it would be perfect for you” message- Brazil. I found myself once again applying to a Fulbright Fellowship, but this time it was an extended application deadline to teach at a University in Brazil because Brazil’s government offered 80 additional English Teaching Assistantship positions that Summer, which was open for any person in the USA with a Masters of Bachelor’s degree to apply to.

As the year had continued, I became anxious about finding work, I accepted a job as a recruiter for Salisbury University Office of Admissions. Partially because of part experiences, and partly because of this job, I realized that I wanted to dip my feet into the world of postsecondary education. This is where the “one door closes and two doors open” clichés comes into play. Being denied the Fulbright to teach in a middle school in Spain allowed me the opportunity to teach at a University in Brazil. The acceptance email never actually appeared in my email. You can look at Dr. Walton’s email that she was CC’d in and see my email listed, but I never received it. It wasn’t until a frantic and excited call from Dr. Walton, as I drove home from my first job college fair, that I was told the good news. Tired from the long night of driving and working, I tried to embrace the news. It’s been three months, and it still hasn’t sunk in yet. Maybe when I go to the Brazilian consulate next week it will sink in.