Emily Smolinsky

“You have one week to raise $6,000 for the Rhode Island Urban Debate League,” tom stated.  I burst out laughing, quickly realizing I was the only one.  “Oh my god”, I think to myself.  “He’s totally serious. I do not know any of these people…how are we going to pull this off?”  After the initial stage of shock subsided, I set out to work.  That night I went around my residence hall, pretty much begging for donations.  My classmates and I created a group on Facebook, tossed around ideas to raise money, and tried to coordinate a time when we could all meet.  I felt discouraged as the weekend went by and few classmates came to the meetings.  One classmate had the idea of hosting a basketball game watch at the Abbey and providing raffle baskets for guests to bid on.  Those of us at the meeting rallied behind this idea (really the only idea that was suggested), and the rest of the week was spent collecting prize donations from local businesses and advertising for the event.  I continued to go door-to-door across campus collecting money, and emailed over twenty lawyers asking for monetary donations.  Although this was one of the most hectic weeks of my college career, I felt invigorated by the process.  The night of our main event, the Abbey was packed.  I felt proud of what we had accomplished.

The day the assignment was due, we had only raised just over $2,000.  As a serious student, I was devastated, and wondered if I would have to drop the class. “He can’t fail all of us…can he?”, I worried.  tom asked how the assignment went, and how we functioned as an organization.  My classmates and I were honest about how the week was chaotic, and we never felt like we were all on the same page.  tom did not ask how much money we raised.  Instead, we discussed the prospect of failure, and how we can learn from it.  We talked about what we would have done differently if we had to do the assignment all over again.  This moment served as a defining moment of my college experience, and my outlook on failure and what it means to take risks completely changed.  That statement may sound dramatic, but it’s true.

As mentioned, I was an extremely serious student.  Part of the reason why I absolutely did not want to do this challenge (and thought tom was insane) was because I was afraid.  $6,000 was a huge amount of money to raise, never mind that I had never fund-raised before in my life.  Of course I had failed before, but it was a feeling I tried to avoid as much as possible due to my pride, ego, and reputation.  My first week of Org Theory was crazy—I had gotten little sleep. I went door-to-door awkwardly asking a bunch of strangers for money.  I was told “no” countless times.  I felt completely outside of my comfort zone.  Yet I am so incredibly grateful for this experience, because tom’s class was unlike any class I had ever taken before.  I experienced every emotion under the sun—stress, frustration, empathy, elation—you name it.  I became friends with many of my classmates, and I learned so much about myself.  Most importantly, I learned that failure is inevitable, and it’s how we learn from failure that leads to great teams, ideas, and outcomes.  Although that may sound obvious, having undergone tom’s crazy assignment helped me understand the good that can come from iterative failure and reflection, and encouraged me to take more risks within my personal life.

I talk about tom’s class often to those interested in learning more about PC.  The craziness of the first week is also a great talking point when asked in interviews “tell me about a time you’ve failed.”   I am unsure where you are in your Org Theory experience or how you are feeling, but I encourage you to embrace whatever is thrown at you. This class is challenging—it may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but it’s different, and different can be pretty danged amazing, as well as life-changing.