Senior Retrospective | Rachel Gilmer

It is quite fitting that I'm writing my senior retrospective from a spot by the window on a Metro North Train headed south for the City. Escape defined much of my time here. My constant journeys away from Vassar's campus were not only an attempt to evade my physical surroundings or my relationships with peers, but an attempt to abandon myself, a concerted effort to avoid facing the confusions surrounding the liminalities of my own identity.

I arrived at Vassar, wide-eyed and opened mouth, floored by the opportunities at my fingertips. I was one of the most driven kids in my high school and had worked hard to get here. Intent on getting far away from my small town in Oregon, I was completely ready to immerse myself in the College. It wasn't long after arriving, however, that I began to feel overwhelmed by how different this space was from home. Although our common starting point as some of the smartest and most unique high school graduates in the country, living in a gated space, separate from outside forces, appeared to be our great equalizer, I was overwhelmed at how out of place I felt. In class, I was shocked by the breadth of my peers' knowledge and keen ability to articulate themselves. Socially, I was surrounded by more wealth and privilege than I had ever seen before. Within the first few weeks of school, I began faking my way towards acceptance, assimilating to some preconceived notion of what I thought was a successful Vassar student.

As a black and European Jewish woman, physically separated from my family and my roots, I was not quite sure how to occupy my intersections, and instead I allowed my peers to determine my fate for me. Within my first week of freshman year, my light skinned complexion made me privy to a conversation that would forever change my fate at Vassar. A girl whom I'd only interacted with on a couple of occasions, tried to initiate conversation by arguing that someone in our class was obviously only at Vassar due to the College's affirmative action policies.

Within moments of being here, it became clear to me that this was not necessarily an inclusive campus for people of color and because she assumed I was white, due to my light skinned complexion, I figured it was easier to laugh along, while really laughing at myself, rather than stand up for who I am. I began to believe that success within this institution would require my assimilation to the student body and the College's ideals. I spent my entire first year of college attempting to pass as a rich white girl, when this couldn't be farther from my upbringing. I became other people's assumption of who I am, rather than a truthful self-conscious representation of my actual self.

However, this decision to succumb to my surrounding's conception of who I am didn't make me feel more accepted, and as I attempted to pass, suppressing my identity and roots, the real me literally became invisible, a shadow taking my place. I was stuck in a space of liminality afraid to embrace my whole identity. Would black students see me as attempting to be someone I'm not? What would happen if I continued to fake whiteness, denying the blood running deep within my personal life and familial history? I slowly began to realize that my desire for acceptance was bullshit.

I knew that Vassar would change me but I could have never anticipated just how transformative this experience would actually be. It was through my injurious experiences here, coupled with classes and conversations with professors, that I began applying everything I was learning in the classroom to not only my outward vision of the world, but in accepting and understanding myself. I had dug myself into a deep inescapable hole of self-denial and shame, and I began to realize that I had to love myself in entirety. Escape was no longer an option.

In many ways, I think we all spend time passing while at Vassar. Separated from the first 18 years of our lives, college is an opportunity to experiment with the person we want to be. No longer confined by our past, we are able to determine our fate autonomously. For me, this blessing was a curse, and it isn't until now that I realize the ways in which my anxiousness to move on from who I was held me back far more than it propelled me forward. As James Baldwin once said, "Know whence you came. If you know whence your came, there is really no limit to where you can go." My most valuable moments here have been spent embracing my wholeness—I am defined by past experiences, coupled with my vision of the present. To know our foundation allows us to break a chain and stand even taller, releasing our limitations regarding our potential. My foundation is my family, my siblings, my mom, my dad, my black identity, my mother's Jewish roots, Oregon, Poughkeepsie, friends, professors and undoubtedly, my Vassar education.

—Rachel Gilmer is the co-Chair of the Senior Class Gift Committee.