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“I am young person living in an age with war, corruption, prejudice, racism, gender inequality. Yet few seems angry about it. People see the slight advances in social equality as having solved our issues entirely and it just isn’t enough.”

It’s March 2015, I believed I’ve solved inequality. Present in the basement room of Modern Art Oxford during a local round of the Articulation prize, I truly believe that I may have just introduced this room full of parents and teachers to the concept of feminism. I’m very pleased with myself.

The Contest

The Articulation prize is a competition aimed at older teens, between 16 and 19, who are given 10 minutes to deliver on a work of art of their choice. I was told regarding this from the leader of my college, and his room I had ended up in just weeks before the competition. As a pupil, I performed well but chatty and often unfocused. Emotions hit me intensely often becoming emotional and upset.

My approach was a binary perspective on academics: either be the best or quit entirely. During our meeting, we talked about my choice to drop history AS-level soon after of starting thinking it impossible to achieve completing it top graded. “Not everything is death or glory,” he implored.

A Chance

Along with my patient art teacher, the director of the college saw that the competition proved exactly the opportunity I required – since I enjoyed art studies, and was suitably gobby as part of the school’s rag-tag debate club. He suggested I develop a talk for a preliminary in-school heat. From memory, it seems no one else participated.

Choosing Art

My presentation focused about the artist’s medicine cabinets, which I had seen at his 2012 retrospective in London (a related print is still stuck on the wall behind my desk). I encountered his creations initially as a child visiting Ilfracombe, the north Devon town my elder relative was raised, and where the artist had a restaurant, its name, featuring preserved fish, and wallpaper covered in pills. I appreciated the art seemed funny and contrarian, and that he got away with calling whatever he wanted “art”. It amused me my relative disapproved. Above all, I loved that, since the artwork installations were named song names on their 1977 album, I could say “The word” (Pistols) several times in my speech. I truly was the boldest young thinker of my generation.

The Result

During the local round, there were nine participants spoke, each presenting more refined cultural context, made fewer unsupported, broad claims, and said “bollocks” rarely. I was awarded third place. As a teenager who tied most self-esteem on achievement, typically this meant a crushing blow. But, in that moment, that people people seemed to enjoy, and chuckled exactly when I intended, proved sufficient.

Fresh Directions

When the organizers asked to present once more, this time as part of an event at the British Museum, I submitted my paperwork to read history of art at university. Prior to this, I had thought I was going to apply for English or German, not considering at Oxbridge, believing there I couldn’t become “the best”. Yet the experience boosted my courage and convinced me that my views deserved expression, even when I didn’t speak the lingo. I didn’t need perfection: I only had to add my perspective on things.

Finding Purpose

Talking about art – and finding ways to make people laugh while I do it – quickly became my north star. My Articulation journey completed itself upon returning this spring as the inaugural alumni evaluator for a competition round.

The event built my self-assurance beyond my degree choice: not that I would accomplish major feats, but that I didn’t have to. I no longer needed to covet perfection; I needed to lean into my own voice. I went from being anxious and easily overcome – emotional yet impatient to anger – into a person trusting their own abilities. Perfection wasn’t necessary. For the first time, authenticity meant more to me ideal outcomes.

Appreciation

I’ll always be grateful to the college leader who made the effort to understand me when I was an obstinate and emotional young adult, instead of dismissing me (and, looking back, I think an eye roll might have been entirely justified). Life isn’t was absolute success or failure; I learned that attempts matter without requiring the promise of “winning”.