Oh, the places you’ll go

By Eliza Bellones

I have imagined receiving an acceptance letter from my dream university since I was eight years old. Ten years later, reading the word “Congratulations” felt less like a dramatic turning point and more like confirmation that all the leaps of faith I had taken led me to this moment. It didn’t erase the uncertainty I felt or answer every question I had about the future. Instead, it reminded me that progress often requires moving forward without seeing the full path.

Yet the systems meant to guide us into adulthood rarely leave room for that kind of uncertainty. The university application process, in particular, demands a level of confidence most of us haven’t yet had the time to develop. We are expected to present our lives as carefully planned narratives, even though they are often anything but. Essays ask us to explain our purpose, interviews ask us to justify our choices, and course selection asks us to commit to a direction before we’ve even begun to explore it.

Because of this, mistakes are often framed as something to avoid rather than something to learn from. We are told to choose the “right” extracurriculars, the “right” subjects, the “right” path, as if success is binary. The fear of making the wrong decision can be paralyzing, especially when the stakes feel high. It can convince us to remain within our comfort zones despite the gut feeling that growth may lie elsewhere.

There was a point in my life where taking a risk stopped feeling like a choice and became a necessity. When your entire life feels like it’s falling apart, you are faced with the hard-cold reality that staying still will no longer be safer than moving forward. The fear of failure loses some of its power once you have already fallen. It was from that place that I learned mistakes are not the opposite of progress; stagnation is. Taking risks after hitting rock bottom wasn’t about ambition or courage; it was about rebuilding. Each imperfect step forward mattered more than getting it right the first time.

What we need to accept is that progress will look messy. It involves countless misjudgments and moments of doubt. The people who seem most confident now were once beginners too, navigating uncertainty even unseen. Mistakes are not evidence of poor judgment or lacking ability. They are evidence of engagement, of someone willing to jump in rather than keep waiting on the sidelines.

Nearly every meaningful opportunity in the past three years of my life came from decisions that carried the risk of failure. Saying yes before I felt prepared meant accepting that I might fall short. Trying something new meant being visibly inexperienced. Not every risk paid off in the way I imagined, but each one expanded what I believed was possible for me. Mistakes didn’t derail progress; they shaped it.

Taking risks does not mean acting without thought. It means recognizing that waiting for perfect certainty will mean waiting forever for something that will never come. Growth happens when we allow ourselves to move forward despite the possibility of getting it wrong. More often than not, what follows is not regret, but a wider perspective — and sometimes, outcomes better than we could have anticipated.

The acceptance letter did not promise success or guarantee fulfillment. What it offered was the chance to keep going, to continue choosing movement over fear. Looking back, the risks that once felt daunting are the same ones that led me onto paths I didn’t know existed. At this stage of life, it is so easy to believe that one misstep can define you. In truth, it is far more likely that avoiding risk will limit you. You don’t need to know exactly how things will turn out to take the next step. Sometimes, you take the risk simply because you don’t yet know how good it could get — and that possibility alone is reason enough to try.