My term on the Stute E-Board has officially ended, and while I’m still involved as an editor, I get to watch the new leadership start to carve their paths. There are three rising sophomores, two rising juniors, and three rising seniors. This is a pretty fantastic position to be in as an organization: we have established people in important roles to guide young and passionate members who can grow in leadership.
Ava has taken over my role as Outreach Chair, and it’s good to pass the job over to both a personal friend and someone who I know cares about the success of the organization.
I have loved dedicating my time to The Stute because of our presence on campus, both in contributing to and reporting the university’s culture. Seeing people carrying around physical copies, or leaving them on desks with pages open, sharing the Rovings, or talking to me about the Stupe is so rewarding. There is not much that allows you a physical representation of your work like The Stute.
I have enjoyed continuing to practice my writing, as not many of my classes require it from me. At liberal arts schools, it’s not uncommon for students to be writing over 2000 words a week. A columnist, news, or science writer is typically asked to write between 500-1500 words a week. As engineers and scientists, this may feel like a large commitment, but you don’t have to jump in fast. I cannot stress enough that writing large volumes gets easier the more you practice, and it gets harder the more you neglect it.
Recently, I noticed the degradation of my soft skills after giving my pitch in IDE-402, the business venture aspect of senior design. In elementary and middle school, I loved to perform and was involved in many theater productions, memorizing lines and choreography, and getting up in front of my family, friends, and community. Since high school, I’ve taken a backstage role and explored my love of engineering, design, and carpentry. Now, I notice how eight years away from public speaking has impacted both my comfort and proficiency in the skill. All I had to do was memorize less than one minute of a prepared speech and deliver it to my class of less than 25 peers. I’ve been in front of much larger crowds but for some reason this small group had me shaking like a leaf. Blood pounding in my ears, I was choking on my words and holding my own hands to keep steady. My professor was recording each of our presentations; all my slip-ups would be memorialized.
Looking back at the video, I don’t look as nervous as I felt. My speech wasn’t polished, but it did the job. We didn’t advance to the semi-finals, and I didn’t expect to, meaning I’m done with this course. Aside from a lack of practice, I’m not sure why I was so nervous in front of an audience that small. It’s strange too, because when I got up again later in the class to do a Q&A, I was far more composed. In the first speech, I had points I needed to hit, a time limit, and I was telling a personal story, compared to the Q&A where I needed to come up with a good enough answer on the spot.
I also feel more confident in the design presentations than in these business pitches. One of the most valuable things I’ve learned in those is to give all the information I’ve learned rather than try to convince the panel that the design is flawless. If there’s something you’re worried you’ll get a question on, it’s better to give an explanation for the result or a few potential solutions instead of hoping everyone ignores it. In design presentations, you’re talking to professors with decades more experience than you, they’re pretty good at spotting bullshit. Even if they choose to ignore it, you’re doing yourself a disfavor by faking infallibility instead of being realistic. Think about the professors or products that you trust: it’s much more compelling to present a good product with challenges thought out and explained rather than a false ideal version. You’d rather know what you’re getting into rather than find out about the hidden challenges later.
