They were some of the most difficult exams I’ve done. Drudgery on those miserably cold winter days. On the day of my third exam, I had my phone, laptop, Leap Card, and exam notes stolen. Left half destitute in Dublin City.

But still, I sat my exam the following day.

Apart from being the victim of a minor crime, the exams weren’t a total disaster. I knew one or two essays could have been better, but you never know.

So, I was quietly harbouring a little bit of hope for a scholarship over the past few months. Emphasis on quietly.

That people might know that I had some hope seemed embarrassing to me. Because there’s always the chance that it won’t work out.

And sure, if you had no hope in the beginning, then you can’t lose. Stay low and you can’t get knocked down.

If I’m honest, I have spent the vast majority of my time in education being told that academic performance said something intrinsic about my character. Good grade equals clever, bad grade equals not.

A pretty universal experience, and a damaging one, too. It’s something I certainly struggle to detach from, especially when exam season rolls around. My greatest fear in secondary school was doing badly in the Leaving Cert.

But it wasn’t so much for myself that I was scared of that. It was all about what other people would think. I’d be caught out.

Finally, people would know that I hadn’t really been that clever all along. Each exam felt definitive. And that is certainly rearing its head for me today.

Even as I’m writing this, I’m anticipating other people thinking that I’m not clever. Because if I was, then I would have gotten the scholarship, surely?

I feel a little vulnerable. Laying this out there for anyone to scrutinise. There’s some weird feeling bumbling around my body, telling me that it’s embarrassing for people to know that I had really tried to do well in these exams.

As if I’d only really be clever if I’d sailed into each exam without studying, and walked out with first-class honours across the board. But I really did try.

And here’s the problem: That kind of thinking won’t get you far. That takes me to where I am now. I took a knock this morning when I found out I didn’t get the scholarship. And a small part of me thought that I would have been better, not to have tried at all.

Who did I think I was? Applying for a scholarship like that, getting too big for my boots. The notions. Should have stayed low.

If I hadn’t set a goal like that for myself — one that is rare and difficult to achieve — I wouldn’t be so disappointed right now. But Jesus, what a terrible way that would be to go about life: To be so scared of failing, that you deny yourself the opportunity to achieve anything.

Any successful person has a list of failures longer than their successes. The Catcher in the Rye was rejected by publishers, before becoming a monument of 20th-century literature. 

Not that I’m comparing myself to JD Salinger, but that he had his rejections, is a comforting thought. Because this isn’t going to be my last rejection, unfortunately. You can’t always get what you want, as the song goes.

And I’m certainly experiencing that harsh reality right now. It’s an unpleasant feeling, but it’ll pass. So, I’m trying to add it to the list and move.

I’m letting myself have a bad day today, giving myself some time to wallow in it. The most trying part of all of this is, I have to show up again tomorrow, when I don’t really want to. 

For this to be just one of a list of rejections, I have to accept that it’s not the universe’s way of telling me I’m stupid. It’s just one set of exams, not my whole life.