If you have ever attended a Notre Dame football game or watched one on TV, you may recall that win or lose, once the clock runs out there is a tradition that the players, students, and fans put their arms around one another’s shoulders and together sing the words of our alma mater.  The final verse is more of a shout with fists pumping to the sky to the words,

“And our hearts forever, love thee, Notre Dame.”

– Closing phrase of University of Notre Dame Fight Song

Years after undergrad, in leadership training, I was introduced to the concept of a “thick organization” popularized by David Brooks.  Simply put, these are organizations that “leave a mark on people” and “have the courage to be distinct. You can love or hate such places. But when you meet a graduate you know it, and when they meet each other, even decades later, they know they have something important in common.” 

Notre Dame is one of those places. 

When my second sister, Kristen, joined Kelly (the oldest) as an undergrad student at Notre Dame, my fate seemed sealed.  I must have been asked (it felt more like told) at least a hundred times as a freshman in high school, “So you’ll go to Notre Dame, too?” 

Perhaps I was just going for shock value or to balk the assumption that I would inevitably do whatever my two older sisters did, but my answer was always, “No.  I don’t want to go there.” 

It had less to do with Notre Dame than it did with me.  I wanted to go somewhere with a strong music program.  I wanted to stay closer to my family.  Perhaps most important to me, I wanted the decision to be mine.

In the process of applying to schools, I didn’t even consider applying to Notre Dame, except to appease my sweet mother who had gone through the effort of filling out all the demographic information for me.  At her pleading, I wrote the application essays and answered all the student-facing questions.

High school graduation came and went.  My thank you notes to people who had generously come to my open house to celebrate this rite of passage told of me going to Concordia College in Moorhead, MN.  I had gotten an academic and a music scholarship, was to study under a hand-selected voice teacher that my mentor, Maria Williams, recommended. I would join my best friend, Katelyn, as her college roommate.  It was the safe choice.  It was my choice.  Everything about it was in my comfort zone and what I thought I wanted.

When I came home from freshman orientation the summer prior, things started to become unhinged.  As a music major, I couldn’t be in the same dorm as my best friend.  My voice-teacher-to-be didn’t have space that year in her studio.  And despite my scholarships, the private school was still quite expensive.  None of these things was a total deal-breaker; together, they were more a series of disappointments that started popping the bubble I had built around this path.

I remember so distinctly sitting on the floor of my living room explaining all of this to my parents (with a few tears rolling down my cheeks) and my father quietly pulling out a packet of information from Notre Dame. 

Months prior I had received my letter from Notre Dame, being notified that I was on their waitlist.  At the time, it was the perfect excuse for me not to go.  This new packet notified me that I had in fact gotten in, and as my father explained to me, because of the incredibly generous endowment Notre Dame has for students with financial need, going to Notre Dame would be significantly cheaper for my family. 

Not knowing what to do, I remember asking my parents’ advice.  Both thought it was essentially a no-brainer.  I swallowed my pride in rebelling at the idea of following in my sisters’ footsteps and completed the paperwork to accept the slot.  A few weeks later, we drove fourteen-plus hours to the cornfields of South Bend, Indiana, and I became a Domer.

Freshman year was really hard.  I had graduated from high school valedictorian of my class and had taken all the math and science offered by the school, but now seeing the array of AP, IB and other advanced coursework available to my classmates from across the country and internationally, I was playing on a much bigger field. 

The fall semester freshman year, I used game day Saturdays to study in the quiet of my dorm while everyone else (it seemed) attended the football games.  My parents gave me everything they could to financially support me, but we channeled those dollars to books and room & board. 

If I wanted to get football tickets, it would have come from my own earnings and at least that year, it wasn’t worth it to me.  This was a crucible time in my life.  I was very homesick, seemingly in over my head, and still hell-bent on trying to carve my own path.  

In retrospect, my academic life would have been so much easier if I had decided as a freshman to pursue business.  I didn’t.  I had my mind set on doing a music degree. And because we all knew “this wasn’t practical in the long-run,” my family and I agreed that I’d also do another degree. 

Being a music major is a unique and seemingly universal experience akin to Survivor.  Not only is the coursework grueling and difficult, you have half a dozen one-credit courses that easily equate to five times the number of hours of commitment.  Juggling two majors, my course load each semester was in the twenty-one to twenty-four credit range (normal is about fifteen credits per semester).  

Perhaps the most arduous part of earning the degree is the level of risk you accept, particularly if you choose to pursue a performance major.  Each semester, you get up and perform in front of a “jury” (it’s actually called that) of your professors.  The expectation for vocal performance is that you sing in a minimum of three different languages, translate the original text, your diction is good enough in each language to pass for a native, and, of course, your technique and musicality are flawless.  

A “failed jury” puts you on probation with a requirement to repeat the performance in a month.  Two failed juries cause you to be kicked out of the program. 

The senior recital final semester doubles as your last jury.  Delivered the month prior to graduation, a failed final jury results in not being able to graduate with the performance degree.  The fallback plan is staying on for summer school after graduation, which needless to say, inspired much fear and motivation to nail it the first time through.

I’m not sure that this is a testament to my singing abilities as much as it is to sheer grit and resolve to follow through with what I started and succeed, but I passed my senior recital with flying colors.  And even though I took my career in a very different direction immediately following graduation, I am proud to be one of exactly two people who graduated from that program my year with a Music Vocal Performance Degree.  I was the only woman.  My male counterpart now sings professionally for the Lyric Opera in Chicago.  

Unbeknownst to me at the time, that was also the day my now-husband would take my parents out for coffee at a nearby Starbucks while I practiced and ask for their blessing, sharing his intention to propose to me a few weeks later on Easter Sunday.  Because Matthew didn’t want to distract attention from all the hard work that had brought me to the day of my senior recital, he made the decision to fly out from New York twice that month to propose on a different weekend.  What a sweetheart!

How did your college years form your thoughts on leadership?