I have participated in events for the Distributive Education Clubs of America, or DECA, for three years of my high school career, only departing recently due to schedule changes. DECA is primarily a business simulation competition, where students roleplay practiced and improvised scenarios in competition. For many, it is an entry path to a future as a business, finance, accounting, or marketing major.
Though I had no such aspirations, the possibility of improving my communication, social, and problem-solving skills fascinated me, and I chose to consistently participate in competition along with a relatively large ensemble from my school. To me, DECA seemed to open up a world of possibilities, and I was excited by the tantalizing taste of accomplishment just outside my reach.
Despite my efforts, however, I never quite achieved success at DECA events. Every year, I would manage to get past district and struggle at state, only to come home with no awards or medals. Often, I felt upset and angry at myself. How could I dare to be so inadequate? How could my goals be so frustratingly out of reach, no matter how hard I tried to fulfill them? There is a particular kind of car ride home, quiet and long, where you rehearse every sentence you wish you had delivered differently, and you cannot get the volume down.
By my 11th grade year, I was exhausted by the various setbacks I had had in competition, from trifold collapses to stammer-filled speech, and decided to take the competition far more seriously than I ever had before. To make sure no mistakes of previous years occurred, I prepared meticulously. I constructed a full business plan, calculated a budget, created fliers and slides, collaborated with others for feedback, and gave my strongest effort possible to try and market a pitch regarding boutique elder care, inspired by the struggles of local families I had seen in my own life.
When I presented my project at the district level, it easily passed. Prior to the state competition, I spent countless hours rehearsing my presentation, perfecting my speech, demeanor, language, and tone. I timed the pauses. I marked the exact word where I would take a breath. At the competition, I delivered what I believed to be the most solid presentation of my life, finishing as planned with time for questions. I had never felt so unbelievably competent, and I left the exam room filled with confidence.
At the awards ceremony, though, no matter how long I waited, no finalist or advancement medal came. When I received feedback, I found that I had earned the lowest score of all my friends. My judge had not taken to my presentation or ideas at all. She had found my speech "dull." When I went home that day, I felt so exhausted I could not think. My vision blurred, and I could barely unpack my suitcase. Had all my work of three years, training, assisting, learning, truly meant nothing? It could not be. I would not let it be.
In the end, our school's league disbanded after budget cuts, and I was forced to quit DECA for good. Though my losses still hurt to think about a year on, I have learned that I can only find peace in what I really want to do, not what I think I am meant to do. There is a difference between the two, and it takes an ugly loss to notice it.
Ultimately, I am a person, and I am just as likely to struggle with mistakes and old habits as I am to grow, change, and progress into the future. To the outside observer, DECA may seem like an unfortunate misstep on my journey. To me, it helped me understand who I am and what I want out of life. I would argue that is a lesson far more crucial than any business expertise I could have gained. The medal I did not win taught me more than several of the ones I did.
