I Lost Homecoming King by One Vote — And It Changed the Way I Saw Myself

Can you believe I was one vote away from being homecoming king in college?

You might hear that and immediately think, Man, that must have hurt.

It didn't.

In fact, losing by one vote gave me something far more valuable than winning ever could have.

It changed the way I saw myself.

I Wasn't That Guy

Growing up, I had a very particular idea of the kind of person who ended up on a homecoming court.

They were the popular people.

The attractive people.

The well-connected people.

The people everybody seemed to know.

And I was absolutely convinced that wasn't me.

I still sometimes describe my younger self as the goofy kid from Arkansas with the Coke-bottle glasses and high-water pants.

I knew the people who became homecoming kings and queens. I knew the people who seemed destined to be on homecoming courts.

I just never considered myself one of them.

Nothing about my high school experience had given me a reason to think otherwise. I wasn't nominated for homecoming court. I wasn't campaigning for popularity. I wasn't walking around thinking I was one of the people everybody wanted to know.

Even after I arrived at the University of Tampa, that perception didn't immediately change.

For my first three years of college, I had never been asked to run for homecoming court.

Then came my senior year.

I Was Just Helping My Organization

My organization was competing for Organization of the Year, and participation in various campus activities earned points toward that recognition.

One of those activities involved providing candidates for homecoming king and queen.

Someone asked whether I would represent us.

I said yes.

But understand something:

I didn't think I could win.

I wasn't secretly hoping everyone would suddenly discover how wonderful I was. I wasn't imagining myself wearing a crown.

As far as I was concerned, I was doing my part for the organization.

That was it.

Besides, I already knew who I thought would win.

He was popular. He was in a fraternity. He was involved in ROTC. He was well-liked and influential.

In my mind, he made perfect sense as homecoming king.

And he won.

So I went on with my life.

Then someone from the homecoming committee came up to me.

"You Only Lost by One Vote"

She looked genuinely upset.

"I'm so sorry."

I remember being confused.

Sorry about what?

Then she told me.

I had lost the election by one vote.

Apparently, the race had been so close that they had counted the ballots several times to make sure they had the correct result.

At least one recount may even have shown me winning.

They wanted to make absolutely certain they got it right.

And after all of the recounting, I had lost by one vote.

But instead of being devastated, I was stunned for an entirely different reason.

Because suddenly I heard my mother's voice.

My Mother Used to Tell Me Something

My mother would say:

"We never see ourselves the way other people see us."

I don't know that I fully understood what she meant when I was younger.

I did that day.

Think about what losing by one vote actually meant.

It meant a substantial number of students had voted for me.

People had looked at the ballot, seen my name and thought:

Tony.

They believed I could represent them.

They apparently saw me as someone worthy of that recognition.

And that was almost impossible for me to reconcile with the person I saw when I looked at myself.

I still saw the goofy kid from Arkansas.

They apparently saw something else.

Sometimes Our Self-Image Is Outdated

That's something I've thought about many times over the years.

We carry old versions of ourselves around long after everyone else has stopped seeing us that way.

Maybe you still see the awkward teenager.

Maybe you still see the kid who wasn't invited.

Maybe you still see the person who struggled in school.

Maybe you still see the employee nobody noticed.

Maybe you still see the person who wasn't confident enough, attractive enough, connected enough, accomplished enough or important enough.

And somewhere along the way, life changed.

You changed.

But your internal picture of yourself didn't necessarily change with it.

The world may already be responding to the person you've become while you're still judging yourself based on the person you used to be.

That's what happened to me.

I Didn't Need the Crown

Would winning homecoming king have been nice?

Sure.

But decades later, I honestly don't think the crown would have meant nearly as much to me as that one-vote loss.

A crown would have told me I won an election.

Losing by one vote taught me something about myself.

It forced me to confront the possibility that the limitations I had placed around my identity weren't necessarily shared by anyone else.

I had already decided what kind of person could be homecoming king.

Then I had decided I wasn't that kind of person.

Nobody else had to reject me.

I had already eliminated myself.

Except my classmates apparently hadn't gotten the memo.

They nearly elected me anyway.

Who Are You Still Telling Yourself You Aren't?

That's the question I've carried with me from that experience.

What opportunities do we dismiss because they don't fit the image we have of ourselves?

How many rooms do we assume we don't belong in?

How many possibilities do we reject before anyone else gets the opportunity to say yes?

And how much evidence do we ignore when other people clearly see something valuable in us?

Sometimes somebody compliments you and you immediately explain why they're wrong.

Sometimes somebody recommends you for an opportunity and your first thought is, Why me?

Sometimes people believe you're ready long before you believe you're ready.

Maybe that's when we need to remember what my mother told me:

We never see ourselves the way other people see us.

Sometimes other people see strengths we've become too accustomed to notice.

Sometimes they see growth while we're still remembering our mistakes.

Sometimes they see who we've become while we're still looking at who we used to be.

I didn't become homecoming king.

I came one vote short.

And strangely enough, I'm glad I learned how close I came.

Because the most important thing I received that day wasn't a crown.

It was the realization that maybe I had been underestimating myself all along.

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Because sometimes the next chapter of your life begins when you stop allowing an old version of yourself to decide what's possible for the person you've become.