"Welp! Is that an IMPOSTOR?"

As I chatted endlessly on an online call with my mom, Wanja, and sister, Becca, an email popped up on my mobile phone. My heart skipped a beat as I read the email subject, "Routledge author update: access to your article published in an issue of Journal of the Musical Arts in Africa."

"Oh my God!" I exclaimed to my mom and sister. "My article has just been published online! I can't believe it! 2024 is not even over yet, wow!' My mind and heart raced excitedly as I opened the email to reveal its contents. Bubbling with exhilaration, I quickly shared the link with my beloved companions on the call affirming this thrilling reality. I had worked hard all year round, particularly leading up to the ethnomusicology symposium that led to the writing of the article. It was such a full-circle moment to see the report after the daunting process of writing while concurrently continuing my master's research.

Clicking the article link to open it online, I promptly took a screenshot, endeavouring to share this milestone with my friends and capture the moment as a time stamp on my academic journey. Without a second thought, I posted the screenshot on my Instagram story, briefly sharing my joy with my world. That's when I heard it. A soft, disturbing shriek emanated from deep within me. "Welp! Is that an impostor?"

"Who the heck said that?" I asked myself, pausing momentarily to read the first page of the article. That couldn't possibly be me. That's ridiculous. I worked diligently to get here. "Oh no!" The silent voice gasped after reading the first few lines. "That sentence is too long. How in the world could you miss such an obvious thing?" And just like a spoonful of sugar in a water beaker, the exhilaration within me dissolved into self-criticism.

"Jeez, I sound like an amateur. How can a master's student overlook such basic things? It's just a simple matter of commanding the English language." Slowly, I slipped deeper into my mind, awakening my insecurities. In less than an hour, I had taken down the Instagram story, attempting to avert the world's gaze from my imperfect work. 'You imposter," I now recognised my voice emerging from within me.

Why was my mind playing tricks on me? Didn't my inner voice participate in the process of bringing this work to life? Why did I feel like an imposter? Was I an imposter? These questions circled my mind in a maddening loop of self-destruction. I wondered where that previously excited woman had disappeared off to and why I was suddenly lost in a sea of imperfections. The work and effort previously put in were promptly thrown out the window as though they had no consequence. Only flaws and shortcomings remained. Plain and real. “What an ugly sight,” I whispered internally. Continuing the ghastly cycle of self-sabotage.

As my mind wandered deeper into its own web, another voice found itself searing from further within me. Like a muffled call that said, “Wait! It’s just your first publication, and it’s a report. It’s really not that deep.” Frankly, I almost never heard it, but the incessant words floated softly beneath my self-doubt. As the words continued to hum hauntingly within my psyche, I found myself drifting towards them and slowly away from my self-doubt. It was as though that subtle voice offered a gentle landing beneath the deafening negativity in my mind.

Inching closer to the voice of consolation, another phrase sounded within me, reflecting on how much I had learnt throughout the symposium and in the months leading up to it. I then found myself taken back to our drive up to what’s now being referred to as Makhanda (Grahamstown) for the symposium with my supervisor and some fellow colleagues. In those moments, we had such candid interactions that ended up providing the most significant learnings. It wasn’t the many lectures, research papers and efforts to develop my academic work that enabled me to build good working relationships. It was the capacity to connect with openness and honesty with my colleagues that facilitated real connection and knowledge sharing. This thought took me to each moment I encountered other academics at the symposium, each presentation watched and event experienced. I realised just how much I had absorbed through these people and moments that went far beyond the work I had been doing. There was so much to learn.

Circling back to my recently published report, I eventually realised (with additional encouragement from dear friends) that the content shared in the report highlighted significant issues and experiences manifested in the countless learnings from the symposium. This was commendable. No amount of imperfection could annul that. Additionally, the capacity to pick up the shortcomings in my own work provided a unique opportunity to leverage my learnings, practise my writing and improve in knowledge and expression. As for the language matter, the old adage swiftly beckoned, “English came with a ship after all.”

Finally, I started to see that those tiny imperfections simply pointed me in the direction of my next educational adventure. The idea of an academic mission excited me, stilling the impostor within. A sense of calm came over me as I took a deep breath in this new truth.

I was exactly where I needed to be. ✨

~The Afreecan

Article published on JMAA