When I was starting 11th grade, my dad, an agricultural scientist, was assigned to a 3-month research project in a farm village in Niigata (northwest Honshu in Japan). Rather than stay behind with my mom and siblings, I begged to go with him. As a straight-A student, I convinced my parents and the principal that I could handle my schoolwork remotely (pre-COVID) for that stretch. It was time to leap beyond my comfortable suburban Wisconsin life—and my Western orientation, reinforced by travel to Europe the year before.
In Japan, we shared a sprawling farmhouse with a family participating in my dad’s study. I expected an “English-free zone,” but local high school students wanted to practice English, allowing me to meet with peers even though I didn’t attend their school. Of the many eye-opening, cultural experiences, the one that resonates most deeply is experiencing the local community.
The village operated as a living, organic whole. Elementary school kids helped with the rice harvest. People who foraged for seasonal wild edibles gave them to acquaintances throughout the town. In fact, there was a constant sharing of food among residents—garden veggies carried in straw baskets, fish or meat in coolers. The pharmacist personally delivered prescriptions to people who couldn’t easily get out—new mothers, the elderly—not as a business service but as a good neighbor. If rain threatened, neighbors would bring in each other’s drying laundry. When an empty-nest 50-year-old woman had to be hospitalized suddenly for a near-fatal snakebite, neighbors maintained her veggie patch until she returned. The community thrived on a constant awareness of others’ needs and circumstances.
Yet, the villagers lamented that this way of life was vanishing; as more young people left than stayed. And it wasn’t idyllic--gossip, long-standing personal grudges, busybody tendencies also existed. But these very human foibles didn’t hinder the community's flow. This dynamic community couldn’t have been more different from my suburban life back home, where insular nuclear families exist and our interaction with others is limited to a polite nod hello to neighbors in passing.
This wonderful experience also contained a personal challenge. Except for my dad, I saw no Westerner in the village. Blond and blue-eyed, I became “the other” for the first time. Curious eyes followed me. Stepping into a market or walking down the street, I drew gazes. People quickly looked away if they accidentally caught my eye. It was not at all hostile, but I felt like an object of fascination. I began making extra sure to appear “presentable” before going outside. The sense of constantly being watched generated mild stress I hadn’t experienced before. Returning to my lovely tatami room, I would decompress, grateful to be alone.
This experience was a minute fraction of what others experience in my own country. First hand, I encountered the toll that “otherness” can take even when there is no overt discrimination. Experiencing it firsthand, albeit briefly, benignly, and in relative comfort, I got it.
Unlike the organic Niigata community, workplaces and teams have externally driven purposes. Within a business environment, I will strive to exemplify the ongoing mutual awareness that fueled the community life in Niigata. Does it benefit the bottom line or improve the results? I don’t know. As people feel their “otherness”—even when it’s not in response to negative treatment, I want to be an empathetic leader who creates an inclusive environment.
In this essay, this middle-class Midwesterner has a unique experience of being different from the surrounding majority, something she had never experienced before. As a member of the majority in the United States, she had never experienced the perspective of being “the other”. This allowed her to share a story about being in circumstances that were new to her and opened her eyes to how others may feel in a similar situation, no matter where in the world they may be.
Here a few things to note about why this diversity essay works so well:
By writing about a time when you experienced diversity in one of its many forms, you can write a memorable and meaningful diversity essay. Personal growth can be demonstrated by providing insights into an enhanced understanding of how you see things differently following your experience. Further, positioning one’s personal reflection of the experience as it might apply to the business school or professional environment is an important aspect of the diversity essay.
While this essay tells a story of a cultural difference, diversity can be understood in a number of key ways, including:
Diversity through life experiences:
Identity diversity based on personal characteristics:
Educational and professional backgrounds:
Each life experience shapes our perspective by broadening our understanding, increasing our empathy, and enabling us to better use our problem-solving skills. The richness of your experience in Business School is based on the diverse community you join, contribute to, and further challenge your ideas and approach to issues from multiple angles instead of a single lens.
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