I applied to be on Survivor this week. For the uninitiated, each modern season of this reality TV show is structured around eighteen-ish contestants being divided into “tribes” and living on the islands of Fiji. They are responsible for building their own shelters, living off little food, and competing in physical and mental challenges for rewards like fishing gear and flint and steel, or for “immunity.” Immunity is vital because if your tribe loses that challenge, you’ll find yourself at “tribal council,” during which you vote one tribe member out of the game—or get voted out yourself. Tribes merge at the halfway point of the season, and the game becomes individual before the voted-out players ultimately choose which of the final three players standing takes home the prize of one million dollars and coveted title of “Sole Survivor.” The show has been pumping out multiple seasons a year since its debut in 2000, capturing fans with a game that is equal parts physical, social, and strategic. Season 50 is airing next month, a hallmark event for a TV show that has become significantly entrenched in pop culture.

So, why did I apply? I’m not exactly a super-fan. I found my first season of Survivor during the pandemic and have enjoyed a smattering of both early and modern-era seasons since. It hasn’t been a lifelong dream, nor do I have goals of launching a post-Survivor life as a D-list celebrity. Frankly, the idea of giving a team of strangers editing control over my inevitable mistakes and embarrassing moments before broadcasting them on a national stage is terrifying.

But this past season, something about host Jeff Probst’s commercial-break-encouragements to apply hit me right where he wanted them to. I filled out the demographic info and sat down on my couch to record my three-minute application video, wrestling with how best to sell myself to the CBS casting team. As much as a heartwrenching story about a sick loved one resonates with viewers, I’m fortunate to say that isn’t a part of my story at this point in life. I’m not a single parent looking for a million dollars to provide for my children, nor am I a wacky personality primed to become the next Survivor character sensation. All I had in my toolbox was to stick to what the casting guidance recommended: giving a genuine look into my life and why I wanted to be on the show.

So I talked about being raised in West Michigan. How I had role models showing me the importance of caring for others in my community, and how those values led me into a career where I do my best to empower others through relationship. How sharing that same worldview is part of why I fell in love with my wife, and how it’s been a privilege to do my best in a supporting role as she becomes an expert in building healthier communities across the globe. How seeing her thrive and succeed has caused me to ponder what I’ve been achieving in my own work as a remote program administrator, and how I would relish the opportunity to tangibly have my fate in my own two hands and prove to myself that I have what it takes to make the most out of a multi-faceted situation. How I’m a bit daunted by the potential for an international career in our future together, and how stepping out into the adventure of Survivor would be an affirmation of confidence and tenacity that would prepare me to greet the future with open arms.

Do I think that there’s a strong chance I’ll end up as a contestant on Survivor? Surely not. Thousands of people apply year after year who would make much more compelling TV than I. But maybe some casting director will think that a generic-but-genuine white boy from Michigan is exactly what Season 51 needs—and if that’s the case, I’ll be ready to pack my bags for Fiji.

Luke Brandsen

Luke Brandsen graduated in 2019 and uses his business/HR degree to inform directing mission-focused programs. He currently lives in Ann Arbor, Michigan, where he squints at the players on his bootleg soccer stream, breaks guitar strings, and desperately tries to recall where the last D&D session he ran left off.