I approach school with an above-average level of zeal. I’ve long been an overly enthusiastic discussion member, a frequent hand-raiser, a “pleasure to have in class.”
But, alongside being a point of pride, academics are also a source of immense stress for me.
It doesn’t help that I live in a strange little world where an A-minus feels like a personal failure and a B like a stab to the chest. My instructors often seem bewildered when I come to their office hours, lamenting a 92% on an essay and wondering where I went wrong.
“That’s a good grade!” they often say. “Don’t worry about it.”
But I worry, alright.
I wasn’t always like this. In fact, I wasn’t really “like this” until right before high school. I was a shining star in the world of slacking off until about eighth grade, which was about when I had an epiphany that the next year — my freshman year of high school — was when things were going to begin to matter.
The next four years were kind of a blur. I had hobbies but no real interest in extracurriculars. I had friends but I wasn’t the type of person who was out every night. Or most nights. Or many nights at all.
I graduated high school at the top of my class, with something in the realm of 110 credits. The requirement to graduate was 64. If only I had spent those extraneous credit hours doing something cool and character-building like underage drinking instead. I can almost picture myself on my deathbed now, telling the tale of my life to my kin:
“No, great-grandma didn’t do anything cool in high school. But she almost filled out her credit tracker twice!”
It almost makes me wish that I had helicopter parents to blame — the kind that would constantly breathe down your neck about grades and homework. But that wasn’t the case. My anxious and overly-critical approach to schoolwork is entirely self-imposed.
The pandemic upended my life from every angle, as it did everyone else’s. I began to question parts of my life I had previously accepted as constants — including my approach to academics. The unbearable isolation and monotony of online school led me to realize just how important it is to, sometimes, prioritize everyday sources of joy over the grind to a degree.
Bit by bit, I’m working to amend my excessively stress-inducing approach to school. I’ll still aim for A’s and go above and beyond when I can. But maybe not as “beyond” as I have in the past. I’ll skip class sometimes to grab a coffee with a friend, or get an extra hour of sleep if I really need it. I try not to panic-email about grades lower than 93%. I don’t always do optional assignments anymore.
Putting in the work towards graduating is fulfilling, but it isn’t what makes us human. There is more to living than making sure the numbers on my transcript are as high as I can get them. I can only hope that when I am, in fact, on my deathbed, I’ll have more to talk about than my GPA in undergrad.
