When I was young, I wanted to be a teacher. I was set on the idea that I could be an amazing teacher, and that I would be happy doing it for my entire life. I was already tutoring my friends and classmates as a child, and would constantly play "school" with my younger sister just so I could be the teacher. The idea of one day having my own classroom was something that excited me greatly, and I couldn't wait to grow up.
Well, that was until I hit middle school and all of a sudden I was "full of potential." Suddenly, being a teacher was beneath me, and I was encouraged by everyone around me to aspire to more. My dreams were too small, and I had to pick a new one that best matched my "potential." I felt shocked, as if, until now, I was striving to remain a caterpillar when I could be a butterfly.
From the perspective of my mentors, this should have been a moment of clarity, a revelation that would change my life for the better. However, it instead left me feeling lost. Were my dreams not good enough? Should I pick a dream that would make me more happy? I bounced around from idea to idea for years, until I eventually settled on studying psychology and childhood anxiety disorders. This is what I applied to college to do.
But I still was not satisfied. It wasn't until a couple of years later that I said, "screw it, I'm going to be a teacher anyway." Not because it seemed easy (it's not), but because it's what makes me feel most satisfied.
My story isn't all that different from other academic over-achievers. We aspire to become something that will make us feel satisfied, and instead we are told by those who can see our "true potential" to dream even bigger. The idea that we can achieve as high as we dream to is ingrained in American culture: we're supposed to reach for the "American Dream" and amass as much wealth as we can before we die in the form of property, achievements, and a number on our bank statements.
However, I believe that this pervasive consumerism-based ideal is harmful, especially to the happiness of our children. We believe that they need to aspire to obtain the highest salaries they can, so that they can eventually be happy. If the career they want doesn't rake in obscene amounts of cash, we convince them that they have the potential to earn more, and encourage them to stamp our their ludicrous dreams of becoming a journalist, a sculptor, or a teacher, and find new ones in the forms of doctors, politicians, and software engineers. But, in this process, we convince them that their future happiness and sense of fulfillment is dependent on how much money they make, and not doing work that makes them happy. By the time they realize this, they've probably already earned their degrees and built the foundations of a career. They might even have families of their own. For many, it's too late to make a change, and for those who try, we call it a "mid-life crisis."
The truly horrendous thing is, this idea of potential works in reverse, as well. Academic under-achievers see the dreams their peers are encouraged to pursue, and consider those far beyond their reach. They convince themselves they'll only become gas station attendants, and refuse to even try to do better because they're limited by their "potential." I once was in charge of tutoring a fourth grader who, at nine years old, was convinced that he was too stupid to become anything more than the guy who makes subs at his neighborhood 7/11. Meanwhile, his classmate, who refused to listen to suggestions from anyone on any subject (e.g., what color pencil to use on his homework, what subject to use in his poetry assignment, how to sit in a chair... Etc.) was convinced that he, despite his poor academic performance, was going to become the next JFK. "He was the youngest president!," he'd say. "I'm going to be the NEXT youngest!" Regardless of what anyone said, whether they be his peer or his mentors, he refused to give up his dream of being the next youngest president. The only difference between him and the kid who believed he'd become a gas station attendant was their internalization of their perceived potential.
Now, I'm not advocating for completely avoiding encouraging children to dream big. Kids need to be encouraged to aspire to something. However, we can't continue to believe that convincing a child of their future potential is beneficial to their future success. We're always telling ourselves that money can't buy happiness. So why use it as a measure of how happy you are, or eventually will be? Who benefits from this system? We're only making unhappy children, who become unsatisfied adults. So, to answer my own question:
No one.
