Most people don't grow up; they just age. From the time someone takes his or her first step to his or her first high school prom to the day he or she returns home from the hospital with a perfect little baby, one grows a little older. Many assume that maturity consists of getting a driver's license at sixteen, receiving an acceptance letter to a prestigious college, or maintaining a part-time job while taking both high school and college classes. However, I think growing up is something different. In just four years I have experienced more change than I ever imagined. During my high school career, I learned the important difference between two very misinterpreted ideas: perfection and excellence.

I think it is no coincidence that the first sin committed in the Garden of Eden stemmed from the desire to be perfect. And just like the serpent came to Eve and enticed her with the idea of being "God-like," I too was bitten with the desire to achieve an unreachable goal. I started my high school years burdened with the pressure to feel the most beautiful, intelligent, cheerful, and, ultimately, flawless. When I first stepped into the Pride of the Red White and Blue (all hail Pace High), I only dreamed of making myself known to the unfamiliar faces around me. I pushed to be what everyone wanted me to be, constantly in the shadows of those who I thought had more to offer. I bombarded my thoughts with statements such as, "If only I was ten pounds lighter, then everything would be fine," or, "I will be happy when I can pass an algebra test without studying." Now, instead of being product-minded, I strive to be process-minded, relying less on beliefs of "if." Excellence enforces the motto, "I enjoy it now," and teaches one to be content within the moment.

I remember when I first kindled the flame of competition. It wasn't easy for me to accept my place in the family as the second youngest out of eight remarkable over-achieving children. Never once did I let pass an opportunity to show up my older brother in challenges like academics to sports to even more innocent tasks like playing board games or riding bikes. I felt the need to be best in every way possible, which revealed the root cause of my perfectionism. As if I was a surveyor, I occupied my time scouting out areas I was able to measure myself up against a complete idealistic model of existence. Now I understand the ignorance of wanting to be "the best" because realistically, "the best" is undefinable when applied to human life. To strive to be unequal or matchless would be to deny the reality that we are not faultless and to mock God and his absolute perfection. Because I aim for excellence, I understand that I am a fool to compare myself to others when God uniquely created us as individuals, therefore, no two are even comparable.

High school is all about how well someone can rock a crop-top while managing a 29 on the ACT, or how the star athlete can un a last minute touchdown in the fourth quarter and while maintaining a healthy home life. Being surrounded by a performance-based atmosphere skewed my conception of self-worth. Not only was I dismayed when I failed a chemistry quiz or denied a role in a spring play, I also began to feel like less of a person. I bought into this idea that self-worth equated to how well one performed and that somehow it was possible to improve self-sufficiency by "work." But when we know Christ, we find our identity in Him alone and there is nothing we can do to diminish or heighten our value. Excellence is determined by who we are and not what we do and allows us to be free from the pressures of making it on our own.

Just the other day as I was sitting on my back porch looking out into the woods, I heard an unusual scratching sound. When I walked towards my pool, I found a little turtle flipped over on his shell. I pitied the animal and carefully propped him back up on his legs, waiting to see what he would do next. As I stood watching, the turtle began to scratch at the walls of the swimming pool in attempt to climb up and onto land. I readjusted him each time as he scratched the lining of the wall and fell over onto his back. I couldn't help but laugh because I related so well to the reptile. Like the unreachable goals we set up for ourselves, the unrealistic standards of our self-worth we try to attain, or our desire to be utterly perfect, we scratch the surface of something impossible to accomplish. In the end, we lie on our backs, unable to achieve the life we crave. In my four years of high school, I was taught the distinct differences between the nonexistent and the attainable, which was really perfection and excellence.