For a few moments, I considered titling this piece “The Existential Dilemma” … because it seems like that in some ways.

When I was in high school –perhaps, going into my sophomore year – I remember freaking out because I suddenly felt extremely behind – academically, athletically, musically, and all-around extracurricular-ly (and yes, I made up this word at the time).

As the thought of college visits, applications, and anxiety began to enter my lovely, albeit concentrated, high school atmosphere, I suddenly became very frantic that I simply wasn’t doing enough.

I wasn’t a good athlete, yet I had to contribute some of my after-school hours to sports in order to fulfill my school’s athletic requirement. I participated in music and had been successful, but I was never going to be a musician; it almost didn’t make sense for me to be contributing time to private lessons, if this wasn’t going to matter to college admissions officers.

I was a reporter for my high school’s newspaper, but at the time, it didn’t seem like I was on track for an editor position. I also participated in two other clubs, but I had no idea if such involvement was going to be considered prestigious enough by a university, nor if I would excel to leadership positions. The counselors, teachers and college admissions officers preached quality over quantity, yet it was somewhat unclear what was meant by quality.

By the time the college counselors at my high school began infiltrating our emails junior year, I had a better foresight of what my college applications would look like. I was a better student than I was athlete, and a better musician than I was artist, but aside from this conception, I had no idea what would set me apart.

Entering my junior year of high school, I find myself in a similar position. I have an idea of what I will appear as, when I graduate, but still, I am unsure of who will be evaluating me, and subsequently, what they will be looking for.

I am no longer an athlete by force, and I have completely dropped music. I am involved at my university’s newspaper, but since I don’t know where I will end up, it’s hard to know the credit I will receive for such involvement. The issue becomes somewhat existential, rather than extracurricular, as I’m no longer sure of my audience.

Will being a reporter look good to a law school? Will a tutoring job appeal to a PhD program in sociology? Will research hours matter if I don’t pursue research?

In high school, I remember fixating on the idea of simply being well-rounded – doing as much as I could in as many areas as I could, without appearing as though I was favoring quantity. I wanted to make it look like I had a variety of interests, which I did, and still do.

However, I admit that it was easier at that time to appear interested in a lot of things. Now, there is more of an emphasis, on where exactly do I want to end up, and subsequently, what can I do to get me there?

I’m a firm believer that you get out what you put in, and I’d like to think it still works that way. Quality over quantity, don’t overdo it, and above all, enjoy as much as possible. I think activities are a way to show interest and passion, however big or small. They should keep us honest, interested and excited.

Though the issue may still be existential, perhaps the quality of the activities contributes enough to our well-being to make them assets to our character as well.

Still, the extracurricular pursuit endures.