Earlier today, a friend of mine asked me what the most important thing I learned about life from my four years of college. Not an easy question. But after a minute of thinking, I realized I knew the answer:

There is no line between being good and bad at anything. There is just where you are, and where you could be.

The first time I realized this was during my first semester in acting class. In this class, one of the exercises we did was called the “slow ten.” The gist is that you walk slowly across the room, moving your pelvis at a constant rate (it makes sense in context). It sounds pretty easy, right? Wrong! It turns out that normal walking is actually a bunch of stops and starts done so quickly that they look like constant motion. Actually moving at a constant rate is hard. And, I soon discovered, it's even harder for me than it is for most people. While most of the class seemed to be getting the hang of it, I couldn't figure out how to walk without stopping.

About two thirds of the way through the semester, I ended up in my professor's office, crying. What was wrong with me? I knew what I was supposed to do, but my body refused to do it. I just wasn't good at this, and it was embarrassing.

I don't know what I was expecting my professor to say. I suppose I was hoping for some silver bullet which would magically make me good at slow tens, but I didn't expect one. Maybe I thought he was going to tell me that if I couldn't do this, I clearly would never be a good actor and that I should probably quit now before I got my hopes up any higher. He didn't.

What he said was that no one ever has been “good” at slow tens, and that no one ever would be. It is impossible to move at a perfectly constant rate, and that there is no point, no matter how close you are, that is good enough. There will always, always be more that you want to accomplish. The goal should never be to be “good,” but to be “better.”

I went back to my theatre class with that mindset, and I flourished. When I focused on moving forward rather than trying to prove anything to myself, I made far more progress. Even better, I soon realized that, when I approached other aspects of my life the same way, the results would be equally rewarding.

My friendships are a great example. I used to be obsessed with trying to prove that I had good friends, both to others and to myself. Whenever I would get invited somewhere, it would be a huge confidence boost. Whenever I was ignored or blown off, it would hurt for days because clearly this person didn't care about our friendship. This is a good way to drive yourself crazy. When I instead started focusing on becoming closer to people who I wanted to befriend, the kind of friendships I wanted started to form naturally. The same can be said of my school work, my writing, and even my physical fitness. When I focused on improving instead of trying to convince myself that I was good enough already, everything became so much more attainable.

I don't know for sure, but I'd like to think that freshman me would look at senior me and think “she's so good.” I've done several things in the past few years, socially, academially and artistially of which I am very proud. But I also know that I'm not good enough. There are so many ways I can improve.

I can't wait to get started.