When I was preparing to come to college, and even within my first weeks, I was ready to fail. I knew the classes would be harder, I would not instantly have a group of friends to support me, and I didn't know how to get around campus or distinguish one building from another. I knew there would be obstacles and challenges, but I was ready to face them, to try to overcome them. Because I had failed before, because I had tried so hard but could not succeed (thanks, Coldplay), I was ready to face failure. Failing at a young age is not only inevitable, it also makes you a stronger, harder, and more determined worker.
Growing up, it felt as if I always surrounded by people succeeding; people getting good grades, people winning games, people getting recognized for just doing well in general. While my perspective may have been slightly skewed, and I may have been a slightly (okay very) dramatic high schooler, I wanted nothing more than to thrive in everything I did. I often felt I would work at something until I couldn't work anymore, yet I still wouldn't achieve the result I was desperately yearning for. I wouldn't get the 100 on the test, or I wouldn't win my tennis match. I took these little, everyday defeats as failures and felt as if I couldn't do anything right. Throughout high school, I felt I wasn't even good at anything, let alone everything.
An example of a failure that has still stuck with me for three years was when I took chemistry as a sophomore in high school. I was terrible at chemistry. None of it made sense to me, and I never understood any of the topics. It was basically like learning a second language. To this day, I cannot think of a time where I put more energy into something than what I put into chemistry that year. I was in my teacher's room before school, after school, during my free periods, basically anytime I could be. I would study and study and study until I would fall asleep on my textbook, and I still never received a grade that I felt was satisfactory; that I felt encompassed how much energy I had put in. While at the time, this was a miserable experience to endure, I learned many lessons that year, and none of them had to do with chemistry. I learned that it is impossible to be good at everything. Even though I wasn't good at chemistry, I was doing pretty well in English.
I classified "good" as being the best and would often be upset with anything less, mostly because I never really was the best. I was involved in many activities and often probably tried to take on too much. I would look around at the people in each activity who were the best and wondered why that wasn't me. I now know that it is okay to not be the best, and not being the best actually makes me stronger.
By the end of high school, I started putting my energy into activities and classes that I felt passionate about, such as dance. I knew I was nowhere near the best dancer or choreographer in my class, but that was okay. I was doing something I loved, something that made me happy, and something I would probably never be able to do again. Once I stopped focusing on how to be an extraordinary person, I started actually having fun.
Now, of course, academics are not about fun. While I believe everyone should study something they enjoy and feel passionate about, I also believe in order to be successful, you must do a good job in school. While I continue to work my butt off to try to succeed and do well in my classes, I know that academic success is not always possible. I know sometimes I will work extremely hard and not do well on a test. I cannot expect to receive a good grade just because I think I deserve it, I must actually earn it.
Failure has taught me that it is okay to not be the best, that it is okay to just be average and enjoy what you're doing. Failure has taught me that it is impossible to achieve without hitting rock bottom first. I hope I never have to feel how I felt in chemistry ever again, but I know if I do, I will be stronger because of it.
