For the first 17 years of my life, I was an extremely competitive overachiever. I challenged myself to read entire books on Saturday mornings before the rest of my family woke up. I raced the smartest kid in my 5th grade class to see who could read the most books by the end of the school year (and I came in 2nd by 1 book). I joined every enrichment program I came across. I studied nonstop, I took honors classes at my very competitive high school loaded with high achievers, and joined nearly a dozen extra curricular activities. I took pride in the fact that I could finish my tests faster than anyone else in the room and still got A’s. I went from 5am to 10pm nonstop every weekday, and I thrived on it. A full planner is a happy planner, after all.
But at some point during high school, something strange started happening to me. I’d finish an incredibly stressful project, submit it, and the next day, I’d wake up nauseous and miserable, too sick to go to school. After a day at home snuggling with my cat, the nausea would resolve, and I’d be fine. Then, before my senior year, as I started summer work for my AP Statistics class, I began to feel nauseous all the time. It went on for two weeks, and the only food that didn’t make me want to throw up was buttered bread. At the time, I was working for my dad as an administrative assistant, and he insisted on taking me out to lunch at Cosi every work day because they had the best bread in our city. He and my mom were very concerned by my inability to eat most foods, especially considering that I normally ate more than most linebackers. They’d both encouraged me to eliminate some stress, to take a step back, and to focus on enjoying my senior year. I’d adamantly refused, becoming even more stressed. But on one particular trip to Cosi, my dad somehow finally talked me around to dropping AP Stats and taking Honors Calc instead. I wish I could remember more about this conversation, but I do remember being able to eat some of the best Signature Salad of my life without feeling sick at all.
I will never know exactly how dropping AP Stats effected my college admissions, but I know how Honors Calc effected my life. First, I genuinely loved the class and discovered my passion for Calc, as well as math in general. I ended up taking 4 more Calc courses in college to earn a minor and tutored my classmates. Second, I sat right in front of my prom date and spent the year attempting to awkwardly flirt, which was so much fun! And third, because of the reduced course load, I actually really enjoyed my senior year with minimal stress. I was able to take on leadership roles in my extracurriculars, ran fundraisers for student council, and got to spend my free time with my friends.
That September, as I headed off to a small, liberal arts college in CT, I was determined to maintain the balance I’d found in high school, and for the most part of my first two years, I did. I joined a few clubs I really loved so I could give them the commitment they deserved, I took courses I was genuinely interested in, and I had so much fun with my friends. I found myself working incredibly hard, but I was doing it because I loved what I was learning rather than because I wanted to win. Of course I still studied obsessively and kept my grades high, but I didn’t have the same stress I did in high school because I was loving learning so much.
During my junior year of college, I was very unhappy. I was having some issues with friends and relationships, so I retreated into my school work. I stopped going to parties and poured all my efforts into studying. At that point, I had a 3.98, and I set a goal to get that up to a perfect 4.0. That semester, I produced work I was proud of, but I didn’t enjoy it. It felt like continually checking boxes rather than the fun from the years before. And at the end of the semester, when I checked my final grades, I saw all A’s...and an A- in history. Immediately, I burst into tears. My brother, a far more balanced person than me, listened patiently as I explained. “I worked so hard,” I sobbed. “It was the worst semester ever, everyone was so mean, and I got an A- in history, so it was all for nothing!”
“What else did you get?” he asked.
“A’s. But that A- ruined it. It’s the most insulting grade. It’s like oh, you’re so close, but you’re just not good enough.” The sobbing got worse.
“Rosie, an A- isn’t an insult,” he reasoned patiently, but the overachieving beast inside me had taken hold once again. I finished college with a 3.94, I got into every grad school I applied to with scholarships, and I fell into a pattern of letting my grades and accolades determine my worth. But I finished college with just 2 close friends and single, and when I think back on my senior year, I mostly picture studying on my bed. And even though I got into the best graduate program in the country for my field With a partial scholarship, I had to turn it down to go to the local state college for (very logical) financial reasons. I was crushed. I felt empty. But luckily, I went back to my summer job as a permanent teaching assistant 2 days after I moved home. So at least I could throw myself into work!
Once again, the choice I didn’t want to make ended up being the best thing for me. That teaching assistant job brought me some of the best friends I’ve ever had, including 3 members of my wedding party. It brought me Gloria (my student found her for me while he was volunteering at a local shelter), and it brought me Andrew, who worked in the office next to my classroom. Without that job, Emily wouldn’t exist. It was some of the most rewarding work I’d ever done, and I loved the daily challenge. I was able to balance 3 grad courses each semester with my work and a very active social life, and I earned enough credentials to become a lead teacher just a year later. And that state college I was disappointed to go to brought me the best mentor I’ve ever had, a person I still keep in touch with and try to see at least twice a year. I hope to teach there and mentor anxious overachievers myself someday in the not too distant future.
I finished graduate school with a 3.88 that I viewed as slightly disappointing (but at least by then I realized how ridiculous that was) and immediately threw myself into 2 simultaneous certification programs and a new job. The coursework wasn’t particularly hard, but by that point, I’d been in some type of college for 8 years without a break And working full-time for 4 of those years. I was burnt out. Andrew, an overachiever in his own way, had no idea how to handle what eventually spiraled into some form of insanity. I remember one night so vividly in our old apartment when he was working on prep for the next day and I was trying to complete an assignment. I was struggling to get started when finally I just burst into tears. Andrew put his work aside and came to help, and Gloria was in my lap within 2 seconds.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I just can’t do this anymore. I hate school, I hate these classes, I don’t want to do this anymore. And I’m missing Gloria’s whole life doing homework I don’t even care about!”
“Well, what’s your assignment?”
“I need to write a paragraph responding to this person’s post.”
“Okay, and then what?”
I sniffed. “That’s it.”
“Rosalie, you’ve been crying longer than it will take you to do this assignment.” I knew he was right, but it wasn’t until he set me up with Crazy Ex-Girlfriend on my iPad (I’ve always needed background noise to work effectively, and nothing could’ve been better in that moment than a musical comedy about an overachiever!) and Gloria’s purrs hit that perfect pitch that I had some clarity. I needed to be done. I’d been tossing around the idea of applying for educational leadership programs and hoping to get a doctorate by 30, but I needed a break. I would only be in my 20’s for another few years, and I wanted to enjoy them.
And I did. I finished my grad certificates, and despite the fact that I fought and dreaded them more than any other program, I finally finished something with a 4.0. But I really didn’t care. I just wanted to focus on everything else I had going on in my life. For the first time in 23 years, I wasn’t a student. And for the first time in 20 years, I didn’t have homework! I could read for fun! I could make plans with friends without thinking about an upcoming paper. I could go on spontaneous date nights. I could do anything I wanted from the second I got out of work to the moment I went to bed. And I loved it. I planned a wedding, got closer to my friends, spent more time with my family, and loved my job every day.
Now, 5 years later, I’m so incredibly happy with the way things have turned out. And I’m able to enjoy my time with Emily so much more without the added pressure of more grad school. But that doesn’t mean I’ve lost all of my overachiever tendencies. I still struggle with feeling like I’ve fallen behind when I see friends surpassing me professionally. I still start looking into graduate programs when I hear a former classmate is earning their doctorate. I still fall down into Facebook and Instagram black holes, enviously viewing my former classmates’ beautiful homes and expensive luxury cars even though I love my own home and my Subaru. I struggle to see others’ success without feeling a twinge of envy and an often split-second flash of wondering how their life choices put them so ahead of me when we started out at the same place.
Here’s the thing: I’m not behind and they’re not ahead. We’ve simply made different choices in our lives. And success isn’t just financial or academic, it’s all about happiness. So yes, my former teaching assistant is now my boss (and by the way, he’s a fantastic boss, so I’m lucky). And yes, one of my very close friends now lives in what I would qualify as a mansion. And yes, a Facebook friend just bought a Lexus for herself as a Christmas gift. But you know what? Under that split-second flash of envy, I’m truly happy for them. They deserve their success, they worked hard for it. And their success should not be the barometer I judge my own life on. Now, there are different achievements I value more than any grade. Did I snuggle with Emily enough today? Did I make her laugh? Did I give Gloria enough treats and pats? Was I a supportive wife? Did I make my students feel valued? Did I get the dishes in the dishwasher? Did I take time to talk to a family member? Did I actually enjoy my day? I’m fortunate enough to be able to say yes to every single one of those questions more days than not, and I can tell you that all the letters after my name, square footage, and BMWs in the world would feel hollow without these very different achievements.
The older I get, the more I realize that validation can’t come from grades or income, it can only come from genuine happiness. Someday, I hope to eliminate that tiny twinge of envy when I see someone more objectively successful than me and to be able to see their joy without feeling the need to compare it to my own. But for now, I’ll leave you with my favorite poem, “Success,” by Ralph Waldo Emerson:
To laugh often and much; to win the respect of the intelligent people and the affection of children;
to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends;
to appreciate beauty; to find beauty in others;
to leave the world a bit better whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition;
to know that one life has breathed easier because you lived here.
This is to have succeeded.
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