It’s been said the purpose of school is to get an education, but what I’ve been schooled in has nothing to do with the symbolism in Ethan Frome or basic trig functions. I haven’t retained even a fraction of the knowledge I’ve acquired over the past 13 years, but I have learned the value of trying hard. There’s more to that ten-page biology packet than vocabulary and word problems — fighting through it builds determination and endurance.

I used to blindly accept the system the way it is — academics has always been my focus in life. Since kindergarten, I’ve appreciated the structure and straightforwardness of school. I love lectures, I love tests, I even love homework. I’m not athletic or artistic — getting good grades is one of my few talents. At some point though, my reliance on school to give me purpose started to bother me. Yes, grades can be vital to getting into your dream college, but what else? Is a 90 really that different from a 100 in determining intelligence? The answer is no, so why was I working so hard for those extra ten points?

There’s this magnet in the journalism room that says, “Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you’ll land among the stars.” That’s the kind of mantra I work to live by, and that attitude has given me justification for my obsession with grades. Life takes hard work — I might as well start learning how to work hard while still living the comfortable life of a dependent minor. Grades might not matter in the long run, but pushing yourself and striving to be the best you can does. If that’s a lesson I had to learn from hours of so-called mindless busywork, then so be it.

I do have regrets about focusing so much on grades; sometimes I feel my hard work has been misplaced when it should have gone into my extracurriculars. If I had settled for an “A-” instead of striving for an “A+,” I could have written that one story a little better or argued that debate round a little stronger. Balance has never been my strong suit; I can’t have the best of both worlds. I wish I hadn’t sacrificed the chance to be great at something to only be good at a lot of little things.

It’s a regret I hope to remedy in college. I no longer feel the need or desire to make perfect grades; I’ve learned how to work, and now it’s time to apply that skill to something I actually care about. Occasionally, I get tastes of success in a field other than academics, like winning top speaker at a debate tournament or going to state for journalism. These moments feel better than any “A” on a government test ever did.

Receiving my diploma used to seem more like the destruction of my safety net than my ticket to independence. I have a new kind of safety net now: I’ll never be “The Best,” and that’s alright — I just need to be better than I was before.

I love Taylor Scruggs more than any A+ I could get.