For as long as I can remember, I’ve been the golden child in my family. I’ve had the grades, the ambition and the witty personality to match.
When asked what I wanted to be, my response was always something along the lines of veterinarian or lawyer, even though my only actual plans consisted of deciding what to play at recess that week.
Since second grade or so, I’ve been in the GT program. You know, the one they put you in when you finished your assigned chapters in “Junie B. Jones,” then complained about being bored. The only solution to this problem, without creating more work for my teachers, was to stick me in a random science lab with the fourth graders and tell me to stare at fractions and discuss the scientific method for an hour and a half every day.
As I grew older, I realized how little involvement GT had in my education. Every once in a while there was a project opportunity, but it wasn’t like I was walking around with a badge, wearing a fancy uniform, or leaving school to visit NASA every week. When they were questioned about my schooling, my parents had the opportunity to brag about their daughter being a “child genius.” That’s about it.
For middle school, I attended the STEM Academy, which was filled to the brim with GT students and STAAR test masters. Often referred to as the nerd school or the weird kids, we flew through grades six, seven and eight thinking we were nothing like regular students that attended regular schools.
Now, though, since attending a “normal” school, I’ve come to know that I am exactly like the regular students. I’m neither the smartest nor most popular in the room, but I’m also never at the bottom of the barrel. With the influx of more difficult classes, my grades have faltered, my ambition has lessened, and my personality has plateaued at a meh. I don’t feel the overwhelming urge to accomplish the unaccomplished like I did when I was young, and I don’t really know who I want to be when I’m older.
There’s so much I don’t know about myself and the world around me, and I’ve discovered that I’m alright with that. At the risk of sounding cliché, I learned it’s best to stay true to myself and explore my options at my own pace. I learned that even after an abysmal grade, the world will keep on turning, the sun will rise and set, and 2.7 billion stars will die somewhere out in space. Despite what I believed in my youth – well, my youth before now – my failures do not define my worth (academic or otherwise) and, if I want to continue improving, I have to let them go.
