April 4, 2018

With papers scattered across my desk and adorning the floor, I continue my studying just as I was doing the day prior. And the day before that. And before that one as well. Truth be told, it often seems that despite the raw effects of pressing my pencil to the paper, the advent often seems purposeless.

Yet still I work, continuing under the pressure reinforced by the promise of a brighter future. That’s what I am working for, isn’t it? That’s why, against the wishes of my body, friends, and family, I am awake three hours past usual, kept awake by caffeine and kept from quitting by the future dread I would feel. The discontent that would cloud my day, reinforcing the idea that I am not worthy, I need to work harder. And so I stay awake, so I keep working, and so the cycle continues, ad infinitum.

It’s true that I have grown as a result of this drive. I’ve gotten smarter, my grades have increased, and interests have been spurred, but at what cost? Surely there is much to gain; my dream college is more likely to accept me, I’ll be more knowledgeable, and likely be paid more in the future. But will I be happier? As it stands, peace and joy both prove to be illusive as, for me, they’re nearly impossible to find without success. The quandary complicates itself further as with each growth, I find myself redefining what it means to be successful.

This year, I advanced to DECA internationals, unlike the year previous. This year, I am successful. But will I be next year, even if I make it to the same level? And what would result from not advancing next year? Likely, even more disappointment than from my first year. What have I learned? Expectations define how I view my past, present, and future self, and deriving long-term happiness from success alone is dangerous.

Many of us, if not all, have work or school goals. I had a goal last year; I wanted to score among the highest in our class for our AP Biology tests. I studied like I never had before, foregoing both social activities and sleep and redefining what hard work was to myself. No longer did I see the familiar double digit grade stamped on my Scantron as was always expected the year prior. I regularly began scoring above the curve, exceeding my own expectations and certainly completing my goal. But what now?

The papers littering my floor, what are they for? What purpose did they serve? They were completed mostly not for now, not for their own sake, but for future me’s sake. The issue comes when I am always chasing the future. I can chase those grades, and get them. I can chase that dream college, and get that too. Ultimately, I can chase that high paying job, and of course get that as well, but if all my priorities are forever focused on a chase for the future, I will never truly be accomplished, nor will I ever appreciate life. If I am never accomplished, then what is the point, really? The lesson here is that work should not be my life, it should support my life.

I picked up one of those papers that blanketed my floor at random. Like all my AP Psychology notes, nothing was printed on the back, so I began to write. In one minute, the formerly blank paper had just a few words on it:

Current goals:

Advance to FBLA Nationals this Saturday

Get a 90 in Math Analysis

Get into UVA

I noticed an unfortunate pattern. All of my goals, the motivators that force me to rise out of bed in the morning, revolve around school. I have no personal or life goals outside of that, and that is why things seem purposeless. “You’re so ahead of yourself that you forgot what you need,” is a lyric from Billy Joel’s “Vienna” that defines this dilemma, as ambition and the longing for self-actualization are driving me further into what could be rather than appreciating what is.

With papers scattered across my desk and adorning my floor, I should be ranking up in Counter Strike: Global Offensive, reading The Book Thief, or giving more attention to my friends, because these are goals that motivate me to be happy, not just be.