I grew up as I’m sure many of you fellow Pepperdiners did under the impression that not only was “success” in its myriad of forms the most desirable thing for which we should reach but it could be succinctly and accurately measured by the eyes of the world. It was gauged in any number of ways from the fresh new uniforms I was entrusted with upon making the sports team to the shiny gold medals for winning the spelling bee or the 400-meter dash. Or most notably the neat little line of (hopefully) matching letters marching down the columns of each semester’s report card attesting to my mastery of every subject.
Many of us succumbed at a young age to this line of thinking by answering the call for perfectionism and overachievement. So what if we didn’t have lives; if every day was filled with practice and homework and meetings for every group and club known to man? If you had asked anyone around me in high school they would have said I was a model student pointing to all the proper markers of my teenage success. Besides it was just for a time— until I could get to where I wanted to go and relax a little bit.
Yet this trend continued or perhaps even intensified when I reached college. The drive for a perfect record for achievements the world (or at least the most prestigious internships and grad schools) would recognize only grew. Getting straight As and leading all those extracurricular activities had gotten me into college. If I did the same at university level they would get me into graduate school into the Peace Corps into a doctoral program into an exciting career— anywhere I wanted to go— and the cycle would continue. So long as I kept my perfectionism and fast-paced lifestyle on overdrive there seemed to be no end to what I would achieve (and no end to the stress instead of sleep-filled nights).
Then during the first semester of my senior year here at Pepperdine reality hit. A few things happened to help challenge my notion of this cookie-cutter recipe for success I had held to all my life. Needless to say I was rudely awakened from my perfectionist state.
First came the dreaded B. (OK so I had already received one in Convocation a year earlier but who really counts that?) No this horrifying letter next came in a “real” class— a general education course— one most students take (and many ace) as freshmen. Not only that but it was one I had already taken at my previous university yet which Pepperdine flatly refused to transfer. By all accounts I should have easily achieved the coveted A.
Yet I was strangely satisfied with my well-earned B and here is why: I soon learned the success of that semester was quantified by something far more important than a little letter on my transcript.
As my grade in the course started to slip it wasn’t just because of how challenging the course was or how hard it was to keep up. Instead it was due to a series of conscious choices on my part— the choice made one afternoon that coffee with a good friend was more important than that extra hour of studying. Or deciding that actually keeping myself healthy by sleeping was much wiser than yet another all-nighter before the big exam. Or that brushing up on my Spanish for my major courses was more important than one little grade in a GE.
But perhaps most importantly I began to discover that success isn’t always measurable in the typical ways we were taught to think. That B didn’t reflect all the other things achieved that year that may never be quantifiable— the friendships nurtured over lunches and late-night talks; the afternoons spent raising any bit of awareness for campaigns about which I am passionate; the countless meetings spent planning a trip that changed my life and just might change others in ways that can never be measured traced or described.
Many of these may never make it onto a resume but no matter. I’ll drop the perfectionism and take a B in return for these greater immeasurable achievements any day. So should we all.
