A Fleeting Sense of Accomplishment

What do you mean you don't give A pluses!?


At the end of the first Star Wars trilogy there is a big party—people are dancing, there is some terrible music being played, and the crushing glove of the empire is replaced with a love for all fellow man and Ewok. Good triumphed and we should be very happy, but even as a little boy I can remember thinking, what are Luke and the gang going to do now? After finally vanquishing their enemy, I imagine them waking up the next day, or a few days onward, and feeling, well, bored.

For a while there, the rebellion had been waging an intergalactic war. Fighter jets, light saber battles, disguises and espionage—they were heroes, and spies, and this brought them together. It gave them a purpose. Appointing committees to restructure a new galactic government, and just generally living in peace has to pale in comparison. I mean, Luke could either get a cushy job through Leia's connections, or go back to spice farming. Most likely he'll end up in some craggy hut like Old Ben Kenobi, meditating and reminiscing or telling the same old heroic stories at the American Legion. And Han, assuming he even gets married, would be bored to death with the pageantry of living in a royal family. I give him a year before he cheats on her worshipfulness.

I mention it because I just completed my first semester as a science major and, though proud, I am suddenly faced with three weeks of time off and nothing to do.

The sense of accomplishment that accompanies the completion of a difficult task is both satisfying and short-lived. For about 15 minutes I was elated. I wanted to go jump on my bike and ride around the city crowing at strangers. Instead I just went home and ate some beans and rice.

About an hour after my exam, something like panic began to overtake me. I started checking my email compulsively. I tried to write something. I got out my guitar, but didn't play it. I started eating everything in the cupboard (which was not much—a few chips, some grape nuts, two fistfuls of almonds). And then I realized that I was completely unprepared for my new found free time.

I have been unemployed now for 4 months and though I have been continually looking for work, I am not sorry about it. I felt fortunate that I could devote myself so completely to my studies. A lot of my peers struggled with the work load because they were forced to keep jobs. It gave me an eerie feeling of privilege, like I was from a wealthy family and didn't have to work (which, in a sense is true, though we just live really simply and get by on very little).

To compensate, I became determined to get straight A's (my grades are as yet unconfirmed). This was no small task. Even as a full time student, I had to prioritize my time and study on a schedule every week. Compared to all my previous schooling, where my goal was merely to pass, it was far more stressful to try not to lose any points than it was to just try to get enough.
And the process consumed me. I even did the extra credit assignments when I didn't need to. I became hyper competitive with the other students, and when I outscored them I became competitive with myself. One teacher, while arguing with me about an 'incorrect' answer, pointed out, "You know we don't give A pluses." I didn't know, but I didn't care either. Every deduction from a perfect score was a painful jab at my carelessness. My anatomy teacher grades on the curve, meaning she takes the highest score and makes it a 100, the difference is then added to everyone's score. Twice my test was the curve setter, but I actually felt disappointed when I realized that I had not scored a 100 at all, I had only rightfully earned a 95 and a 98. My perfect scores were tainted. Now I know how Roger Maris must have felt.

I realize that I must seem pretty unsympathetic. Something happened to me this semester in my quest for perfection and, although I felt unable to stop it, suffice it to say that I didn't really enjoy the feeling. I like being in school, and I like working toward a goal, but the singular nature of my goal—to score 100s—was stressful and had a hollowing effect. I do not think it's bad to be devoted to something, especially education, but I think it is important to try to retain a sense of humor and humility about it, to allow yourself to make mistakes and enjoy yourself.

I see the same symptoms when I watch Tiger Woods. I think it is universally agreed that he is the greatest golfer alive, possibly ever. And yet his steely glare, his victorious fist pump that borders on rage, his dull-eyed anguish when he loses—I get the feeling that he's never really having any fun at all. He is only there to win. Well, winning feels good, but as they say, it isn't everything. Just ask Luke.