jake
cleland

Unused potential

I’ve grown up with the belief that I’m precocious, instilled in me by plenty of people throughout my childhood and adolescence. I’m sure some would refer to this as “being coddled”, and I don’t think I’d disagree.

To an extent, most children grow up with a sense that they’re special. It’s a cliche now, of course. Perhaps my favorite exchange about this takes place in The Incredibles.

Elastigirl: Everybody’s special.
Dash: That’s another way of saying nobody is.

True! You can’t trust your parents when it comes to such things; Of course every parent thinks their child is the most special. So for a while, I shrugged off the plentiful compliments of relatives.

One morning, I made the conscious decision to be less introverted. I became rambunctious but never rude, and people in school started paying attention to me. Teachers took me aside and vocalised their frustration with me: So much potential that was being wasted by not handing in assignments and paying attention in class for the sole reason of gaining fodder for my witticisms. Expending energy on feeling smugly superior when I could be doing something important. I imagine my response was  “Whatever, man”.

Even other kids were awed by the combination of incredible intelligence and lack of motivation. On several notable occasions, people told me: “Jake, you’re so smart, why don’t you go to classes?”

Because I was too good for class.

I posit that it was the praise that exacerbated the problem. While I was already hardly motivated to do things I didn’t want to do, the fact that my ego was greatly inflated gave me the impression that I was too important to be in the classroom with people that had half the aptitude for learning that I did. My talent was being wasted associating with these commoners. Hence, my most fondly remembered academic memories took place in one-on-one sessions: It made me feel special.

Then one day I had a revelation: The reason I wasn’t trying was because I was really scared. I had these immense expectations of myself, from years of comments like “I’m intimidated by your intelligence”. What if I did apply myself, gave it an honest try, and didn’t excel? What if everyone was wrong, and I was really just average?

Now, I’m sick of that. Sick of being afraid to test myself. I guess that’s why I like writing these long posts so much. Other than the obvious benefit of catharsis, it makes me think, and work, and try. It’s also incredibly validating when writers I admire Like the long posts. Deciding not to pursue further education this year was quite a gambit. While some of my friends have a direction for the next few years, I have to choose my own. That limitless possibility is absolutely terrifying, but it’s forcing me to think, and work, and try. Everything I do now has to be excellent, because if it isn’t, I’m pretty fucked. School is a beautiful safety net (see: Coolidge College) that I’ve chosen not to lay underneath life’s tightrope (and like a tightrope, this metaphor is precarious). I’m finally going to find out whether all those people were right. I think that’s exciting.