Can I be candid for a moment?

I’ll just start at the beginning, and ask for forgiveness and empathy for the parts that aren’t so flattering.  

OK. I’ve always wanted to be the star pupil.

In Kindergarten, when Miss Liner picked me for the lead in the class reenactment of Cinderella, I distinctly remember feeling honored. Privileged. Chosen.

The leading authority saw something in me and she picked me. I was special.

Over time I learned how to replicate that feeling by being uniquely the best at whatever I was doing.

I learned to be a good student. Reasonably good, in fact. It’s a rhythm I fall into easily, readily: at the front of the class, right leg crossed over left, pen in hand, leaning forward, squinting thoughtfully.

I could be learning about indigenous trees to New Mexico or the history of feminist anti-racist organizing; I never hesitate to ask questions, to jump in headfirst. I talk to teachers after class, I write thoughtful and well-crafted papers, I get good grades. OK. (Thanks, my ego probably needed those acknowledgments.)

None of that is false. I love learning. I’m my most fulfilled and excited in an environment of growth.

But I’m learning to see and feel how limiting it is to be so damn ambitious all the time.

It means that I have to keep proving myself at the expense of fully experiencing whatever I’m doing.

The drive to be the universal prodigy means I sometimes can’t focus on what I’m doing because I’m busy wondering what the teacher is thinking.

It entails a mandate to always be “the best,” and inevitable shame and embarrassment when I’m not in the top 3% of whatever.

These days it brings some relief to let go of that.

To honor the reality that I’m not a natural-born prodigy in all things. And to let that be ok.

Because, hello, I’m still a really good learner and there are a healthy handful of activities, disciplines and pursuits that really do allow me to shine.

And if being a teacher’s pet and a would-be prodigy is actually a proxy for a need to be special or unique, then the toughest question is:

What if I’m not actually all that unique?

What if, despite everything Gen-Y’ers have heard all of our lives, in the histories of young women finding their own way, of society and the stars and galaxies and the ever-expanding universe that’s billions of years old – {deep breath}

All my hopes, my dreams, my desires, my business, everything I do or want to do; everything I feel or think I’m unique in feeling – what if all of that is unremarkably, supremely average?

It’s a little depressing. But it’s also freeing, maybe.

Because if that’s the case, seriously, to hell with it.

Screw needing to be the best. Screw being the star pupil. I’d rather enjoy my life. I’d rather spend my time deeply loving the people around me. I’d rather find joy in every little thing and let go of the need to perform and outperform.

To learn to be pretty damn good at something I love sounds so much more appealing and accessible than a mandate to be the best at everything I attempt.

So here’s to letting go; to finding pleasure and releasing expectations of changing the world, even as we work towards and still hope to someday accomplish just that.