In high school, I often told one of my friends that I had failed an exam. Instead of asking how badly or in what class, she'd ask if I meant real fail or Rebecca-fail. The latter meant I scored lower than a 93, or some other number that I really don't like. As I've grown older though, and hopefully a little more mature, failure has taken on new meaning for me.
Orgo grades came out yesterday. I have friends near both tails of the curve. And as one friend talked about managing time better to avoid last-minute studying, I couldn't help but think that maybe we were getting it all mixed up. Yes, I got a pretty good grade-- not curve-killing, but good enough-- but at what cost?
In most of the ways that the world counts as important, I've been successful. I have good grades and the potential to make a nice chunk of money when I'm older. Despite all this, though, one of my greatest fears grows ever closer to coming true-- that I am failing in all the ways that actually matter. I've built up my GPA at the cost of building up relationships. I spend more time alone with my books than I do with other people. People now justifiably assume that I can't hang out because I have work to do or an exam to study for.
It seems so cliched to say that the ways of this world will not make you happy. Not only is this true, but it is probably also true that it will make you angry, miserable, and alone. Maybe not physically alone, but emotionally.
After all, every selfish act we ever do will go with us to the grave, but everything we do for others is carried on until the people we have affected are gone.
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