Earsdropping: on being OK
Superlatives are the worst. Throughout our lives, we are judged (and judge ourselves) by whether we are the most or the best. In youth sports, we are labeled as the best kicker, the best hitter, or, if you’re someone like me, the most likely to eat all of the team’s orange slices. The anxiety of the high school yearbook superlatives— to be the class clown, the best dressed, or the cutest couple — has all of us performing like we are trying out for the drama club. Heck, there is even a Most Likely to Succeed — what does that even mean? When college applications roll around, our blood, sweat, and extracurricular tears are poured out into every college entrance essay for universities with name caché and a recognizable team mascot (I wanna say the Harvard Harveys?) As we enter our careers, we hope to earn promotions that label us the most valuable employee. Even SpongeBob lived and died by his employee-of-the-month title. Our culture endlessly pursues being the best, when it should really focus on being… alright.
Through my experiences as a teacher at universities and colleges, as well as a college entrance essay tutor, I have worked with many greats. Well, that is to say, greats in their world. They are lauded as the greatest pianist in their district, the best quarterback in their division, or the debate champion of their state. They have achieved amazing feats with hard work that shouldn’t be overlooked. But, there are always bigger fish as they join new ponds. As they reflect on their accolades in formal writing, in hopes to go off and join top universities, there always seems to be something shallow and one dimensional about the way they define and discuss their success. They focus on the label bestowed upon them without understanding how to adapt the lessons from this achievement to other parts of their life. And when they inevitably meet another one of the greatests, they are left with only two options: to rise above the other and crush the competition or crumble in the process, succumbing to the pressure. Win or lose — they will not be alright.
I grew up in a fairly competitive family of three boys and a father who enjoyed sports. While there was no yelling or any forceful attitudes when we would play basketball, baseball, golf, or go for runs, there was an implicit competitive energy that is often stereotypically male. This dynamic came to a head when I, unlike my two brothers, did not make the high school golf team, breaking with tradition. This was the moment. Instead of crumbling, I pivoted and branched out. I joined a YMCA hockey league, went for more frequent and distanced runs, and started to explore other interests. I believe that turning point defines the beautifully mediocre hobby fiend that I am today.
I have been called a jack-of-all-trades. I beam proudly that I’m OK at just a little of everything. From dabbling in ceramics, wood, and metal working to noodling on a handful of musical instruments, from uttering languages around the world to a deep curious draw to know about the flora and fauna of my locale, from sewing to cooking and baking to — we get it. We get it. We get it. While I do get a rush from the mild praise that is sprinkled on me when people learn of my jacked-up life, more than anything, I love how adaptable it makes me and how easily I can connect with anyone.
When I meet a fellow potter, we throw down. When I talk to another hardworking woodworker, we both discuss our fear of kick backs. Amateur jewelers and I meddle in the delicate nuances of the directions and temperatures at which solder flows. Musicians and I band together and get in tune. Polyglots and I gab and plot our next deep dive on a niche language isolate. I flock to naturalists and we grow our knowledge together. I make amends with sewers, I get cooking with, well, cooks, and I attempt to rise to the occasion with bakers.
As I age gracefully and eventually leave this mortal coil, I think I will be satisfied with the melange of mediocre knowledge, skills, and experiences that I have collected and the people I have connected with as a result. Even with all of that, unfortunately, I won’t ever be one of the greatests. They will all win the award at the end of their life — Most Likely to Be Dead.
