I feel that most peers justifiably place me in the “irredeemable, good student” mental compartment. In one sense this is true: I diligently complete assignments on time (excluding this blog, which may or may not be late, I don’t actually know anymore), mentally ensure that I’m prepared for exams, and generally avoid disrupting class or the other homeostatic areas of our school.
Administrators laud this as a positive attribute, teachers seem favorably disposed to the trait, some peers join in the game, and others superciliously disdain those with work ethics. Personally, I never really reflected upon my relationship with work until the commencement of high school. The first part of lower school was a time of lackadaisical assignment completion and societal bliss, where my wayward mind eclipsed most forms of worry, academic or otherwise. The sight of a ‘B’ (tangentially, I was curiously afraid of the bumbling Apis Mellifera then, but now the relationship has flipped) was not perturbing to my youthful mind. However, this attitude changed in 4th grade, for reasons either unknown or now forgotten. I began to strive for better grades, and when I shifted my academic settings to a foreign middle school, my isolation allowed for and encouraged my newfound quest: the utter dedication of my free time to a life of mundane school-work. By 8th grade, the sight of the lowly “A” was an abhorrence, a disgrace; my desire to perform well had morphed into a full-blown obsession with grades, an unfortunate liaison to my neurotic mental taskmasters, the villains exhorting me towards senseless goals. I shudder now, just thinking back upon the time I wasted then.
And yet, some students looking at the work ethic of my senior year would still shudder. In my defense, when I took a moment in 9th grade to reassess my attitude towards work, I, in a burst of unusual lucidity, arrived at the unimpressive conclusion that my Suttonic “ A+ or homelessness” attitude was unhealthy and foolish. I consequently toned down this perfectionist penchant, which freed up a bit of time to… read various sci-fi novels. Baby steps, minute locomotive motions, but still— I was happy with my newfound philosophy, which was to work less while maintaining low A’s, so that I could engage in whatever hobby was my present infatuation.
This vague idea towards work has changed a few of my habits, to say the least. Assignments I once arduously pondered and poured over are now completed rapidly, test preparations that were once begun weeks in advance are now crammed into one night of hasty material skimming, readings once reread for comprehension are now left incomplete, to be finished in a more alert state; time became the new issue, and the passing of my precious time became my new, imperious taskmaster.
Initially this worked well enough, but the advent of my internet addiction quickly submerged my interest in school. Oh, I was still bound to the agreement, still bound to complete the work, not matter how trivial; it was simply my interests and sleep that suffered. Superficially I was still a “fine” or “good” student, but cognitively, I was sorely lacking. Tests, papers, colorful French drawings, all were churned out dutifully but blandly, regurgitated in uninteresting fashion for the poor teacher to tiredly scoop up, another banal, artificial byproduct from the generic disinterested student.
Sad, is it not, the stupid course in the evolution of my work ethic. Each path that I’ve taken has provided room for unhealthy obsession, first the grades, then the internet and other hobbies, more nerdiness-what-have-yous, reading, chess, video games. The swinging see-saw of the hobby-school allowed for no breadth in a subject. This was no fault of the school’s, but my own, my mindset. Where was the passion, the drive to learn more about certain things, certain experiments and mechanisms and ideas? Where was the breadth, the exploration, the joy of learning? What happened to it, in this new mindset? And yet—look! I’m a “good” student. Not pragmatic, but still good. A cookie cutter. Hand me an assignment, and I’ll snip-snap it up for you. Here, take this post, for example. I know that I should be sleeping. My body’s not-subtle signs, a hazy mind, the twitching muscles, the clumsy fingers, and the desultory train of thought all clearly indicate that I should amble over to my bed and take a nap, if not more. But no! I hardwired myself to finish the work, even if it is nonsensical or not of the utmost importance. The fact that I have potentially late work to finish keeps me glued to the laptop screen, churning out meretricious mumblings. And this disturbs me, because there is a fine line between being a sensible student and a zealot, a reasonable, rational worker and the unthinking, coffee consuming zombie. Perhaps college will help my brain rewire, reset its prioritizing circuits. Perhaps grades will be put on the back-burner, in exchange for a truer pursuit of knowledge. Perhaps the whole system is broken. Really, most people should change their attitude towards the system. I should. But should we play the game, the grade game, the college game, so that we can achieve the higher, deeper, more important level of learning later? Must one be the “good” student? No, probably not. Any college will do, after all, it’s all up to you! Enough! Peace, my sleepy mind, the assignment is close enough to being complete. If it was 8th grade, I would go back and revise this chunky non-concluding lump. But those dark days are past, brushed aside by a malaise of grey, soporific clouds, a guileful, dangerous mass that could dissolve one in apathy if one looses sight of the light, the sun, the knowledge that’s out there, somewhere.
