When I signed up for Human Evolution last spring, I had one clear concept of how we evolved from monkeys and apes. I knew that our life and the life of our offspring depended on the survival of the fittest-among many, only a few would grow and thrive. While this concept frightened me, and even now still perplexes me, I had no idea of how much it has and does affect my daily existence.
In high school, I tried to be the best. Whether I strove to be the best student, the best friend, the best runner or the best community service activist, I eyed my competition, and then did whatever it took to make sure that I was their superior. While some might call this unethical, or even borderline insane, this was the lifestyle that got me the top grades and accolades, and ultimately led to me to one of the most recognized schools of higher education. I knew that my competitive nature would lead to even more success, and so as I left some of my peers and classmates in the proverbial dust, I planned to go somewhere where I would be appreciated, not scoffed at.
I have definitely been appreciated at Wash. U. I share my ideas in class, my thoughts and wishes don’t usually fall upon deaf ears and I generally thrive in the environment I selected for myself. In fact, I don’t get any harsh tongue-lashings or eye-rolls from classmates, and my peers on campus rarely criticize my assiduous nature. I usually don’t get any grief because most students are the exact same way.
However, now more than ever, I feel like there is some sort of natural selection, a gene for college success that I might have missed out on. While I do well here, it’s hard to measure up to the level of excellence demanded by most everyone on campus.
Some of my classes are curved, and my heart sinks when I see that I’m in a lower quartile after two tests. There are whole weeks when I slave over papers, only to be greeted with grades that I would have considered mediocre two years ago. Sometimes it seems as if life is slipping away from me, and all I’m left with is the bad taste of disappointment. Once among the fittest, I have started to feel like the underdog: the animal that tries to run the fastest, climb the highest and out-do the competition, but in the end I am the animal tripping face-down in the mud and falling out of the tree.
I hear similar complaints all around campus, so I know I’m not alone. Two of my friends are pre-med, and their lives revolve around doing better than the norm. Before important chemistry or biology exams, my friends become machines, only living and breathing to do better than their competition. It’s sad for me, and probably very difficult for them, to see each other as competitors. Yes, they help each other study, and answer each other’s questions. But in the end, the tension is still palpable, and I retreat to a safer place during those times of great intensity.
I’d like to retreat all the time, and never deal with any of the work, stress and sacrifice that go along with doing better than the rest. However, it’s not always possible to shut my door to the world and simply avoid all the problems and setbacks that are in front of me. And as of late, I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t want to.
Everyone inevitably gets the lecture that life isn’t fair, and that to do well you have to contend with the irritations of everyday life. What I think everyone forgets is that the irritations come from the way we respond to life’s events, and the conflict comes from within. The only way out of a life of constant competition is to try to only compete with oneself. All those years when I tried to out-do my competition, I did succeed by everyone else’s terms. Yet I was missing a sense of real attainment, something I feel now when I know that I’ve achieved something on my own terms. My success comes in spurts, and my work doesn’t always end with satisfaction. However, by not comparing myself to others, I can take more responsibility for when my life turns out for the best. I control my fate. Darwinian theories can stay in my textbooks and lecture halls.
It’s undeniably difficult to resist the feeling of competition here at Wash. U. The pressure follows kids into tests and onto papers, and sadly drives a few of us to points of no return. As animals, we can’t always avoid the inherent competitiveness that inwardly drives our actions. In the end, I think that we at least have to try-if not for our own sake,
then for the sake of those around us. Most of us will survive four years of college and beyond, and unlike the monkeys I learned about, will find happiness and a family.
However, it is our own steps toward self-fulfillment, rather than an insane struggle for the top, that will ultimately yield the most rewarding results; and, as I’ve observed, require less time in hiding.