the safety in being average

As far back as my memory will take me, one flaw of mine has always been clear to me. I’m a coward. You’ve probably met those who are afraid of failure, afraid of disappointment, of reaching for something out of their grasps. That’s me in part. But there’s another fear so deeply entrenched in me that I am convinced it is congenital. It’s the fear of promise, of success, of great expectations. I don’t thrive in adversity nor am I compelled to succeed when surrounded by greatness. I am, and always have been, most comfortable in mediocrity, in the safe anonymity afforded by being average. A few examples:

1. At the tender of 6, I was constantly reprimanded for disrupting class, acting out as a class clown, and being uncontrollable. I felt safe in my reputation as the outcast who people suspected might also be a little slow. Some eagle-eyed teacher saw through my disruptive behavior and believed she saw a brilliant child. The school administrators wanted to push me ahead a grade, as well as transfer me to another school. Already the youngest, shortest, skinniest and shiest person in my first grade class, I begged my parents to allow me to remain where I was comfortable and I promised that I’d attend any enrichment programs the school recommended. My parents must have sensed that my temper tantrums would never desist if they ignored my pleas, so they allowed me to remain in first grade.
2. I supposedly thrived in these talented and gifted classes, but I learned quickly that it was easiest to be mediocre among a group of brilliant individuals. I did whatever minimal was required to remain in the advanced classes, but I never pushed myself to excel because any acknowledgement of my supposed intelligence made me break out in hives.
3. In high school, a guidance counselor recognized my fears and thought that if I was clued into my “potential”, I might find the courage to push myself. She accidentally on purpose let me find out my IQ. She thought I’d be impressed that a standardized test found me to be near genius and that I’d find the motivation to succeed. She was wrong. That number made me apply the brakes on my academic career. I didn’t want to be brilliant. I wanted to be left alone. She then accidentally on purpose left out the class rankings during one of our motivational sessions. I was #5 in a class of 612. A mere three hundredths of a point separated me from the top. In the #1 place was a dear friend of mine who had put herself in the hospital with anorexia because she pushed herself so hard to succeed. #’s 2-4 were also dear friends of mine who similarly worked diligently and tirelessly to secure top spots. I rarely did my homework so it didn’t make sense, nor did it seem fair, that I would be so close to #1. During the last 2 years of high school, I goofed off even more, and tested my teachers’ patience, to see how far they’d allow me to go before flunking me out altogether. I went from #5 to #21 (not the fall from grace I was aiming for) and yet I barely graduated in the spring with the rest of my class because I missed so much school my senior year.
4. I was always expected to attend an Ivy League, graduate summa cum laude, go to a top medical school, and then get into the best residency so that I could become a world renowned pediatric neurosurgeon. I choose the easy way by taking a scholarship from NYU, changing my major every semester and graduating in 4 years instead of in the 2.5 years I could have graduated.

There are countless examples of how I was so inordinately blessed with the potential to be smart, to develop my gifts and make everyone proud. Unfortunately, there are an equal number of examples where I took the coward’s way out by settling for mediocrity. I’m not sure why it is that the idea I could be “something” scares me. I thought I’d outgrow it in law school, but after attending a second tier law school, I found no motivation to be a big fish in a small sea. And now, with the bar exam a mere 30 hours away, I find myself afraid again.

I’m dreading it, truth be told. Aside from the obvious stress and anxiety of the 2 day ordeal, I’m dreading taking it and knowing that I’m sorely unprepared. I didn’t study enough, but I can’t blame it on wedding planning, lengthy hours at work, my father’s accident or any other stresses, distractions or problems. I’m just unmotivated, lazy and afraid. Afraid to pass and afraid to fail. The bar exam is probably my biggest trial to date. Throughout my life, I’ve contented myself with coasting along. The bar exam doesn’t allow for coasting. If you pass, you succeed, if you don’t pass, you fail. For someone who’s deathly results, this is a debilitating problem.

Obviously, I want to pass because then I don’t have to go through the ordeal of studying and waiting again and I can proceed with my future with Pork Chop. However, I’m plagued with the regrets of a lifetime that will surface if I pass. If I can pass despite my minimal studying, why didn’t I push myself harder throughout my life? What if I find that success wouldn’t be as scary as I always imagined it would be.

If I don’t pass, I will feed into my doubts and insecurity and remind myself that there was a reason I always contented myself with mediocrity, because that’s all I’d ever amount to, despite everyone’s confidence and expectations to the contrary.

It’s a no win situation, although I’m sad to say I already know what to expect. Three months from now, I’ll probably be telling myself, “I told you so.”