Falling In With the Right Crowd

In elementary school, I felt like I could take on anything that was thrown at me. I easily made the honor roll; once I even managed to be student of the month. I grew a little cocky.

But somewhere along the way, I lost my touch. I’m not sure why it happened, but I can recall times in those golden days when I felt more punished than rewarded for standing out. A few times in 3rd grade, my eagerness to answer questions about the times tables  was met with “Anyone other than Elizabeth?” or “You must raise our hands to answer questions.” Eventually I started keeping my hands locked into each other on my lap.

Another time, I completed my paragraphs too fast for my teacher’s liking. She told me that my work was OK, but my handwriting was terrible and that anything I wrote in pencil was to be gone over in pen. Writing in class, something I’d loved, was ruined for me by this new rule. I felt singled out, the only kid who was required to use permanent ink. It frustrated me and I retaliated by procrastinating. Eventually, procrastination turned into not bothering to start at all.

My academic performance fell further around 5th or 6th grade, when I began trying to fit in with the ‘cool kids’ by adopting their negative attitude towards school. In turn I became less focused on my studies.  

This disengagement continued throughout the first two years of high school, where once more, I easily made friends with almost anyone, but was surrounded by people who also didn’t take school seriously. My spark for learning dimmed, and I started classifying myself as a burnout.

I mostly got C’s; those repeating curves on that powerful sheet of paper said I wasn’t special anymore. When I let memories of elementary school come to the fore of my mind, I asked myself: Where did I go wrong? 

Unrealized Potential

In fact, the answer might have something to do with calling myself a burnout. I let myself believe that the window to continuing as a good student had passed and accepted that I’d hit my peak in primary school.

But I suffered. The stress of mounting assignments I couldn’t be bothered to do, as well as the questions and attempts at encouragement from my parents and teachers, only made me more irritable by the day. I persistently got in trouble for my poor grades and grew sick of hearing people say I had more potential than I showed. My failures left me feeling that I didn’t have that potential anymore.

Then, in my junior year, I found myself having lunch with a friend I had known for a long time. A hard worker and student ambassador, she was social and funny and consistently made time for her friends. She had an average higher than 100 on her most recent report card. I admired her and assumed she was way more capable than I was. 

I got acquainted with my friend’s associates. We got along well and had plenty to talk about, but they would leave the cafeteria for the library halfway through the period to get a start on their homework. At first I would try to convince them to humor me and stay, but I rarely received a response that I liked. It seemed like they got up to leave earlier and earlier by the day. 

“Alright, I’m gone. Library,” one would shoot out in the midst of conversation. Without fail, the rest would start to gather their things.

“What? No way you guys are leaving already!” I’d plead.

“Uh, yeah man. We already finished eating.”

“But it’s so early! I have nothing to do here when you guys leave. Please stay this time? Please please please?”

“Sorry, not today. I have to get some stuff out of the way. But you know you can always come if you want.”

Socializing was almost a mnemonic device, a shortcut for remembering key details.

At first I stayed behind in the cafeteria because I didn’t like the idea of using free time to study. I wasn’t one to go out of my way to complete work out of my own volition. The way I saw it, homework and study ate up time that I could be using to create memories and live out an exciting teenage life that involved skipping classes, laughing more, studying less.

But it wasn’t long before the second half of lunch started to seem dull and lonely without anyone to talk to. Eventually I caved and accompanied my friends to their study group.

Once I started risking a little extra time on study, I realized that I lived by empty excuses, and was holding myself back out of fear of failure. None of what I dreaded was real: The library didn’t feel like a purgatory once I was there. Eventually it became just another place to be with friends, a place where I was able to be productive at the same time. In fact, I actually enjoyed myself in that library. I started to understand my course material and complete assignments regularly. 

Less Fear, More Friendship

Not only was I getting to hang out with my friends for longer; I was also able to get ahead in my classes.

I wasn’t aware of the balance I could achieve between studying and making memories, or how the two things could complement each other. Memories I had made while learning course material actually opened a new window for me: I was able to remember classwork easier than before. Whenever I searched for a formula during a test, I would first recall a memory made with my acquaintances that I hold close to my heart, and connected to that pleasant memory would be whatever I was studying at the time it was formed. Socializing was almost a mnemonic device, a shortcut for remembering key details.

I learned more about this new group of people, too: their academic strengths, their study habits, and other skills that probably wouldn’t have come up in average conversation. I learned about the hopes they held for the future, and we became closer.

One of the people in the group was a girl I had met in the middle of my freshman year. We’d sat next to each other in algebra and hung out alongside other friends once or twice, but I never felt I really knew her. Spending an hour of each school day studying and talking with her about meaningful topics changed that very fast. I found out that she always had manga in her bag, and was very passionate about her literature classes. Her AP course allowed her to critique bad Batman fanfiction for a grade, which she considered a win. Watching her at work made me think more about what I could do to make my assignments more fun. 

I discovered that I liked getting a 95+ average on every report card. Chipping away at my pile of missing assignments felt like lifting huge blocks off my shoulders. Seeing good grades fill the void of half a semester’s unfinished work rejuvenated me. My efforts made me fall in love with learning, a path I had never expected to see myself going down. I couldn’t have done any of that without a little push, and a support system by my side. 

Over time, my pleasure in schoolwork became a self-sustaining cycle. I looked forward to the next week’s progress report, and felt reassured knowing that my average got higher every time. Before I knew it, I was a straight-A student again. 

Taking control of my life after burnout felt like such a triumph. I no longer fell asleep with unfinished business in my consciousness every night, or battled guilt as I wasted the passing hours.

As much as they don’t want to admit it, most teens follow the crowd. There’s a cliche that peer pressure leads us mostly in the wrong direction. But when you start hanging around with the right people, things like success and hard work can be what bonds you. If you’re surrounded by people who want to do well at school, you can incorporate study topics into conversations, make a game of quizzing each other, and encourage one another.

As we head into senior year, my interest in my friend’s futures grows. I found myself eagerly asking them the same questions: “What do you want to major in? What’d you get on your SAT’s? Are you staying in the state next year?” 

No matter how many times I ask and how many times they answer, I’m filled with hope for what lies ahead for myself and my friends alike. Finding a way to socialize and study at the same time felt like killing two birds with one stone. I could comprehend the learning material much better than before, and become closer than I ever could to my colleagues. I’m proud of myself for no longer settling for less and for making friends out of acquaintances.