I don’t think I ever really knew what it was like to be “busy” until this past week. Typically, I would hear this term, think for a moment, and then assume that whoever was saying that they were “so busy”, was probably just exaggerating. I still stand by this belief for some people who like to moan about having a lot of work, but more and more I’m starting to realize that people really are “busy”. For a Junior in high school, most of the year is filled with testing ad infinitum: SAT’s during the spring, AP exams in May, and for some SAT II’s in June. I typically don’t think it very fair to compare our academic plight to any historical group, but I would say that students today have it rough—although we have food, shelter, and don’t need to wait on bread lines. Indeed, I often need to stop for a few moments to realize how well-off the greater North Jersey area is.
Nonetheless, I am one of those unexceptional students who does not deal with a large amount of work well. The panic mechanism tends to kick in, the Apocalypse seems near, and everything becomes murky and uncertain. There is an infantile instinct that exists which causes me to forget everything I have been taught over my long academic, and instead intellectually curl up into the fetal position. This is why I tend to write extremely mediocre essays on any sort of standardized exam. When it comes to mathematics, I seem to forget some of the most basic principles ; the calculator becomes my brain while my bean rests in a vegetable-like state. Yet, I will then proceed to go home and do some scribbling of my own which tends to be infinitely better than the one I composed on the exam. It is for the reasons presented above that I dread any sort of standardized exam. They lack character, and feel terribly Orwellian in nature. In fact, the word “standardized” seems to be almost offensive on its own. But, I do take some solace in the fact that in the grand scheme of things, the ability to actually write meaningful pieces, and not automaton cookie-cutter essays, will help me tremendously.
But honest, I don’t like to complain about too much work.
The chief reason I feel terrible complaining about work is that it makes me feel weak and terribly inept . I am surrounded—in most situations— by an exceptional group of very hard working individuals who have enough honor to be jovial even when they are on the verge of collapse due to a heavy work load. In general, I try to hold myself to a higher standard whenever possible. This seems to be a good policy, as it has helped me advance over the years. I find that some of the finest work is produced when people have way too much on their plates. This goes against the myth that seems to exist in our heads which says that if we had more free time, then we would be able to finally do X, or write Y. Stress can, in some cases, be a great creative influence. At other times it can be the catalyst to a nervous break down. You know that you’re doing good work when 1) you’re on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and 2) you’re scared that you are about to fail miserably. Not very comforting, but it’s the god’s honest truth.
So, I suppose this little piece marks my return to writing for a while. The notion that the written word, and the composition of it, allows for a cathartic experience is very true. I feel infinitely better now that I was able to sit down and string some words together.Natalie Goldberg is correct in her book Writing Down The Bones when she says that it is necessary to write everyday—no matter how crumby the composition comes out to be. Just as a small aside, I highly recommend that anyone reading this run out and buy a copy of Writing Down The Bones. It is one of the best books on writing in existence, with exception to Stephen King’s excellent On Writing.
And as one last note, I must take a moment to thank Merlin Mann of 43 Folders for giving an excellent talk on being scared shitless. My week would have been hell without his humor and reassurance:
“Scared Shitless”
