Everyone at Hopkins is stressed out. We all have papers and exams and problem sets and lab reports and and and we can’t possibly have the time to get all of that done and also be in an a cappella group and a theater group and a sorority and a community service group and and and also sleep.
We’re all riding this roller coaster together, the one that sends us plummeting down at incredible speeds only to throw us back up, swing us upside down and then finally coast us back home all in one piece but with messier hair. Let’s call it, maybe, the Hop Coaster.
This school is tough, there’s no arguing with that. We’re all smart, we’re all ambitious and we all want to do everything. We want to get straight As and be president of three clubs and work two jobs and get eight hours of sleep each night.
But at some point, we all have to realize we can’t do that. For me, that epiphany came during freshman spring, when I was only taking 13 credits. I was stage managing the Barnstormers musical, and I was writing a biweekly column for The News-Letter. That became too much, and I had to let go of the perfect high school student I used to be. All of that culminated in a post-rehearsal breakdown that resulted in my jumping off my high horse. I realized that night that it’s okay to fail.
Now, as a first semester junior doing objectively more things than I was two years ago, I have to constantly remind myself that I don’t need to be perfect. I may not live up to my childhood expectation of being at the top of my class, but I will live up to my current expectations of trying my best and receiving the grades I deserve.
Maybe I’ll do poorly on an exam, but if I can raise a couple hundred dollars for the kids at the Johns Hopkins Children’s Center, that will be worth it. If I sacrifice a paper to get a full night’s sleep, I’m okay with that. I don’t need to be perfect.
And neither do you.
Every time you start to get overwhelmed by how much you have to do and how you can’t possibly get a perfect score on all of your assignments while baking for all of your fraternity’s parties, remember that it’s okay to fail. It’s okay to lose a couple points on a test if you’re winning a few extra hours of sleep.
It’s okay not to do as well as you expected. This moment is not going to define the rest of your life. Though it might feel like it sometimes, doing poorly at Hopkins doesn’t guarantee that you’ll fail in grad school or at your job or at the rest of your life. It only means you didn’t do fantastically at one of the most rigorous schools in the country.
And maybe it also means that some things are more important to you than academics. Maybe that’s your friends or your family or your art or your favorite charity or sleep or your mental health. Maybe it’s all of those things.
Your transcript doesn’t reflect any of that. Your transcript can’t explain that you didn’t have time to study for your exam because you were helping your best friend through a bad breakup. It can’t tell anyone about how you spend all your Sundays helping out at a nearby church. It can only convey how well you did in your classes, despite any affecting factors.
You are not your grades. You are so much more, and you deserve to remember that. It is absolutely okay not to be perfect. It’s okay to just be you.
Gillian Lelchuk is a junior Writing Seminars and mathematics double major from Los Alamitos, Calif. She is the Opinions Editor.
