Although a number of factors went into my decision to come to Duke, I think what finally tipped the scales was the type of student our school seems to attract. And now, after four years of meeting some of the most ambitious and incredible students imaginable, I can confidently say that despite our diversity, we Duke students are still all unified by one common trait-a drive to be the best at everything we do.
I firmly believe this is our greatest strength, but I fear it may also be our greatness weakness.
People often say that we should give up on always trying to be the best because, no matter how hard we work, someone will always be better. I disagree. For most of us here, I would bet the contention that we must eventually fail simply fans the flame of our competitive spirit. "You say I can't be the best? Watch me," I can hear a classmate saying.
And it is this type of deeply rooted desire to excel that continues to be what I love about Duke most. I don't think the problem is that we are focused on placing first in a race we cannot win (last time I checked that was exactly what striving for excellence was all about). Rather, I worry that sometimes in our very "racing" we miss the parts of life we care about most.
We may all strive for top-10 graduate schools and prestigious post-college jobs, but if pressed on what is most important in our lives, I think most of us would respond "friends and family." Taking part in these relationships involves a wide array of abilities, which have at their very heart is a single concept: being present. And herein lies the problem, because our ability to be wholly present is limited by our willingness to be inefficient.
I am sure we have all had experiences going to friends for support, and them trying to be "logical and economical" about our strife. When we complain about our C+ on that chemistry midterm, rarely are we hoping for advice on how to study better, or to be reminded that we went out the night before. Rather, we want to put our feet up, share a few beers and be supported in our assertion that the professor sucks.
Answers and suggestions may sometimes be helpful, but more often than not what we treasure most about our relationships is how they remind us that we are not alone.
Being a friend means slowing down and allowing oneself to be inconvenienced, because only when we let go of our own "efficiency clocks" are we able to fully share and become present in the lives of others.
The great struggle is that our movement toward inconvenient and inefficient solidarity with others is in constant tension with our ambitious drive for personal success. What do we do when a close friend comes into our dorm room crying the night before a calculus final? As nice as it sounds, if we allowed ourselves to be completely present with everyone all the time, I doubt we would even make it through a single semester here.
And besides, wasn't it our straight A's and countless extracurriculars that got us here in the first place? And now with both the stakes and the competition even greater, shouldn't we pick up the pace even more?
Unfortunately, it seems to me that this tension is not just imagined or temporary. One of my greatest challenges in college has been trying to balance between my relationships and personal aspirations.
In the end, I think the only way to get the equation wrong is to stop struggling with the question. Balance and moderation may be the answer to the predicament, but I have no doubt that the solution likely changes as often as we do.
And though we can't be present to everyone at all times of the day, I hope that in our freeway-paced rush toward excellence we can always remember to take the time for the things in life that matter to us most through embracing the difficult yet invaluable demand of inefficiency.
Mark Stoltenberg is a Trinity senior. His column runs every other Wednesday.
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