A pretty average column

When I was in tenth grade I wrote a great poem about autumn leaves. In retrospect, I think we’ve all written a “great” poem about autumn leaves. Anyway, the entire stupid tenth grade competed to have his or her poem chosen by an unknown publisher with poor taste to be recited on some random occasion that no one wanted to go to anyway. If I sound bitter, you’re mistaking an objective recollection for bitterness. And no, my poem was not chosen.

Neither was my National History Day project or my science fair project or my trombone playing. I sucked at trombone but some recognition wouldn’t have made me any worse. The point is—and I hesitate to disclose this at risk of having my admission rescinded—I have never won an award. So yeah, what if I do have three participation trophies on my dresser—they still look gold. This may be a foreign concept to a student body whose middle name is Valedictorian and enters shoe-lace tying contests just to say they’re the best at it. However, even the overachievers with a gold-plated room dedicated to their honorable distinctions have to sing a different tune when they come to Duke. The song’s called average.

A wise man once said, “If you ain’t first you’re last.” Sounds like a pretty convenient adage for the guy who’s in first place. Us second and third placers take it to heart though. A common complaint is that you can’t be the best at anything at Duke. When the legendary pianist down the hall crushes problem sets during his snack breaks, you might rightfully hesitate to brag that calculus is your strong suit. All of a sudden, the strengths and skills you defined yourself by before become baseline expectations, leaving you as the baseline Duke student with no unique contribution. If you’re not the best at something, what’s the point?

That’s why I, as a long time numero duo, awardless, non-distinct, unrecognized student have come to impart second-rate wisdom. These victors on the podium must have missed the memo because second place is pretty sweet. No neck cramps from gold medals, no unsanitary high-fives. You can pat yourself on the back for doing a good job, while the guy who did the great job is too busy waving a trophy in the air.

If there’s one thing Duke students aspire to more than exuberant wealth, its recognition. I suspect some Duke students might even trade a salary bonus for an employee of the month plaque. There’s one thing money can’t buy—validation. Often times, getting formal recognition creates an alternate source of self-worth separate from what we’re getting recognized for. As if it’s receiving the paper that says “number 1” that makes you number 1. The danger in first place is you develop a dependence on someone telling you you’re the best and devalue the worth of giving yourself a pat on the back. It’s human to want to be appreciated for your skills and contributions. Its foolish to seek it out in the forms of ribbons and accolades.

So if you’re struggling with being average, which the average duke student is, than take solace that there is opportunity in average. An opportunity to feel what it’s like to advance from fifth to fourth place because of hard work. An opportunity to develop a sense of self outside of your accomplishments. An opportunity to not be perfect.

Any day now, when I finally win my first award, I’ll wave it in all your faces so you know I’m better than you. I shouldn’t, but I will. It’s a shortcut to feeling good about myself that undermines all my valiant efforts that aren’t recognized. I should be able to write a great poem about autumn leaves without an unknown publisher with poor taste telling me it’s great. If I sound bitter, it’s because I am.

Kyle Harvey is a Trinity sophomore. His column runs every other Thursday.