I was a bright child. I caught onto most things quickly and did well in school.

Much, if not most, of this is most likely because of my upbringing. My older brother and sister were both in college by the time I was in the first grade. When they came home on breaks, my brother would tell me stories from his history classes and my sister would show me pictures and diagrams from her biology textbooks. My father is a physician and I grew up discussing all manner of medical maladies at the dinner table.

Without siblings or nearby neighbors to play with books were my favorite diversion, and when I wasn't interested in the games my friends were playing at recess, I could always read instead. I thought that independent reading time was the greatest thing ever invented. At one point I finished the book we were reading as a class ahead of schedule so I hid another book inside of that one (although it took all of five minutes for my teacher to notice).

I was never a great athlete or the life of the party, so doing well in school -- having something I was good at --made me feel good. I liked getting back my assignments. I liked presenting projects. I even liked standardized tests.

Most of all, I liked feeling like I was special somehow. I liked it when my teacher saved my project as an example for future classes. I liked it when people wouldn't believe how old I was when I spouted off trivia or used unusual words.

The problem is, as time went on I started to feel a lot less special. I saw kids going to college at twelve years old and suddenly skipping a grade in math didn't seem so cool anymore. I watched the Scripps National Spelling Bee on television and winning my school bee no longer felt so impressive. I watched the kids edition of Jeopardy and my knowledge of trivia suddenly seemed inconsequential.

This feeling intensified as time went on. Every time I thought I was really good at something I found someone else who was better and it started to take the joy out of my accomplishments. I graduated valedictorian but when I looked through the paper and compared my GPA with those published I suddenly felt like I didn't even deserve the title.

College only intensified things. Suddenly I was surrounded by hundreds of people who were every bit as bright as I was. People who did better on tests, wrote better papers, and got better grades. It left me feeling small. Just one of a million.

But I've realized something. I cannot define myself based on others, because I am not them.

I'm me.

I'm Cassidi Sandefur. I'm a daughter and a sister and a friend. I'm a writer and a reader and a geek. I'm a Christian and a student and an American. I'm cautious and quirky and just a little sarcastic. There will always be someone who is smarter or better looking or better at writing. But there will only ever be one me.

And I'd say that's pretty special.