When I was in high school, I was fairly serious about my schoolwork--so was my mother. From a young age, she had pushed me to always go the extra mile - from supplemental problem sets to extended vocabulary lists to personalized writing assignments given by my teachers at her recommendation. I complained now and then, but ultimately accepted her assignments. As I got older, they became few and far between, and completely ended in high school when new enrichment opportunities began to present themselves in the form of clubs, Honors options, and APs. With this new independence, I discovered my own drive, separate from my mom’s prodding. Doing well in school became more than just a requirement to please her, it became a system of rewards for me as well - like a game. My best friends were equally as competitive, furthering my own drive. We would place bets on who could get the highest grade in our classes each quarter - while simultaneously doing the least amount of work. We jokingly called ourselves “the laziest overachievers” we had ever met. I prided myself on always being able to do just enough work at the last minute in order to meet my own high - but never the highest - standards. For senior superlatives, I received equal number of votes for “hardest worker” from people who didn’t know me, and for “worst case of senioritis,” from those who did.
This specific brand of “laziness” drove my mom crazy. My junior year, she pushed me harder than she ever had before, keeping me in for days when she knew I had something due. Instead of waiting until a Sunday night to start a paper like I normally would, she would watch me sit down at my desk Saturday morning, until I had faked enough of an effort at starting it in order to be allowed out that night. The self-driven part of me resented that she thought I needed to be monitored and bribed to begin work that I would eventually get done anyways; the lazy part allowed it because to go the extra mile I wouldn’t go myself, I might’ve needed that extra push. My friend’s parents never required this of them, though; it felt unfair.
To give credit where credit is due, although often misguided, I appreciate the learned sense of structure. I’ve come to consider myself a “morning person” - and not just because I’m most productive in the mornings. I like to finish my work before I allow myself to relax, a mostly rewarding habit. In high school, I was used to being the person who couldn’t always hang out when everyone else was, but when I finished my work (either self- or mom-prescribed), I always knew my friends would be free.
And then I came to Columbia, and this was no longer the case. Even after finishing a 6 hour shift in Butler Library, my friends would still be there working - or worse, just getting started. In college, this is a product of sporadic schedules, an intense environment and ultimately just a lot of hard, hard work. I realized that I could no longer do my work somewhat-efficiently according to my own schedule and expect everyone else to operate on the same timetable. I began trading quality for efficiency. When I went home over spring break, my mom apologized to me - at long last - for discrediting my work habits in high school. “I think I just underestimated your discipline when I wasn’t looking,” she admitted, “I just never saw you sweat it.” I accepted the apology, but I felt a twinge of guilt - had I lost this self-discipline somewhere along the way?
And then I read something that made me feel confident in my time management choices - a brief piece of advice in a cliché advice article from my Facebook newsfeed, but it rung true nonetheless: “pick friends over work 25% of the time.” I think this is key at schools like Columbia, where the competitive and fast-paced environment often provides more stress on students then the work itself. At least for me, I’ve found this to be the case. I think everyone should choose friends over work sometimes. That paper you have to write? You’ll get it done no matter what. You don’t always have to sweat it.
