I’m afraid of a lot of things. I’m basically a human-shaped fear container, to quote John Green. I get nervous around heights, public speaking still turns my stomach, and not knowing answers makes me break out in a cold sweat. There is another, albeit stranger thing that I am nervous about (if not outright fearful of): I’m terrified of success. Well, sort of.

Don’t get me wrong, I love doing well academically. I love the feeling of acing a quiz, or answering a question correctly. It’s not that I don’t want to do well, I do, it’s just… what happens after? After you’ve succeeded? What do you do then, move on? Try something new? What happens when you run out of things to succeed in? Can you run out of things to succeed in?

In my mind, there are a finite number of things any one person can truly master (so maybe I’m already off on the wrong foot). Success sounds so permanent, so final, so end-of-the-line, no-turning-back, and I can’t quite wrap my brain around it (among other things, namely math).

Maybe it’s my definition of success that’s wrong. Maybe, instead of a goal to reach, it’s something else. It can change, from learning how to spell to learning how to read. Those goals felt so final when I was younger, but then I learned there was another step, namely diagramming sentences (the bane of my elementary existence). Maybe there is always another step, as our finite sense of knowledge tries to understand the infinite.

In an entirely unshocking turn of events, I, a very type-A daughter of two very type-A parents am just a teeny bit obsessive about homework. I have a plan that involves going through syllabuses every Friday, writing out things weeks in advance, and pre-planning for essays not due for months (planning, however, does not equal doing), which I see as perfectly normal, thank you very much.

I mean, yes, having all my homework for the rest of the semester written out in my little bullet journal could be seen as a bit over the top, but it helps get my scattered brain back on track and helps me remember what’s due before the night it’s due (thankfully lowering the number of late night essay writing sessions). It’s like an aerial view of the next two months, which makes me a lot happier than it probably should.

After writing everything out, I prioritize what needs to happen when and write that all out in a separate notebook where I keep my never-ending list of to-do lists. I limit myself to one list a day to try and stave off the inevitable overwhelmed-ness. Then, I finally get around to actually doing things.

Maybe this is where I get my checklist-type definition of success from: my series of checklists that help me get from point A to points B through Z. If Success in Thing A is point Z, then my checklists should help me get there. If it isn’t…

I guess I’ll need to rethink it then, won’t I?