The path to high school for most Lowell students has a prevalent pattern — pride. Top of your middle school class. Top-notch grades and high praise from teachers. And, of course, the attitude — you are superior, unique from any other student.
For me, it all started when I got my acceptance letter to Lowell High School. Scoffing at even initially worrying about the unopened envelope, I thought, “Obviously, I, Jeffrey Wong, would get in. How could I not, with my intellect and unimitatable ability to juggle several extracurricular activities?” I had a vision of conquering the school, being well-known and surpassing other students who had been the scholars of their middle school class. I would be at the top of the top; I could see my gleaming self being framed next to Supreme Court Justice Stephen Breyer on the Lowell Hall of Fame, perhaps before I graduated.
As I climbed the steps of success during my freshman year, doing academically well, I noticed others sailing past me — seemingly on escalators, as achievements appeared to come more easily. I refused to simply accept that they were smarter, or God forbid, more talented. I had instilled a belief in myself that I could achieve anything, if not everything, I wanted.
But as I trudged through sophomore and junior year, I noticed students who were not only academically exceptional, but also legends outside of Lowell. Sylvan Guo, class of 2011, had won the 2010-2011 Ohleyer Memorial Award for her outstanding academic and athletic performance, while also competing with the U.S. Youth National ping-pong team. I was stunned that these renaissance people could balance academics and still do what they loved. My sense of discipline and self-worth was being tested — how I could be like this child prodigy, this brilliant student-athlete by the time I was a senior?
And now I am a senior, but instead of feeling like my destiny is to be the “dream Lowell student,” my goals have come into clearer focus. In September, as I was reading the latest issue of The Lowell, one specific story caught my attention. According to the article, “Brothers win green design competition,” two boys had created an environmentally-friendly invention that won an award in a prestigious competition, even against several professional researchers. Their achievement came to me as a shock, and I realized that instead of spending time in a competitive treadmill, winding up only exhausted, these students had been pursuing genuine passions, and personal success was the result.
I, too, have pursued my passion — volleyball. During the summer, my volleyball club team competed at Junior Olympics, a tournament in which teams from all over the nation compete for a gold medal. Although my team failed to medal, the higher level of play than that of San Francisco inspired me and developed a stronger love for the game, as I loved saving hard driven attacks by 6’9” Division I hitters. It isn’t the fame, applause or trophies underlying my love for the sport. The idea of a ball never touching the floor is unbelievable — a metaphor for how I never “hit the floor” even during hard times.
I thought about graduation, imagining the walk across the stage while taking a moment to wonder about the people whom I never had met. Now I walk these halls, sit next to the quiet Asian girl in my Physiology class, and wonder, “This girl seems passive, but is she really?”
She and I may, for the whole semester, never say hello, and never truly get to know one another. It is because we remain ignorant, because we assume. While it is easier to believe that the way people act in the classroom translates to the way that they are outside of school, that is a deep misunderstanding — it is that they are humble, not quiet; they are amazing at what they do because of their deep rooted passions, not their need for fame. So many incipient legends will walk through these halls, but too many of us might be blocked by the “flawless me” syndrome.
Without a doubt, I know that I am unique, as is true for each of us. But each class will always have the most athletic jock, a three-time blue-ribbon winner science bowl geek or a nationally awarded and recognized Editor-in-Chief — students who sparkle with promise, shine just a little brighter. But people should never overlook the humane qualities that truly translate to success in life: humbleness, respect for others and love of self.
Working hard and trying to be the best that we can be are positive goals. But they can drive students to become caught up in their own little world of APs and GPAs, constantly comparing themselves to others rather than delving into true passions. The Lowell stereotype is that we have a superficial idea of being a success (whatever that means); so ironically, in trying to be “the best,” we are just like everybody else. I realized I need not be afraid to pursue what seems radically different — like sailing around the world or even something preposterous like hitting a Tachikara white volleyball across a net — especially if that is what I love to do. Avoid the universal tiger mom’s authority and don’t be comfortable with what is standard. Discover what makes you, you.
Instead of struggling with my need to be the best of the best, I feel both humbled and honored to be among multi-talented students. I now recognize each of us as future legends, whether or not we are destined to be honored on the Lowell Hall of Fame.
A version of this story first appeared in the Nov. 4 print edition The Lowell.
