Dichotomy
Two main feelings, although quite opposite, intertwine:
1. Ambition
I used to be really ambitious in high school. I fear that that upward trajectory is why people liked and paid attention to me. Because of the external validation attached to it, as well as the exhilaration of attempting something that has a significant chance of failing, I grew attached to climbing ladders. The second thing is extremely important — there’s a big difference between a 50% chance of failing, as is the case in math contests, and a relatively negligible chance of failing, as is the case with college classes and college in general so far. The former is like discrete rungs — you either achieve the accomplishment or you don’t — while the latter is much more continuous: you can sail through with flying colors, or do okay or anywhere in between, but neither option is the end of the world, and people tell you that things will be okay no matter what. At my college at least, most people will accept and respect you as long as you are an okay student and appear a well-put-together person, even if you aren’t among the best. There is hardly pressure to be at the top, and so, that muscle of mine — the desire to work at 100% and climb as high as possible in the ladder of accomplishments and prestige — has weakened.
But, after a break of approximately one year, my eyes have recently been reopened to ambition — or more accurately the desire to be among the best and work toward the common idea of a successful career, in terms of numbers and what the world respects. I’ve recently realized that there are other colleges, and even other parts of my own college, where this sort of ambition is still a major theme. There are people who exercise that muscle daily, and as a result do climb higher than us who don’t. As much as I hate to admit it, I look up at people on higher rungs with awe but also somewhat of a fiery desire to achieve their level of capability and knowledge too. Also, exercising that muscle is not exactly painful, because with ambition comes a nostalgic feeling of joy: there is something profoundly invigorating about attempting something truly difficult, which has a significant chance of not working. This endeavor consumes your mind and body and makes you feel like you’re on fire, like you’re a different person from before, living a different life from before. The less of a safety net there is — the fewer people to lean on, the fewer emergency escape routes — the ever more exhilarating, because any bit of success is derived from your own true hard work.
There are two options: To resume exercising the muscle of ambition, not being satisfied with just being okay but rather genuinely striving to ascend and thinking about the long-term implications of every decision, or to embrace a less standard idea of a successful career — chasing inner peace instead of high numbers — and completely being okay with watching others in the sky while I’m on the ground. Right now I feel a much stronger pull from the first option, partly to not let down my younger self and everyone who believed in her, and partly for the unique type of joy that comes from it which cannot be found anywhere else, as I have kind of realized in the past year. Right now I feel like my life won’t be complete without ambition.
2. Staying grounded
However, I’m not sure if I was made to be a high achiever, personality-wise. A quiet and easygoing personality, and prioritization of the group’s happiness over my success, doesn’t match with the cold nonchalance of most high achievers when they need to do whatever it takes to succeed or win at something. Also, I think my tolerance level and desired quality of life aligns more with the average person than with the high-flying population. Because although I appreciate things that are bright and beautiful, I think they are everywhere. Standing on a random street corner and feeling the wind as the cars rush through the intersection would feel better than the ocean breeze at a beach resort. Taking a walk around the neighborhood and observing all the different types of people would be more enjoyable than going to a concert or eating a meal at a fancy restaurant. How someone smiles and laughs with the person next to them, and what their eyes gaze at, stands out more than what they do for a living and have accomplished. I find lots of random people and things beautiful in different ways, just by the simple characteristics that define them. Maybe I’m born to walk, not fly — to remain on ground level so that I can see up-close everyone walking by, relate to them, and have them relate to me.
In fact, it feels a bit off when someone feels like they are on a lower rung than me. If this is ever the case, (which it rarely is), I often try to artificially lower my rung by appearing especially unintimidating, like it is ridiculous that they see me in the way they do. Being on a lower rung allows for genuine connection with more people, for people can open up to you if they think you are one of them. My mom taught me that there aren’t very many things you need in life — just people you love, and things you are working on which you are passionate about (which could be the same, by the way). Nothing else really matters, and the more you derive your happiness from those two things, the more real of a life you are living.
I’ve always internalized this, through osmosis from my household growing up, and now in college where everyone has only just started their independent lives and mostly hasn’t yet seen or obtained enough to be captivated by the pleasure of greatness. My classmates might have elaborate dreams of what their lives could look like in the future, but right now these are mostly still dreams, for there is a long way to go. For now, most of them still live in tiny dorm rooms and eat dining hall food, and are too preoccupied with homework problems to have much time for such dreams. So right now, it’s not hard to stay grounded, at least lifestyle-wise. But this will change throughout the next couple of years, as some high achievements translate into high-flying lives and I’ll watch many of my friends go up, up, up… and I’ll have to decide whether or not to go with them.
It’s quite contradictory — I find my own desire to win against others somewhat repulsive, yet also cringe at the willingness to let myself get beaten. Part of me questions whether the desire to stay grounded is simply a coping mechanism to reassure myself that it’s okay if I don’t achieve as much success as others. But I think I will need both ambition and groundedness. This should be achievable with enough creativity and self-motivation: having a simple lifestyle and filling the empty gaps of time by attempting things that initially might not seem possible. Ideally I would be walking down the street admiring the people I love and the things outside just like everyone else, while in the back of my head swim ideas that feed a desire to accomplish new things.