Janet’s Journal: Starting again when you fall

By Opinion Editor Janet Guan

For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved to set goals. There’s proof of it in every corner of my room. Massive book hauls, pages of untouched flute repertoire, half-filled notebooks of math practice — all ambitious seeds I’ve sowed throughout the years and have yet to reap. 

Taped loosely on my wall is a list of New Year’s resolutions I drafted in freshman year. With a piece of binder paper, I had sat down by my desk to brainstorm every achievement I could think of. “4.0.” “Wake up at 6 a.m. every day.” “Finish two books a week.” “Qualify for X, Y, and Z.” Oh, and “Spend more time with family.” With a click, I set down my pen and admired my work. This was who I was going to be by the next 365 days. 

Two years later, I don’t think I’ve hit more than half of those goals. But, even in the tiniest of ways, I still fall for the allure of accomplishment. At school, I’ve honed the technique of fitting homework into every spare minute — every free period, every break — while dreaming of the hour or two at home it would save. On too many Saturday mornings, I’ve woken up to Google Calendar, time-blocking my entire weekend with dozens of work sessions.

However, I never seem prepared when my plans fail; when despite saving an hour from finishing homework at school, I end up doing nothing for two hours at home; or before even a quarter of my weekend passes, I fall hopelessly behind in my Google Calendar schedules and give up working entirely. 

As I fell into this cycle of setting ambitious goals and reaching disappointing lows, it became painful to expect anything altogether. Every deviation from my plans — regardless of how big or small — felt devastating to the drive I had always assumed was abundant. I kept falling, and it was becoming harder to get back up.

I found out only later, as obvious as it seems in hindsight, that I was experiencing the overachiever complex, a mindset not so rare at MSJ. Closely linked with perfectionism, it’s more than constantly reaching for above and beyond. It’s tying your self-worth to whether you get there, a dangerously fragile source of motivation. With each goal I bet on, I was running a neverending relay race. And each time I dropped the baton, I felt like quitting altogether.

That doesn’t mean we should stop setting goals. I know I’ll continue having expectations for myself, putting effort into school, and planning out my weekends. There’s nothing wrong with being excited about a certain direction in life — long- or short-term — and striving towards it. The real divide lies in the incentive, separating passion from reward and happiness from predictability. 

Looking back at my freshman year resolutions, some of my goals were best left unticked. I may not be the perfect picture I envisioned two years ago, but I wouldn’t trade who I am now for the world. Because success should never be about how far you run. Rather, it’s the grit and forgiveness of continuing, of gently lifting yourself up, giving yourself the time to heal, and starting again when you fall.