The danger of being an overachiever
Don’t be like me
There’s a memory that brings sadness to me — almost tears to my eyes.
You see, I had the best of friends during my last year in grade school. I was highly introverted and had been susceptible to bullying all my life. But this set of people shielded me, treating me like their baby brother. They stood up for me against fellow pupils and even teachers. I remember being the only one exempted from punishment multiple times, despite being a heavy contributor to the nuisance. The entire class reminded any punishing teacher that I wasn’t among the mischief-makers. I haven’t felt more loved since then — perhaps not even at home.
It wasn’t because I was the brightest student, though I did grapple for the top two positions. And to be fair, we were all kids, so I doubt those metrics influenced how we saw each other. It must have been pure love and genuine friendship.
I still remember how I worked my way up academically — rising from 10th to 7th, and eventually to 3rd position in first grade. Each academic calendar had three terms, and by the second grade, I had gotten accustomed to holding one of the top two spots. I maintained that streak until the final term of my fifth and final year.
That year was different. Apart from being my last year in grade school, it was also the year I played the most, neglecting my studies in the process. I thought my talent was enough — I could always repeat whatever magic helped me stay at the top. But the results of that gamble? I came 3rd.
I was furious, visibly agitated, like it was anyone’s fault but mine.
“Why were you furious? Wasn’t that a good grade?” you might ask.
Well, not for me. I wasn’t interested in individual subject performances, even though they seemed better than the previous terms. I only cared about the position.
According to my mom, “Onye ahu bu onye mbu, o nwere isi ole?” meaning, “The person who came out on top, how many heads do they have?” She had grown so accustomed to my success that she didn’t expect anything less. She made sure to drum it into my ears — and those of my siblings — that flawless academic performance and being the best in everything was the key to success in life, given our lack of financial privileges.
Maybe now you understand.
Blinded by my anger, I failed to recognize the truth staring me in the face: I wasn’t going to see my friends again — or at least not for a very long time. Instead of making the most of the moment, I let my frustration consume me.
When it was time to go home, Carol — the one who took 2nd position — waved at me. It seemed like she was trying to get my attention, perhaps to say a proper goodbye I didn’t want to look at her. I acted like I didn’t see her and walked away. I wanted her to feel just as bad as I did, and I believe I succeeded. Who wouldn’t feel hurt? The funny part? Carol was my childhood crush. And who treats their crush that way?
Looking back, I realize how much of a mistake that was. If I were in her shoes, I’d have felt bad too. Sometimes, I wish I could go back to that moment to fix things. But that’s not how reality works.
I just have to move on with life and hope she forgives me. And to Carol — if there’s a one-in-200-million chance you stumble upon this, just know that I’m deeply sorry.
What’s the lesson here, you might ask? Sometimes, being an overachiever can blind you to what really matters — family, friendship, love. In a word: people. Worse still, you might carelessly push them aside on your journey to success, only to realize later that you’re alone and lonely.
Don’t be like me. On your journey to achieving your goals, always prioritize people.
