There’s a quiet suspicion lurking in our minds. It impacts what we say to each other, which courses we take and even how we perceive ourselves on a fundamental level. It may well have such a pervasive impact on the Princeton experience that the feeling is, itself, an essential part of our time here.
It’s the fear of being unremarkable.
For many of us, particularly graduates of small-town public high schools, this insecurity is unfamiliar when we first step onto campus. We’re used to steady diets of adulation. But after years of being big fish in small ponds, of frequent recognition for academic achievement and creativity, we are suddenly thrust into an environment where we are surrounded by thousands of people whose enormous talents exceed our own. There are no accolades (and few A’s) awarded here for just being “good” at something, for mere interest and persistence. To excel on this campus requires some spark of brilliance, some higher level of devotion to one’s work. Given these circumstances, it can be hard for us not to compare ourselves to peers who seem by and large to be far smarter, wittier, better informed and more capable. It can be disconcerting.
For those of us who engage in these comparisons, who feel the great dread, it’s natural to wonder, “Did the admission officers make a mistake with me?”
These seeds of silent self-doubt can be planted rather easily in our minds. They may take root the first time we’re called out by our classmates over bungled comments in precept. They might be fertilized by our first bad grades here, watered by our awe at others’ insight, nourished by lost elections to the boards of clubs. In my case, even a lunchtime debate with a friend over affirmative action that I lost — handily, I might add — played some part. We’re vulnerable during even the smallest interactions with other students here, and when the defenses we’ve built up over our entire lives are pierced, it can be hard to stem the bleeding.
Joey Barnett touched on this subject last year in a column titled “Princeton mediocrity,” and while I’m not convinced by his argument that grade deflation is a root cause, I think he described the phenomenon rather eloquently: “Here, there is a stench in the air, a lingering sense of defeat on some level, drowned joyfully in little red cups that turn the anonymity that comes with mediocrity into laughter and enjoyment. Indeed, there are those who succeed invariably, those shining beacons of genius that most of us want to occasionally tackle, but the rest of us, while still struggling to climb onto that top tier, are meanwhile basking in the light of low expectations.”
The fear that we can’t measure up to those shining beacons — our classmates, our friends — can shake our highest aspirations to the core. Maybe, we wonder, we’re not cut out to be philosophers, writers, neurobiologists, policymakers; here it seems that those around us who share these dreams are far more worthy than we are of achieving them.
This sense of inadequacy can shape the contours of our four years here. After a few hard knocks freshman year, we may become risk-averse in our course selection. We may hold back on asking questions in class, wondering to ourselves, “Will this sound stupid to others?” And while, as a first-semester sophomore, it would be presumptuous of me to assert any definite insight into the mindsets of those who bicker, it wouldn’t surprise me if similar fears of inadequacy fed into at least a few students’ decisions about whether or not to participate in the process.
Maybe the best way to cope is to turn this fear around — to accept our place as part of a community in which we are so surrounded by brilliance that standing out is practically impossible. Perhaps if we assume this notion, we can more readily benefit from the wisdom and skills of our classmates, embracing their talents and learning from them in the hopes of improving ourselves.
But it would be intellectually dishonest for me to end on that note, to imply that I’ve overcome this fear myself. I haven’t. I can’t shake the feeling that Princeton won’t enable my greatest ambitions. It often feels more like it’s a big reality check. Perhaps that’s a healthy thing, but it’s demoralizing nonetheless.
I can’t help but hope that I’m not alone in my insecurities. For if Princeton does naturally foment this kind of self-doubt in many of us, I tell myself, then maybe the notions of inadequacy on which that doubt is based are unfounded. But I just can’t be sure.
Jacob Reses is a sophomore from Linwood, N.J. He can be reached at jreses@princeton.edu.
Want to be an Opinion columnist? Apply by this Friday. Visit dailyprincetonian.com/join/opinion.
Read More
$56,000 in debt at graduation is not the financial aid Princeton advertises
Avi CheslerTake my story as an example — despite repeated evidence, both before and after taking out loans, that I would be unable to pay what Princeton asked of me — the University never set a cost that I could truly meet loan-free.
In the Garden State’s service and the service of humanity
Olivia Ragan, Lauren Aung, and Madison LintonIt is important to cultivate in students interest in local and state level change, because it is the most direct way to give back to the New Jersey community that sustains the University.
Why do two-thirds of your summer research wages go to Princeton, anyway?
Isaac BarsoumThe income that students earn from employment is not “miscellaneous.” So Princeton must decide: Does it want its students — all of them, not only those who can afford it — to be able to work on the important research happening at Princeton, or be forced to go home?
The income that students earn from employment is not “miscellaneous.” So Princeton must decide: Does it want its students — all of them, not only those who can afford it — to be able to work on the important research happening at Princeton, or be forced to go home?