When I was a senior in high school, my Harvard interviewer asked me to identify five words my friends might use to describe me. I can’t remember my answer; the interview is mostly lost in a hazy memory of nervous sweating and what I thought were the extremely ladylike sips of water I was taking in between questions, but I’m very confident that the five words I chose to describe myself were not “Totally On Top Of Things.” As I write this, instead of folding my laundry or reading the three books I’m supposed to read by section on Tuesday, I’m lying on my common room floor because my desk is too cluttered for me to put my laptop on it. Instead of, you know, cleaning my desk. That would be what an organized, put-together person would do. And I am not one of those.
There was a time when I had it together. A time when I would make significant progress on long-term projects the day they were assigned. A time when my work ethic and productivity were the envy of my classmates, who would tell me, “Next semester I’m going to be more like you.” A time when I was horrified to learn that one of my friends had once stayed up until 3 AM finishing an essay (I was always in bed before 12). This was sophomore year of high school, when I styled my hair every morning and my social circle was made up of the other kids who took AP US History. I was going to Harvard, I had been set on Harvard since kindergarten, and no number of condescending “Good luck with that” shoulder pats was going to discourage me.
My Harvard dream came true; I am incredibly blessed. But somewhere along the way, I went from Hermione Granger in Sorcerer’s Stone to Hermione Granger in Prisoner of Azkaban. If you haven’t read the Harry Potter books, I went from straight-A organized know-it-all to frazzled sleep-deprived person who barely manages to juggle all of the conflicting activities and responsibilities in her life. I haven’t worn pants since January. It’s been so long since I’ve gone to bed before midnight that I can’t remember when it last happened. I regularly skip class to do homework for other classes. I don’t have a blow dryer at school with me—I style my hair so rarely now that when I do I just use my roommate’s things. I’ve been stealing her conditioner for a week instead of going to CVS to get more (sorry Marina!). I’m 20 years old and I still haven’t registered to vote. When I participate in the “OMG I didn’t study at all” commiseration after an exam, I’m probably not exaggerating. At some point, organized chaos became my way of life, and “fake it till you make it” became my personal motto.
But one thing has changed for the better: I don’t have regular nervous breakdowns anymore. I’ve let go of perfectionism and, though I have more going on in my life now than I’ve ever had, I’m less stressed out than I’ve ever been. I procrastinate like it’s my job and I sleep a lot less than I did when I was fifteen, but I still never miss a deadline. I still get grades that keep my parents happy. I still make time to work out every day. I still get to call myself a Harvard student. I have friends that I love and I’m part of organizations on campus that I’m passionate about, and those are just as much a part of the Great American College Experience as academics are. Could I get better grades? Probably; there is always room for improvement, and I am always trying to improve in all areas of my life (hey Mom and Dad). But am I going to cry about it if I don’t do as well as I had hoped on a paper? Fifteen-year-old me probably would have, but twenty-year-old me is going to take the criticism, have a solo dance party in my common room to Shake It Off, move on to the next activity and try to do better next time. I’ve realized that that’s really all you can do.