I’m opening with a word we all know a little too well. Stress. That uncomfortable press on all of our shoulders; serial tapping of a foot; staccato hammering on our heads; a drumming inner monologue of ‘too much to do, not enough time’. Or, if time isn’t the concern, then that floundering, empty stomached sense of not doing as well as you should be.
We’ve become pretty cosy with this concept, so much in fact, that stress, in all its six letter glory, is an accepted, if not expected, part of the human experience. Are you really a worthy, hardworking member of 21st Century society if you haven’t got a crippling bag of worries to prove it? The Rat Race says no. And this pressure spreads to all corners of society, coming home with your mum at 5:30 and climaxing in a burst of angry, frustrated dispute at 5:45, when the dinners not cooked and you’ve left another three cups in your bedroom.
But this isn’t a one sided tirade against stress, in fact, there’s a lot to be said for the butterflies in your stomach and the increased performance they fuel. My concern, however, is the inter-wrangled relationship between success and stress, and the gruesome, modern phenomena that they come as a package deal.
Call it the curse of the high achiever, but what I’ve noticed in my own life, is that even when I up the hours and effort I put into my work, my general satisfaction does not improve. A press of nervous discontent hugs my shoulders, a nagging knowledge that in some aspect at least, there is always a space, and need, for improvement.
The irony of ‘success’ is that most of us are craving it, but without any sense of its concrete definition. Someone tell me what it should look like at 16. What unspoken, universal guidelines are we torturing ourselves with? Maybe you’re doing great academically, but hugely jealous of your friend’s superior social life. Or alternately, you are that friend, and as much as you’re enjoying the parties each weekend, you’re losing sleep over them bloody maths grades. And if you’ve somehow balanced those two excruciating ideals, then maybe you don’t make it to the gym as often as the girl across from you does. And I can bet, that in that moment, as you steal a glance at the figure you wish you had, the last thing on your mind is your own personal achievements; instead you’re consumed by an overwhelming desire for self improvement.
It's a curse which follows us to adulthood. Does a good, high paying career make you successful? But what if, as a result, you never make it home in time to cook the kids dinner? Is your neighbour, whose house exudes aromas of freshly baked cakes, living a happier, and all together better existence than your own? Family? Independence? And come on, amongst all this you need to have done something truly ‘meaningful’ with your life, preferably before you turn 40. You know, that extra something to validate your existence, prove that you’re a little bit different and a little bit special from the other 7 and a half billion.
Personally, I’d like to tell success to suck it. I don’t think that there’s a politer way to put it. How can we ever expect to feel fulfilment if we hold ourselves to an impossible, and infinitely broad, set of standards. It’s a hard to swallow pill, but success in one area generally means falling short in another. Instead of wallowing in the could-haves and should-haves, give some thought to the bits of your life which you are really, truly doing alright in.
Not a Bill Gates level of genius, or a Michelle Obama level of inspiring, but just your own, unmeasured sense of contentment. Ultimately, happiness is the most impressive achievement.
Kayleigh Lennon, year 12
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