I can hear the muffled voices through the door. “So, this ribosomal subunit binds to…” “Antibiotic resistance is caused by…” On and on. The symphony of strained medical students . The feverishness of their work echoes softly down the concrete hall. Quiet questions, exasperated sighs, groans of frustration. One might think they were trying to decipher ancient Sanskrit texts rather than the neatly typed Genetics notes. Piles of highlighters, stacks of notecards, textbooks of all shapes and sizes line the perimeter of their group like a band of soldiers guarding its post. The battle may be won tonight, but the war rages on.
The struggle always continues, but the enemy here is different. Not the struggle for knowledge or learning. - it’s the struggle to outdo everyone else. To finally feel like the top dog again. In this land of “closet gunners” and “secret overachievers” and then just plain “outright obsessive-compulsives,” the sense of competition bubbles softly under the surface of everyday life. It isn’t enough to make a 96 on the test when the top 10% of the class makes 100. The “Honors” distinction (for a 100 average) is only bestowed on those who maintain perfection, the “High Pass” (for the poor suckers with a 99) is for those who have stumbled only once or twice, potentially misreading a question or misinterpreting a statement. I have heard so much in the past several weeks about how collaborative, how supportive, how noncompetitive an environment this is. I’m not sure if it is wishful thinking or a deliberate collusion to spread misinformation. Competition exists. How could it not? A group of 100 or so of the top students in the country have gathered here. Did they get here by settling for a 95% when the teacher clearly mis-worded the question? Did they make it by taking a weekend to enjoy the sunshine rather than studying? Did they impress a committee of evaluators by deciding that second-best was good enough?
All of these qualities are admirable. To be aggressive, to be confident, to be determined and steadfast. But, they come at a price. I haven’t realized until just now what a price I have paid. I sacrificed to be here. I spent sunny afternoons and lazy weekends and long vacations in battle. I worked while others slept. Happy couples on the beach. Groups of friends playing softball. I looked at them with disdain. I would be so much better. I would be morally victorious. My struggle was worth it. Duty. Responsibility. Commitment. All virtuous words, except when taken too far. Or when obliged for the wrong reasons.
As I look around now, I realize the slippery trade-off between ambition and wholeness. In some ways, my wholeness has been stripped away. Defined for so long by what I do, I have forgotten who I am. I look now at the way we greedily follow the battleplan. How we clamor for the reinforcement of our grades, our accolades, our trophies. We don’t know any other way to be. We don’t know what else will fill us up. We, who for so long have been the best of the best, are now pitted head to head. I fear for the casualties. I fear for the hurt and wounded, the ones who lose their sense of being. For the ones who cannot bear to see anything less than perfection. There is a big, scary world out there waiting for us. One in which grades and gold stars don’t just fall from the heavens. What then?
