It was the end of summer, and I was enlightened. Middle school was a chaotic period of rearrangement that shook me until I reached the clarity of mind I had been waiting for so long to achieve. Now, I had a whole new perspective on the value of time, and the importance of academics. I had also developed pressure to the point where I believed anything less than pristine grades were unacceptable, a bane on my existence that would terminate my hopes and dreams. Not desiring anything other than success in the high school experience to come, it was time for me to set a resolution. The time had come for a goal.

For almost all of my schooling career, since the wee levels of elementary school, I have been that “one kid.” The one whose sole redeeming factor to his social-emotional incompetence was the fact that he could do math well. My life had been defined by my performance in the classroom — life was perfect when my grades were. I was a cool kid when I displayed top-notch accomplishments. If there was one surefire person to go to college, I was him. This reputation stuck with me through two school changes and was at the forefront of my appearance to others. My parents also constructed the foundation of high academic standards, interrogating me every time I scored less than an A. These expectations from my parents and peers influenced my extraordinarily high value on academics, and this defined my goal for high school: to achieve a perfect GPA for all eight semesters, and settle for no less than first in my class. Nothing had a higher priority than my grades, and that was how high school would go.

On the first day of high school, I was ready to put my plan into action. I came in guns blazing, prepared to mow down all assignments hurled in my direction. There was little that could put an end to my academic endurance, and I was riding high. After all, happiness was what I made it, and for me, it was good grades. If good grades were happiness, then I would make high school bliss. That was the precedent, anyway. Amplifying the need for marriage to academics was my divorce with people. Having few friends, I was pushed right into the open arms of the classroom and my plot was to embrace this. Devoted, almost religiously, to my work, I charged through the first weeks of school with no remorse for the left-behind scene of basic conversation with others. There was no life beyond my goal because if it failed, I surely could not accomplish this arduous cycle called life. However, my tunnel vision for my rigid timeline of high school caused more stress than I realized.

Still focused on a singular possibility for the school year, I made minimal contact with other people and purposefully restrained myself from socializing. Perhaps I was not as cheerful as my socially affluent peers, but I was satisfied with what I was doing and achieving. My academic plan was coming to fruition, and I was riding high in my own world. Nothing could shake my belief that grades were the only thing that mattered.

Except, maybe grades weren’t the sole focus of my life. Perhaps there was merit in making friends. These were the statements rolling around in the gears of my rational-wired mind as I tested my limited and floundering social skills talking to (gasp) a girl.

What had happened to my straight and narrow path to success in high school, the only important goal in my life? I came to the realization that I enjoyed talking to people by making a new friend. Deciding to ignore this entirely, I was still determined to taskmaster my plan into bloom. I was already seeing the benefits of my labor — a “one of 84” for my class rank. This was the moment I had been striving to achieve for months, all from non-deviation from my ploy. But, the ecstasy was not all there. I still wanted to talk to the girl I met before, because maybe, just maybe, there was more to existence than academic proficiency. Perhaps having friends could be a portion of my life, too.

Friends, however, come at a cost. The toll demanded was the expenditure of my all-important plan, which was my life. That was a price I was not willing to pay. I kept an iron grip on my life with the vice of my goal in hand. As it turns out, fate would not accept this. Time and time again, I found myself straying from my self-imposed social silence, talking to people and liking it. My mind kept wondering if I could balance both academics and friends. My plan said no, but I said yes. This was not how the school year was supposed to go. It was to be purely academic. I was to hone my studying skills in order to sharpen the sword of growth wielded by all the greats. In no way could I have made new friends. Yet, this was what I wanted now. I was coming home happier, and I made inroads into a part of me that had been stifled for years. Instead of spending hours pursuing an enormous target when given time to think, I contemplated my peers. What had happened to the academic labors I had committed myself to with my master plan to dominate the world of 9th grade, the work that would satisfy my life’s goal? It turns out, the fulfillment I had been looking for did not only come from a number on paper, but also from a connection with others. Still clinging to the tattered scheme designed by the younger me, I tackled the final months of school with insurmountable doubts about my goals.

As the year draws to a close, and I am taking time to reflect on the happenings of it, I have to realize that it did not do what I wanted it to. School is for learning and nothing else… or, so I thought. Nobody did the things I thought they would do, and the year is still evolving. I suppose the most valuable lesson I learned from this school year did not come from a classroom. It didn’t teach me social studies, trigonometry, or the structure of a speech. In fact, the most important information didn’t come from a teacher at all. It came from a now even more enlightened version of self, one that surpassed the standards of academic goal-making from middle school. With the aid of so many others, I realized that life cannot be dictated by any one plan, and the sooner I embrace that, the quicker I can savor it for all that it is.