ON IDENTITY
predecessor: noun | pre·de·ces·sor\ˈpre-də-ˌse-sər\
: one that precedes; especially : a person who has previously occupied a position or office to which another has succeeded
This is the word. The word eternally etched into my memory, its spelling and definition never to be forgotten. The word that will forever stand out like a skyscraper above the skyline of the hundreds of thousands of others randomly filed away in my cerebral cortex.
It was the spring of 2005. I was just 11 years old. But as I look back on that day, how I reluctantly uttered, “p-r-e-d-a-c-e-s-s-o-r,” and how I felt my heart sink into my stomach as I heard the Boise Idaho school district spelling bee judge announce to the audience that I had misspelled the word and would be getting fourth place, I humbly recognize two things:
I am a nerd
I am a competitive nerd
This somewhat silly anecdotal experience is in essence a microcosm of my life — a boy excited by education, intrigued by intellect, and crazy about competition.
What I want to focus on from the story, however, is how those two aforementioned characteristics evinced within that childhood memory, those notions of self-perceived smartness and competitiveness, drastically influenced my sense of identity and self-worth and powerfully shaped my worldview and and how all humans, in one way or another, are driven and guided by internalized personality traits and labels that have been living within us since we were children, when they were almost involuntarily ingrained into our fresh, young, malleable psyches.
From a young age I was told I was smart. My parents, siblings, and school teachers, through words of affirmation (and good grades), instilled in me a belief that I was intelligent, that I was gifted. I believed them. I thrived off of their compliments and praise. I liked that “smart” label, so I internalized it. I also internalized the fact that being considered “one of the smart kids” made me feel superior to my fellow classmates, and it made me relish any chance at competing to validate and defend that self-proclaimed title. I loved making everything a competition — from times tables to reading, I had to show that I was the best in my class. Winning boosted my self-esteem. That’s why I loved spelling bees. It was a blatant competition of so-called intelligence that was all too enjoyable for an arrogant kid like me. And in the end, getting fourth place was good for me. I needed to be humbled.
I’m unpacking these introspective self-reflections as a word of caution to myself. As life has gone on, I’ve had to learn that smartness or skill do not equal worth. While I firmly believe in the importance of seeking knowledge and acquiring talents, as in all things, the motives must be pure. Intellectual ability, or any skill for that matter, should be used for good — never to put yourself on a self-ordained pedestal.
I’ve also learned that while I may be smart, I’m definitely not the smartest — not even close. Neither am I the most athletic, or the most musically inclined, or the most attractive, or the most artistic. But that’s completely okay. Not being the best at something (or misspelling predecessor) does not have to lower my self-esteem or leave me feeling less than. More importantly, I’ve learned the beauty of humility, of recognizing my shortcomings, and celebrating others’ skills and appreciating others’ accomplishments.
Just like an orchestral composition, we all play different instruments in this symphony called life. Each unique part is beautiful in its own right, but no one part is more important than the other. And that’s the point. No matter what part we play, are we not all listening to the same music?
MUCH LOVE,