99%: The Gift of Imperfection by Erica

99%: The Gift of Imperfection by Erica - July 2016 Scholarship Essay

In high school, I was “that” student. Classic type A, grades obsessed, Ivy League bound, and a perfectionist to the precisely crossed “T”. I was the one who, in casual conversation, tossed around collegiate vocabulary words like confetti, losing many of the participants’ attention in the process. I practically oozed with intellectual bravado. The funny thing is though: it was a façade.

The charade was my safe place. You see, my mother homeschooled my brothers and I for most of our scholastic careers. Sure, we played sports for the public middle school team in attempts to cultivate social aptitude, but when the game was over and the buses were leaving, I was the one alone on those torn, vinyl seats while everyone else was paired up like some bizarre version of Noah’s Ark. At first, I made feeble attempts at friendships, but eventually I gave up: books were easier to understand. Literature became my safe space; in the pages of my latest read, there was no chance of failure or rejection.

My fear of failure grew into an unhealthy obsession with perfectionism. Most teachers praised my efforts. However, one did not. Mr. Smith taught my oceanography and marine biology classes. Months from retirement, one would think that we would take more of a laissez-faire approach to the curriculum. That wasn’t to be the case.

Harsh, but fair, Mr. Smith ran his class with the mantra, “You will get out of it what you put into it.” I poured my heart and soul into his class. I would start projects weeks in advance to make it the best it could be. However, every project I got back after the grading period was emblazoned with a crimson “99%.” Crushed, each time I would ask him what I did wrong. He would squint at the ocean current map I had so patiently sketched out, and tell me the Bering Sea should be labeled more to the left or he would look at the tidal zone origami mobile I had crafted and tell me one of the species should be swinging slightly higher than the other. To each correction, he would, with a wink and a grin, tell me, “Lucy, there is always room for improvement.”

Years later, I still am reaping the benefits of Mr. Smith’s lesson. I no longer have a perfect GPA, but I have a firm grasp of the truth that my value is not found in grades. I have learned that if I’m so focused on being perfect that a blessedly imperfect life will pass me right on by. Imperfection is a growing opportunity: failure, with the right mindset, a catapult to success.