In the past, I always believed that I was the smartest person in the room. Maybe it was because I wanted to be; Maybe it was because I was. I guess it was dependent on what room I was in. When I was in elementary school I was considered a “Gifted and Talented” child. Being crowned this title I was under the impression that I was far more intelligent than my peers. What it truly meant was that I was good at detecting patterns and figuring out how to solve puzzles. Throughout the majority of my education I never studied, yet always managed to receive high marks on exams. 

In preparation for my kindergarten graduation, my school’s orchestra conductor taught the Gifted and Talented children how to play violin. I immediately excelled at the instrument, but unfortunately, the other children were not able to learn as quickly. I was disappointed that we lost the opportunity to perform at our ceremony, but I had gained a sense of pride. In the next few years, I made sure to accelerate my reading level far beyond that of my classmates. I loved to boast about how I could read at a level P while they could hardly read a D. I ridiculed them, and I was not gentle. I still regret how I would gloat. I was a show-off and know-it-all.

Going into fifth grade, it was a requirement to take a foreign language. We had two choices: Italian or Spanish. While the majority chose Spanish, I learned Italian. The only reason I made this choice was because I heard that Italian was the more challenging language. In this small class of around twenty students, I met Samantha for the first time. Samantha had just transferred into my school. She grew up in Russia, and Italian would be her fourth language– the other three being Russian, Hebrew, and English. For the next four academic years, Samantha was my mortal enemy.

While taking Italian, I quickly learned that I did not have the knack for learning a language. I struggled to compose simple sentences, while Sam was writing essays using vocabulary that we had yet to learn in class. She spoke with fluency and perfect pronunciation. I had never felt so enraged. She was praised for her knowledge by our teacher; she was the only student who paid attention. Even though I was filled with jealousy, I still didn’t have the desire to study. I was met with a dilemma. Should I begin studying and lose my pride, or continue to lack discipline and remain in Sam’s shadow? My pride won the battle. 

High school as a whole was my subsequent enemy. We were all told in the eighth grade that high school would not be as easy as middle school. I was not intimidated by this sentiment at all, but it turned out to be true. I continued to pretend I was superior by utilizing my sophisticated lexicon and lying about my less-than-favorable grades. My mother was the only person who was “in” on my charade. She told me on numerous occasions that I was smart but lazy. I was in my freshman year when I failed a test for the first time, and my sophomore year when I nearly failed a class. I became so discouraged by my poor marks, and even more so by my teachers suggesting I find a tutor. 

I was told that my junior year scores would be the only ones colleges looked at when determining admissions. I always dreamed of going to Yale. I truly only wanted to go for praise and attention. In my last two years of high school, I decided I would put my best foot forward. My shallow dream was still within an arm’s reach. I took four Advanced Placement classes that year since each one gave a 10-point curve on the class average. My plan was meticulously organized, and by following it perfectly, I knew I would get to be part of the lucky 5% of Yale’s applicants. 

I dedicated all of my free time to doing homework and studying for exams, and I also began to work with a tutor. For the first time in my life, I had a healthy relationship with education. I showed up to all of my classes prepared and on time, I began tutoring other people, and I became a member of the National Honor Society. At the end of the year, I was disappointed to find my cumulative average did not reflect my hard work. It seemed as though I had forgotten that my horrendous freshman and sophomore grades would be averaged with my stellar junior ones. I was left with mediocrity. I did not get into any prestigious colleges, nor did I bother to apply. 

The label of “Gifted and Talented” caused me to have a false image of myself, and regrettably, a false image of my peers as well. There is always potential to “be smarter” if you want to be. Application is what matters. We all learn at our own pace. Nobody is incapable of understanding anything. You must have the drive and a desire to excel. You must surround yourself with people who want you to thrive. One’s natural intelligence is irrelevant if he or she is too ignorant to learn.

To this day, I am still too hard on myself when I get something wrong, or when I’m not the quickest to get something right. I know that I am not the smartest person in the room, and thankfully– nobody is expecting me to be.