Anxieties

I’m excited about getting into Chicago, but I’m not quite used to this level of elation over my own accomplishments. The last time I can remember having achieved something like this is when I was on the winning intersociety debate team for Demosthenian, almost three years ago. My friends tell me I’m crazy for even thinking about any other place (other than Oxford, perhaps), now that I’ve clinched Chicago. Yes, I suppose that if I’m willing to go, there will be some way to pay for it.

But part of my hesitance is that I just am not used to having this level of success. My perfectionism always builds up this huge, grandiose ideal of achievement. When this standard of achievement is actually fulfilled, it comes with an aura of unreality. The aim of perfectionism is, by definition, beyond one’s abilities; it’s the desire to be other than what one truly is. It feels weird to be me right now, because the person I envisioned getting into Chicago wasn’t me.

Of course, getting in is only part of the success. I could still go and flunk out.

P.S. The Chicago letter came yesterday, which was my half-birthday. Not bad!