Devenir Lawrentienne

Over the past week, Lawrenceville hosted three Discovery Days, inviting 700 freshly admitted students and their families to experience an authentic slice of campus life. Incoming cars were engulfed by cheering mobs wielding pom-poms and cowbells, parents were treated to college counseling presentations in the Heely Room, and potential students were welcomed to the Harkness table. On one of these days, I, thrilled to participate in the festivities as a seasoned Lawrentian, decided to maximize my participation in class. I spoke as frequently as possible, jabbed at lines in the readings with prowess and dexterity, and repeatedly made eye contact with the visiting student “buddies” assigned to my classmates. I wanted so badly to assume an image of effortless talent like those I had met on my own tour a year ago. On the way to lunch, my friend nudged me. 

“Arya, is everything alright? I feel like you’ve been interrupting people in class, and it was kind of annoying.” 

My flush of guilt washed away any lingering enthusiasm from the morning’s discussion. I was embarrassed that I had failed at the most basic tenet of Harkness—collaboration—on the very day I had reminded myself to adhere to it. What convinced me that wearing blind confidence like sunglasses indoors was a good idea, when hindsight so clearly rendered it just as obviously tacky? 

We are all too familiar with the answers. To become a true Lawrentian or Devenir Lawrentienne is to become magically busy. For us, having an impossibly packed schedule is not a concern but a status symbol. Leadership positions bejewel resumés gilded with research experiences and internships, even if many of them are plastic gems from inactive clubs. Often, a rejection from a prestigious summer program stings not because we lost the chance to attend but because it tears a gap in a clear string of accomplishments we have preemptively planned out. I’m sure many Lawrentians pour themselves into their passions because they can’t imagine loving anything else, but too much of the time, I find myself striving for titles rather than experiences. 

The problem with “overachieving” is that we measure intrinsic human worth using yardsticks made of titles, college hoodies, and three-letter acronyms. Overachieving replaces the human and collaborative aspect of learning with competition for hollow accomplishments. The Harkness Warrior represents an extreme facet of this stereotype, but it’s telling that dominating conversations feels like a goal rather than a not caricature. An atmosphere of collaboration (not co-toleration) and mutual support is only really possible when we stop thinking of discussions as so many profound-seeming statements to be announced over other people, because growth is not a zero-sum game. 

Seeking solely the best for each bloats the ego, and the friction caused by this competitive culture affects many on-campus relationships. Friends, partners, and classmates at the Harkness tables find their friendly ease of interaction thwarted by the thrumming, constant undercurrent of competition. For instance, my own conduct on Discovery Day stemmed from the insecurity of  how I might be perceived. Our acceptance of pushing ourselves to work harder and harder has snowballed learning and collaboration from an important part of our academic atmosphere to something toxic between our students. It’s better for our connections and self-esteem to actively resist this mindset. Instead of seeing the leadership position, we must recognize the work and skill that lies behind the title. Management leadership positions are opportunities to learn and create; Lawrenceville allows us to explore our passions, meet new people, and most of all learn; it is about time we moved away from resume building and restored trust in these basic values.

Intense boarding school environments can forge a strong moral character. But at such a vulnerable age, stress can also instill lasting insecurities formed in moments of struggle. In order to embrace Lawrenceville’s benefits as much as possible, we must prioritize being kind to ourselves during the learning process. While attempting to attach our self-worth to something deeper than the statistics we chase, it seems necessary to establish a personality outside of them–to find ideas and practices and people that we love not because they prove our accomplishment but because they make us feel good. I’m confident our community holds enough shared passions to finally let us seek the best for all.