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In second grade, my teacher, Ms. Roll, was stern in the way that made you feel like she definitely knew when you were faking your reading log. She loved “mind-stimulating activities,” which usually appeared in the form of tricky puzzles, analyzing and illustrating poems, and the occasional connect-the-dots that felt strangely intense. Among these puzzles was the “15 puzzle,” also referred to as the Gem Puzzle, the Mystic Square, and a few other names that sound way cooler than it actually is. You’ve probably seen it before: a 4×4 grid with 15 numbered tiles and one empty space, and you slide the tiles around trying to order them correctly.

And I was oddly good at it.

Noticeably good. Faster than my classmates. Better in a way that made adults nod approvingly and, most importantly, impressed Ms. Roll. Receiving this validation was my first experience with the realization: Oh. I might be a little tiny bit maybe smart.

This realization carried me for a while.

Throughout elementary and middle school, I didn’t have to try. Good grades happened, and studying didn’t. In eighth grade, I scored so highly on the algebra state test that the school called my mom to ask what I did to prepare.

My answer?

Nothing.

And that was true for pretty much everything. Homework was optional. Studying was unnecessary. Effort was for other people. Hay was for horses.

Then high school showed up at yucked my yum.

Chemistry wasn’t making sense, English suddenly required thinking, math classes no longer felt like a victory lap. For the first time, studying wasn’t just helpful; it was necessary.

And I refused to do it.

Again, I had to do it, yet I did not. Why? Not because I was lazy (okay, partially because I was lazy), but mostly because I was scared. Because if I studied, if I actually tried, and I still did poorly… then what? Then I wouldn’t have the excuse.
Then I wouldn’t be able to say, “Oh, I didn’t study at all.”
Or, “I never even opened the textbook.”
Or, “I basically slept through the whole class.”

Except those excuses protected me. They let me pretend that my grades weren’t a reflection of my ability, just my lack of effort. Because effort is optional. Ability is personal.

I never excelled academically, and took some pride in “not fulfilling my potential,” in part because I was terrified that if I tried my hardest, the world would learn that I didn’t actually have that much potential.

John Green, The Anthropocene Reviewed: Essays on a Human-Centered Planet

So instead of risking the possibility that I might be average, I chose not to try at all.

This did not work out well. Shocker!

B+ in geometry (earned with zero studying) translated to a B− in Algebra II and trigonometry, because I didn’t fully and completely understand geometry. Which then turned into a C+ in pre-calculus, because I didn’t really master anything underneath it. One class bled into the next, and suddenly I was confused, frustrated, and falling behind. All because I never wanted to test my limits in the first place. It was a self-inflicted domino effect.

Now, halfway through my senior year of high school, I’m trying to undo it. No, I never expect to experience one of those “I woke up one day and completely changed my life” stories. I haven’t studied consistently in three years, so I know I’m not about to become a productivity powerhouse overnight. But I am trying. Slowly, definitely imperfectly, but intentionally. So when people ask me, “Well, you already got into college, why still put in effort?” I’m never sure how to respond without explaining that this is damage control, that my efforts now are trying to reverse the effects of years of half-assing assignments and half-passing classes.

The best time to plant a tree was 20 years ago. The second-best time is now.

A Chinese Proverb

The ironic part is this: my fear of being average actually made me more average. By avoiding effort, I learned less, and by learning less, I limited myself. The very thing I was afraid of became a self-fulfilling prophecy.

And just to be clear, being average or below average is not something to be ashamed of. People learn differently. People are good at different things. Worth is not measured by grades or test scores. But fearing failure so much that you never try? That’s the real loss.

So if you’re anything like me, coasting on past success and terrified of finding out your limits, here’s the truth. Avoiding the attempt doesn’t make you exceptional; it just keeps you stuck. And honestly? Stuck is way worse than average.

Thank you for tuning into the second edition of my blog. Maybe some of you learned something new about me, maybe some of you learned something new about yourself, maybe both, maybe neither. Whatever the case may be, I hope you enjoyed it. Stay tuned for next week’s edition on a very interesting and cool undecided topic!

Edited by my dear friend Sydney Myers on 1/7/2026 (Disclaimer: Any grammatical errors are not the fault of my fantastic editor. They are likely due to my not taking some of her advice. Grammarly says I’m golden, though.)