I’m dual-enrolled, or double majoring for the non-Boston University readers, in advertising and history. Advertising stands as the beacon of hope when I’m asked the question “what the heck do you want to do with your life?” In advertising, I am focused, inspired and maybe a little bit delusional, mainly about the future job market. Campaigns and clients and implementations of ideas keep me up at night. They sit in the back of my mind, gnawing on the gray matter that is my brain. I’ll wake up at 3:30 a.m. and have an “ah-ha!” moment, only to fall back asleep and dream about various inspirations. Like gears clicking and clacking, I work and rework ideas I hope the world and potential employers will like. I am a good advertising student. Advertising is my vocation and what I hope to eventually make money doing (please hire me!)
History, on the other hand, is just this elusive and wonderful thing in my life. I’ve always loved reading and been fascinated with stories — my past Christmas lists have verified that. In high school, with the help of some incredible teachers, I found a love of the giant web of stories that make up history. Like one big puzzle, history is just one story that fits into another that becomes the fascism movement in Italy or the cultural identity of post-WWII Israel or the truth behind the Salem Witch Trials. (They happened in Danvers, not Salem.) Historians make compelling arguments after gathering research from unlikely archives or strange places. Poring over facts and figures, trying to find the one oddity that explains it all, or explains none of it. The clues aren’t always there and we are often left with mysteries. History is terribly messy because it’s the recording of humans, who are also terribly messy. And I love it. I love every second of it.
I sit in my lectures, wide-eyed and quick-handed, scribbling all the oddities that make up whatever period we are discussing. I write questions in the margins for later investigation, I file away historical trivia into that same gray matter I abuse, I laugh at my professors’ lame jokes. I love history, and I’ve never received an A in a history class at BU.
The truth is, despite all my love and enthusiasm for the subject, I am not excellent at it. When the tests start and those blue books open, I do my very best and my very best is often a B. I make an argument, I cover enough bases and I do the slightly above-average work. I recognize that a B is nothing to complain about, and I’m not at all. I’m thankful for my grades. However, I don’t have the cumulative GPA from my history classes to even write an honors thesis. I won’t have the opportunity. I won’t be able to pick a topic and go searching for puzzle pieces and work for months and probably cry a lot and in the end grow as a historian and as a person. All of this is okay — maybe one day I will get my masters degree in history and then I can get my fill of crying and growing.
I sat at a desk two weeks ago and used my notes, the readings and the good ol’ Internet to plan out my answers to two essay questions in my history class. I had all the resources at my disposal. I had a good grasp on the arguments I wanted to construct. I got a B+ on the midterm. This felt like a victory, as if I had broken the glass cleaning, as if that plus on the end of the B was the question mark block in Super Mario Bros. and I had evolved to a larger, stronger, better version of myself. Society’s emphasis on grades makes you a little crazy that way.
Sometimes you are passionate about something you are mediocre at. Sometimes you work your absolute hardest and you only make it through. Sometimes you love something that doesn’t necessarily love your brain back. That’s okay. You should still be proud of your capacity to care and still embrace your passions. You can’t limit yourself to only the things you are good at. If we did, I would only ever make and consume cookies and only ever dust and ignore all other chores.
Kevin G. from “Mean Girls” was right when he said “don’t let the haters stop you from doing your ‘thang.’” Especially if that “hater” is a grade or just your own gray matter trying to discourage your other gray matter. Embrace the mediocrity. Laugh at your professor’s dumb jokes and get a B.
