Penn breeds Winners. Every hour of every day, we’re Achieving and becoming Leaders. And it never stops.
6–8 a.m., we’re competing for the title of “Woke Up Earliest to Do Homework.”
9–11 a.m., the game is on for “Has Too Much Class to Eat Breakfast.”
12–3 p.m., “Spent the Longest Amount of Time at Pottruck.”
4–6 p.m., “Too Much Volunteering to Eat Dinner.”
7–9 p.m., “Finished Lab Report Before Pregame.”
10–12 a.m., “Took Most Shots Without Blacking Out.”
1–3 a.m., “Stayed Out the Latest, No FOMO.”
4–6 a.m., “Slept the Least.”
We just can’t stop competing, against our friends and ourselves. And no, it’s not just about grades. Being the smartest is lame—you have to be the smartest, and the most social, and the most involved, and the most tired. We rejoice when our nemeses can’t put on the juggling show as well as we can—this week at least.
We’re running a four year race, which you win by getting into the best next four year race. According to the rules of this competition, breaks are prohibited. You stop, you lose. So here’s a proposition: we change the rules.
It’s nothing drastic: just one hour, every seven days. I promise, the race goes on for the rest of the week—no one is going to be disadvantaged by this pause. Just one solitary hour with no jobs, no homework, no applications, no drinking games, no bragging about how miserable we are.
I want you to be my friend. I think I like you, but I can’t get to know you like this. I don’t want you to be an infernal ruler with which I measure all my successes and find them to be failures. I don’t want to use you as a hurdle to jump over. I want to know what makes you happy and how I can help that happen more often. I want to know what you think about when no one is asking how your classes are going.
I am miserable because I am not having fun—I’m just avoiding being labeled as “not fun.” I want to put down my armor and admit that I cry at night because I am afraid that I’ll never be good enough. I want to tell you about my family and my hometown—I want to hear about yours, too. I want to stop feeling good when you fail a test. I want to relearn empathy and friendship.
I need an hour, just once a week, with you, just being you. I am so tired, and I know all of you are too. The worst part of this never–ending marathon is how in my head I get. Like a runner keeping beat, I keep my eyes on the prize and never look to see who is running with me. But why don’t we try? Just slow down to a halt, and get to know our running partners. We’ll stretch our tired limbs and let our straining hearts relax. I’ll stop for an hour if you’ll stop with me.
