Column: In search of mediocrity
By Marc Chun
A COUPLE OF weeks ago at the School of Education convocation, the dean welco
med the new students gathered in Cubberley Auditorium. As is traditional and befitting of such an occasion, he recounted the impressive accomplishments of the school and the faculty, national research centers, appointments in the Department of Education and interesting new course offerings. He then announced that among the new students, the school welcomed doctors, lawyers and artists who have now chosen to pursue degrees in education. Of course, the message was to motivate, congratulate and inspire: excellent people have come to an excellent school to do excellent things.
med the new students gathered in Cubberley Auditorium. As is traditional and befitting of such an occasion, he recounted the impressive accomplishments of the school and the faculty, national research centers, appointments in the Department of Education and interesting new course offerings. He then announced that among the new students, the school welcomed doctors, lawyers and artists who have now chosen to pursue degrees in education. Of course, the message was to motivate, congratulate and inspire: excellent people have come to an excellent school to do excellent things. I, however, heard a slightly different message: "What in the world are you doing here?" Don't get me wrong: I don't begrudge my new classmates in the slightest, but as I am absolutely struggling to finish up my degree, here are folks who already can save lives, fight for justice and make things of beauty, and now on top of that they're going to pick up another degree? The degree I'll be lucky enough to complete?!?
I know I'm not alone in pondering the Admissions Committee scenario. Years ago, somehow my application file was accidentally placed in the wrong pile. No sooner than the "fat letter" was sent inviting me to pursue graduate studies at Stanford did someone notice the error. The school was too embarrassed by their mistake to revoke my admission, so everyone has been engaged in an elaborate cover up worthy of an Oliver Stone feature.
The faculty have kindly allowed me to proceed with my academic work, assuming I am naively unaware of the big snafu. Many students soon grow out of this phase, quickly recognizing their wonderful gifts and their potential, and they realize deep down that they too are excellent and that they really do belong here. I didn't.
It doesn't help that other students in my school are unbelievable teachers, have won prestigious fellowships and have had publishers court them to publish their dissertations (one, in fact, before she had written word one of her tome). Add to that the school's faculty, some of whom finished their own graduate work in three years or less, wrote award-winning theses and crafted cutting-edge research while finishing up their doctoral degrees.
I'm not worthy.
All right, enough self-flagellation. I know I'm no slacker, and I'm no slouch: I can do competent research; I'm a decent teacher, and I come up with relatively interesting ideas. But let's be realistic. If graduate students were TV shows, I'm not the award-winning "ER." I'm not the intellectual "Masterpiece Theater," and I'm not the break-the-mold "X-Files." I'm also not the tragically overlooked "My So-Called Life" or the well-respected "Cosby Show." On the other hand, I'm also not the bizarre "Manimal," or the inane "Nick Freno: Licensed Teacher." I think I'm more like "NewsRadio:" neither ground-breaking nor highly-rated, but basically decent, good-natured and earnest, and just sort of hovering below the radar screen. There's nothing wrong with that, right?
Wrong. I sort of learned that as a Stanford student I should be doing great things. And I wasn't. I went through the requisite excuses and justifications phases: I could've done better work if I didn't have so much to do for my research assistantship. I could've been a better TA if I weren't so stressed about my own classes. I could've come up with a more interesting dissertation if I only read a few more books. I could've had something published if I didn't watch so much TV. (Hey, someone has to watch "Nick Freno.")
Yes, in the beginning there were high expectations. And they begat disappointment, which begat feelings of inadequacy, which begat excuses, which begat fear. You get the picture. But no more! In contrast to the way Kevin Kline's character is publicly outed by Matt Dillon's character in the current film "In and Out," I shall out myself. I am a mediocre student. You see, upon much thought and reflection, I have come to a somewhat acceptable conclusion (note, not an epiphany, not a stupid idea): there's no shame in being mediocre.
There are just so few spots at the top of that bell curve, and it's just so darn nice and roomy way back in the middle. This is not to say that people shouldn't try their hardest; we just shouldn't be ashamed of our most mediocre work.
Mediocre students of Stanford, unite! Let us celebrate our mediocrity! Say it loud, say it proud: we are mediocre! Let the others win the awards and do the tremendous work, and let us feel no remorse and no ill-will.
We shall toast our mediocre accomplishments with Shasta soda; we shall feast at the Olive Garden, and we shall dance to Hootie and the Blowfish. Let us challenge the culture of excellence that oppresses us.
Let us go In Search of Mediocrity. Let us seek the Seven Habits of Highly Mediocre People. Let us watch "Bill and Ted's Most Mediocre Adventure." We're mediocre people coming to an excellent school to do mediocre work. Wrong file in the wrong pile or not - we're here, we're mediocre, get used to it.
Marc Chun is a doctoral student in education. He encourages you to watch "NewsRadio," Tuesday nights at 8:30 p.m. on your local NBC affiliate.
Marc Chun's Opinions appeard in the Stanford Daily from October 1997 to January 1998
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