by Minatallah Husami
Growing up, I was always encouraged to “do my best”. “Do your best” this, “do your best” that. I was never told, however, that doing my best might not always make me the best. Instead, my parents narrated stories in which they exhausted themselves working towards something grand, something extraordinary, something that separated them from everyone else, and eventually came out on top. They made it look easy, as if the path to success what nothing but a serene, beautiful walkway. Success, to them, meant being “the best”, in other words, being better than everyone else. Those were the ideologies that were instilled in me from a young age, hence it is no secret that when I fell off the monkey bars, failed to shoot a ball correctly into a basket, or did not stay within the lines of my coloring book, I associated those minute mishaps with utter failure.
As time passed by, and my priorities shifted from filling in those fiddly coloring books to finding the value of x, I found myself maintaining a permanent spot at second best. Sure, I was okay, but my achievements never seemed to satisfy my inner hunger for the feeling of being top tier. Instead of acknowledging the fact that the numbers on my exam papers were perfectly sufficient, I focused on my rank among my classmates. I would sigh, still second best. Second best is the first to lose, they said.
I would train for hours on end, putting my heart and soul into a sport that I loved, but my efforts always seemed to backfire. Leveling up seemed to have an adverse effect on my mentality. Though moving up might mean victory to most, it made me feel as if I was being dragged all the way down to the bottom. Being a newbie in a group of girls who are just that much better than me demotivated me, and had me dreading practice sessions.
The other day, as I was sitting in the passenger’s seat of my dad’s car, I opened up. I was feeling brave, so I turned down the radio volume, straightened up, and faced him. Confused, yet concerned, he listened to me ramble on and on about the preconceived ideas and false expectations I set for myself on a daily basis. He paused, turned to me, and answered in the simplest, yet most powerful statement I have ever heard exit his lips. “Mina, have you ever tried comparing yourself to yourself, rather than to the girl sitting next to you? In the past year or so, I have seen you blossom. You got your priorities straight and solid, and you even started asking me about universities. The Mina of today doesn’t deserve to be put down by her inner demons, taunting her for always being ‘second best’. Persevere; you’ll figure it all out; everything will fall into place. I’m not worried about you.”