How my tragically disappointing early achievements made me who I am
Photo: Me and my unhealthy Garfield obsession, circa 1991.
A few years back, my mum presented me with an envelope of certificates she’d kept since my primary school days. A cornucopia of childhood accomplishments. My very best bits. I snatched open the envelope and prepared for my early promise to wash over me in a golden wave of ‘Hell yeah!’ energy.
What followed was downright tragic. And also perplexing. My mum had kept these absolute non-achievements for over 25 years. Parents are so weird! And had I not been, after all, the perfectly capable child I’d always thought? Had I not been good at anything?
Rather than let my newly obvious lack of young skills get me down, I’ve dug deep into my map of mediocrity and picked out something good from each of them. Some way in which my professional life now has been enriched by taking part in these minor competitions, in a tiny village in the middle of England in the 80s and 90s.
And with that, I’m turning defeat into victory. Hell yeah!
1. Third prize in a Thank You Letter Writing Competition
Two other kids in my tiny school were better at writing thank you letters than me that year.
Maybe they enthused more convincingly about their verrucas and spontaneous nose bleeds? About how grateful they were to be reminded of their mortality? Not me. I was pretty annoyed at the time that my ordinary and awkward existence was happening in the UK countryside and not on the forest moon of Endor.
Plus, I was coming to terms with the fact that the force was not strong with me. I was just basically a strange, ungrateful little thing who was rubbish at saying thank you.
How it’s helped me professionally: I was an avid letter writer but hadn’t converted that to glory. So I learned that you might know how to put a piece of writing together technically, but you’ve got to have something interesting to say. Otherwise, don’t enter the competition. Or publish that Facebook ad.
2. Best scarecrow made out of fruit and vegetables
Folks, this is my crowning achievement. First place. The absolute bestest in the village.... at making scarecrows out of fruit and veg.
Now before you assume I grew up in that terrifying cult from the film Midsommar (yikes!), I would like to say that I didn’t. I grew up in a terrifyingly isolated village in the middle of nowhere and there’s a difference. I didn’t witness any human sacrifices for a start. And I basically roamed around said village like a wild animal with other kids until the age of 11.
I got to be a kid for a long time.
How it’s helped me professionally: Growing up so far from anything before the advent of the internet, I read voraciously. I dreamed about the world and didn’t have those dreams scuppered. I made big plans. I played video games. And I grew strong out in nature.
I am so thankful I got to do that and to bring all these things with me into my job in front of a computer. I am addicted to the real world and am resolutely in it. And that helps me do this weird job of bringing things to life online.
3. Certificate for being interested in country dancing
This one is just too much. A certificate for simply being 'interested' in country dancing.
Notice that my teacher only bothered to fill out half of it and my mum STILL thought it would be motivating for me to see as an adult. This one is from my time as a Brownie. And I/we was a very fervent Brownie, intent on achieving every badge I could. Which explains why I was able to get this badge, when I couldn’t have been less interested in country dancing.
Ha ha, suckers!
How it’s helped me professionally: I appear to be motivated by praise to the extent that I can muster the will to do almost anything. Do you need me to write about toilets? I LOVE toilets! In fact, I use them myself! Let’s collaborate.
Note: I might start a website where freelancers can download badges for themselves to stay motivated. “Well done, freelancer. You’ve earned your invoicing badge.”
4. Third place out of seven competitors in a running race
Third-fastest runner out of seven kids in my class. I mean COME ON! Talk about average. And my village school was about as small as you can get: 64 kids in total.
I played on both the football team and the netball team. When other village schools visited to play us, I would have to go between the netball court and the football pitch.
You see I really did love sports. I just thought running for the sake of running was ridiculous. And I had short little legs.
How it’s helped me professionally: I realised that there are lots of things in life where raw talent is not the only thing that matters. Planning, practice and strategy are vital too. I know this because I went on to actually win road races where I grew up, even though I hated running. I wanted to get better. And I had a strategy for getting there.
In the same way, I got over worrying that I might not be the best writer in the world. I loved writing, so I just needed to practice this too. To learn the craft. And then, as a crusty old woman, I could decide if I had wasted my life on something I was terrible at or not.
As a good friend once said, “Do. Or do not. There is no try.”
5. Certificate for taking part in a compulsory cross country race
A big pat on the back for being forced to compete in a cross country race.
Final position in the race: unknown. Still, it’s the taking part that counts, right? I showed up and got a certificate for it. A certificate that someone took five minutes to draw with a marker pen and that’s still with me today, in a foreign country, nearly 30 years later.
Isn’t life bizarre?
How it’s helped me professionally: I realised showing up for things is a good habit to cultivate. I put myself in new places. There have been so many times I have not wanted to do something, but I have done it anyway and been extremely glad I did afterwards.
It’s been this more than anything, I think, that’s meant I’ve had a varied and interesting professional life. I’ve met presidents. Nobel laureates. And climbed mountains on the job. I’m excited to see what I have to force myself to turn up for next!
Framing my rubbish abilities
So that was it. The entire contents of the envelope. Five bits of paper that showed the strange collection of experiences that made up the start of a life.
After I gave my mum the evils and shouted at her, “Is that IT? Why do you hate me so much?!” I thought about how brilliantly mad it was that she’d kept these. There were other things I did, things I am proud of, that I don’t have paper evidence for. And I guess that's fine.
As long as I know about them and feel good about them, that’s all that matters, right? For now though, I will go and put these five in frames for the Wall of Mediocrity I’m preparing. And then I’d best go and focus on achieving something as an adult instead. Wish me luck.
