If you’ve ever had the sinking thought that maybe you’re rather ordinary, then before that moment, you probably believed you were somehow different – maybe even exceptional. For people who grew up with great grades and constant praise, that realisation often comes later in life, which means it hits all the harder.
None of us want to face experiences that knock our confidence off balance. But they happen – a disappointing exam score, or rejection from a university you were sure you would get into, for instance. In today’s world, this can happen even earlier – failing to get into a school you worked hard for, or getting in and realising everyone around you is just as smart as you are, making you unexceptional by comparison. Anyone would lose their confidence in such a situation.
I saw this firsthand during my time teaching Ancient Greek at a university – the language Plato and Aristotle spoke in fourth- and fifth-century BCE Athens. My students were outstanding; they could read English, German, French and even some Latin with ease.
But once, a student who had probably never struggled with anything found themselves unable to translate a basic Greek exercise. They lowered their head, and flat-out refused to try. That may well have been their first time thinking, Maybe I’m not special, after all.
I understood them well. I started teaching Greek after majoring in the history of Western philosophy during my own student days. I thought my Greek was pretty good when I joined my research lab – until I met older students who could read it like a modern language.
Then, newer students arrived, and they quickly caught up, too. Watching them handle texts I struggled with made me think, Perhaps I’m not actually so exceptional.
Some of my own students, too, looked shaken when they discovered they couldn’t translate Greek while others could.
There’s nowhere to hide when you’re studying a foreign language. Your mistakes show instantly. It’s humbling – and sometimes, it’s crushing. But of course, it takes time to read original texts, which means there’s nothing to do but study.
It surprised me to see students who had always believed they were good at languages fall silent in frustration at the realisation that they were just like everyone else, but still, I understood them. I, too, had gone through the trial of learning that I might not be as gifted as I had thought.
Gaining confidence as a capable scholar is extremely difficult, as is true in any discipline, and only the highly exceptional stand out. If you only look within your own country, you end up like the proverbial frog in a well that knows nothing of the ocean. My own field of study is filled with researchers from all over the world. Unlike when I was a student, the internet today opens us up with instant access to the work of researchers worldwide. Faced with such a vast pool of peers, it’s easy for even those who consider themselves talented to lose confidence.
Work shows results in numbers, too. For instance, when I write books, and I worry about sales after publication. No matter how much time and energy I put into a book, if it doesn’t sell immediately, I end up doubting my own ability.
Confidence built on being special is surprisingly fragile.
But numbers alone don’t reveal the real value of a book, of course. There are a great many kinds of work that can’t be measured quantitatively. Most people would agree that you can’t judge the value of an artwork with points, for example, and the same goes for literature. Even in academics, poor exam results don’t prove someone lacks ability.
When I was in middle school, I once glanced at a classmate’s drawing and, thinking mine was terrible in comparison, started over from scratch. I can’t remember if I ever finished that drawing. Today, I no longer believe one quick glimpse is enough to judge the quality of someone’s art. And even if I had produced something similar to my classmate, it would no longer have been truly my own work.
Be it a book or a painting, you can’t immediately discern its value. As such, it makes no sense to judge your own worth by casually comparing your work with someone else’s.
People who believe that high sales equal high value will think their book or product is worthless if it doesn’t sell. But such people fail to recognise the unique value in their own work – or in anyone else’s, for that matter; they fail to see that true worth can’t be measured by quantitative standards. The simple fact of the matter is that comparing your work to someone else’s is pointless.
