The smartest kid in class

When I was in the sixth grade, I liked to think of myself as the smartest kid in class. I probably wasn’t but I was the annoying one who sat in the front and always had her hand raised, practically shouting, “Ooh! Ooh!” to get the teacher’s attention. I always knew the answer. (And I wondered why I didn’t have any friends.)

That’s the year we all took an IQ test

I didn’t know what IQ even was, but the test was fun. I loved taking multiple-choice tests because they were so easy to scope out. There was always one ridiculous choice, and one that was slightly less ridiculous. With those two eliminated, even if I didn’t know the answer, I had a 50% chance of getting any given question right. Plus, I was a good guesser, which upped my chances to 75% or more.

With odds like that, why bother studying?

A few days later, my mother came home from a parent-teacher meeting fairly bubbling with the news: I had an IQ of 133 — not genius level, but “brilliant”. I was simultaneously disappointed that I wasn’t a genius, egotistical about being brilliant (whatever that meant), and depressed because I knew I wasn’t even that smart. I had gamed the test, after all.

Imposter syndrome kicked in early for me

Thanks to those test results, I was placed in one of Minneapolis’ first experimental “gifted” classes the next year, and promptly plummeted from the self-appointed smartest kid to the dumbest. That’s how it felt, anyway.

The other kids had their hands up while I sat in the back, slumping down, hoping the teacher couldn’t see me. I started skipping school. My grades fell from straight A’s to straight D’s, plus an F or two.

Soon, the counselor was calling me into a surprise meeting with my mother, both of them peering over their glasses at me with concerned expressions, asking over and over, “What’s wrong?”

But I didn’t know

I didn’t know that I didn’t know how to try.

I didn’t know that practice really does make, if not perfect, then better.

I didn’t know that working hard at a worthwhile task can be profoundly satisfying.

So, I was given an official-sounding label (“underachiever”) and sent back to class. There were no offers of actual counseling or help with homework. I was on my own.

The problem was that I believed I wasn’t smart enough

I didn’t know there was such a thing as mindset — fixed or growth — or that mine was firmly in the fixed category. I thought that being smart meant that things were easy for you, and if you had to work at it, you were stupid and might as well give up.

So I gave up.

But, since I actually was pretty smart, I knew how to scrape by.

I had test-taking down to a science.

Last-minute, all-nighter papers were my specialty.

In fact, my senior year, I found the history textbook so fascinating that I read the whole thing in September and easily got a B without any further effort.

I didn’t know it then, but that was the key: fascination

If I found a subject interesting, and therefore easy (Drama, Art, French), I got A’s. If it bored me to tears (Chemistry), I didn’t even try. But if a subject unexpectedly turned out to be easy for me (Geometry), I found my interest—and grades—improving.

The easy A’s and B’s raised the difficult D’s and F’s to a C+ average by high school graduation. (I don’t know how but I wound up in the top quarter of the class.)

And then, still in my blue cap and robe, I panicked

What would I do now?

College was out. I had only applied to one school (and was promptly turned down) but more important was the belief that I would flunk out in the first quarter because I didn’t know how to study.

So instead, I went to broadcasting school, which turned out to be so fascinating, it seemed easy. And fun. (Not to mention all the cute fellow students—I was the only girl, which was awesome.)

And guess what? I was the smartest kid in class again

Fast forward twenty years: I wound up in New York City, working as a correspondent for ABC Radio News, feeling pretty dumb again because everyone around me was truly brilliant. But they treated me with respect, the work was fascinating, and I buckled down and learned.

What I have learned since then, over and over again, is that I have to be interested in order to do well. Turns out, that’s a component of ADHD, which I was diagnosed with eventually, but it seems to me that it’s true for everyone.

Why on earth would anyone expect to do well in a field they find boring?

In fact, there was a study many years ago that followed a high school class through the next twenty years. If I remember right, three of the students became millionaires. Those three former classmates had only one thing in common:

They were fascinated with their work

So, if you’re not happy in your job, think about what fascinates you. Find a way to do that. Even if you don’t get rich at it, at least you won’t be bored.