Written by Tyler Carter 2/5/2023

For context my middle school was divided into 3 grades, six through eight. Every year began and ended with standardized testing to track progress and determine placement. Now I had always been a good student, but probably not described as gifted by any standard.

My parents had made a deal with me that I’m sure many students were offered: a financial incentive for achievement. Part of this contract included an offer of a “bonus” for honors courses. Imagine my excitement on the first day of 7th grade, sitting down to have the teacher state it was an honors math class while covering the syllabus. I honestly couldn’t believe in. Never while receiving my class schedule, nor in any of the days leading up to classes was I made aware that during testing I had qualified for an honors course. Frankly, I still am not sure if being put in the honors math class was a fluke or calculated. I remember proudly telling my parents after school that day that I was in the honors math and collecting my bonus, probably something like $10.00. (Mom, way under-paid. You’ll see why).

Now, what I didn’t know until day two or three was that “honors” classes meant taking the class designed for the grade ahead. This came into focus for me when the teacher prefaced a concept with “now, you should have learned this last year so I’m not going to be covering it again.” I could tell by the calm expressions of all my classmates who had been on the honor track in math for longer than one day this was no surprise; however, by placing in honors part way through middle school I had essentially skipped an entire year of education. By the end of the first week I was completely in over my head. To solve for a single problem I had to first research a few concepts I had skipped just to learn the new one being thrown at me. I was way behind, emotionally exhausted, and frankly defeated.

So here I am one night at my dining room table. I distinctly remember being so frustrated that silent tears were welling up in my eyes and rolling down my cheeks. I was shaking, and couldn’t escape the feelings that I wasn’t smart enough. A scream was forming deep in my stomach and an intrusive though to throw my book across the room was forming in my mind. Nothing made sense, it was like trying to learn a new language so I could read the instruction manual to a rocket ship. In retrospect I can see that I was faced with two options. Either I could quit, or persevere. I made a decision in 7th grade at my parent’s dining room table that night to push through. Despite my deep feelings of inadequacy, a fear of failing, shame, and an internalized sense of stupidity I made the choice to keep trying. It changed my life.

It is no understatement that if it wasn’t for that pivotal moment in my life I would not be the same person that I am today. I still struggle with the same feelings. Fear of being the dumbest person in the room, imposter syndrome, they can be debilitating. Today, I find that when I am feeling afraid to step out of my comfort zone and push myself I remember that sad boy who made one brave decision to try. He graduated top 10 in his class with AP Calculus I and II behind him. I was not born gifted in math, it never felt like some intrinsic understanding that I possessed like a super power. It was just a willingness to first be an amateur and grow.

If there is anything that I could wish for everyone, it’s that they have an opportunity to feel wildly inadequate and incapable only to prove themselves wrong. An amateur has such a negative connotation, but it’s just someone who takes part just out of a sheer love of something. Regardless of the fear, be willing to be an amateur.