In the Name Of

I think I failed a Latin test this week.  Like, straight-up got a 68% on it.  Normally, a grade like this would send me into wretched self-despair, followed quickly by self-pity, followed slowly by self-loathing.  As an honors student, I’ve got a certain reputation to maintain.  Honors students don’t’ fail—at anything.  We become doctors and lawyers and poet laureates.  We change the world!

Pressure, pressure, pressurepressurepresurersuersue…..

Funny thing is, I am unflabbergasted by this event.  This is where I’m finally beginning to see the results of my study abroad experience.  I spent four months in Oxford eyeball-deep in books and books, the occasional cup of over-sweetened tea, and essays, and books.  I did not learn a single grade on a single essay until the semester was finished.  Removed from the stigma of achieving an A, I was left with the ability to focus on what the real point was—wait for it, wait for it….

….learning shit. 

So now I’m back in the States and I’m graded on essays and I’m graded on midterms and I’m graded on quizzes and I’m graded on reading and I’m graded on whether I show up for class or not and hell, maybe I’m graded on hygiene and personal grooming.  And I failed a Latin test.

But you know what?  Four weeks ago, I could not glance at a paragraph of Latin and tell you what a single word meant unless it had the words “dues ex machine” or “carpe diem” in there somewhere.  And while I still may not be able to tell you whether habeo is a first or third conjugation verb, I can probably tell you what tense and person it is, what it means, and where it belongs in the sentence.  In fact, I can stumble my way through an entire paragraph. 

I failed a Latin test.  But I’m learning Latin. 

Grades are still important to me—I don’t think I’ll ever be able to completely beat that out of my brain.  I need to maintain my GPA to remain an honors student, and to continue to receive financial aid and to exert my power and prestige over my lesser minions.  But the grades are at least a little less important.  Because I realized, in the end, I don’t give a shit about numbers.  I give a shit about understanding something I didn’t even know how to understand before. 

It’s liberating, to be able to fail in the name of succeeding.  I’m doing what I set out to do. 

I’m learning.

Cue the hopeful music.