How are you? I’m good thank you [I guess you asked]: for once, i’m actually on track to getting to bed before 22:30!!!
I’m sat at my desk, with some Mentos [fruit ones, because they’re so nice…] and my iPhone, which is playing some calming music. I’ve just done around an hour-and-a-half of homework – physics and French – and I’m now having a well-deserved break. I’m eating some fruit Mentos, because they’re nice I guess, and I’m checking Twitter, and Facebook, and anything and everything to keep me away from work. Because school work is consuming my life, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
My problem of late is a lack of motivation. I don’t feel the urge to do my work any more; I don’t feel abliged to put that extra bit of effort in, like I used to. However big-headed it seemed, I used to think I was good at stuff – like actually good. I used to think, like primary school teachers told us, that if I focussed on the subjects I thought I was good at, my talent would grow and I’d be recognised for it. Little did I know that secondary school would crush those faulse beliefs like they were an ant underfoot. Most probably, teachers don’t even realise that they’re destroying passions and loves, but sure enough, year by year, those faint threads of hope grow less and less significant, until they’re barely recognisable, and stand for nothing.
And so, if there’s no initial excitement, passion or enjoyment within something that you used to love, where is the motivation? Where’s the drive, that extra boost, to keep you going, to keep you thriving and to keep you working? If you feel no connection to your ex-favourite subject, then why bother putting the effort in?
Sure; you need an education, because it’s important to get a job and be a successful adult in today’s world and blah blah blah.
But really, it can’t just be me that feels no motivation. Before, I wanted to make my work neat, and perfect, and comprehensive. Before, I craved praise, and top marks. Now, average is absolutely fine for me. Average is good. Average is me.
Praise used to mean I was good at something. Praise used to mean I’d done well, and I’d gone above and beyond. It signified that my teacher was impressed, and looked at my future work with a little more attention, in a new light, if you will. I loved praise, because it made me feel good about myself, however selfish that sounds. In reflection, I was a very selfish person back then, and that left me in quite a mess.
Praise, to me, now means a fresh opportunity for bullies. it means that I’m a teacher’s pet, or a know-it-all. Most importantly, praise no longer means I’ve done well at something; it merely means I understood the textbook and rewrote it using long, sophisticated vocabulary.
I hope you understand what I’m saying here. It surely can’t just be me, can it?