We're Spreading Ourselves Too Thin

The star student is a phenomenon we’re all familiar with: the A+ student in five AP classes, president of eight clubs and nonprofits, and three-sport varsity athlete. Five years ago, this student might have been a mythical beast, some kind of super-student. But in today’s academic landscape, students like these abound at LHS. And during the festive season of college application dread, it’s all too easy to be reminded of just how many geniuses populate this school.

I remember joining my first LHS club in freshman year (it will remain unnamed, but it’s essentially a competitive academic “sport”). Every single member of our team was committed, diving wholeheartedly into the club. We met often, both for practices and outside team bonding; every person on our team felt like an integral part of our community. Yet today, the environment seems to have entirely shifted. Members often miss meetings for other commitments: they’re competing in a debate tournament one day, another club they lead has a meeting the next. Far from the hours I devoted outside of meeting times to improving my performance and learning about the sport, the commitment now seems to be surface-level, just one slice of the ten-club pie. 

The phenomenon exists in academics too. Classes among the most difficult offered at LHS, such as AP Physics C, have tripled their sections from the two that were typical of previous years to six. These classes used to be tackled by only the most daunting students; now, it seems that normal students are throwing themselves into the challenge. “Everyone’s taking the hardest class, so I should take the hardest class” seems to be the dominating mindset when it comes to choosing AP course loads.

As Kathy Lim explains in “Diluted Authenticity: A Focus on LHS’ Clubs,” “clubs seem to be rapidly losing their meaning of cultivating a community outside of the school day, instead becoming just another puppet of the college admissions process.” Her article highlights the root of the “super-student” issue: the dreaded college admissions cycle. As colleges become more selective each year, students scramble for ways to stand out above others in a bid to achieve the coveted Ivy League offer. They clamber to head five clubs in a variety of fields, hoping their leadership will impress colleges; they shoulder the most difficult course loads to make their transcript rigor stand out. And as seemingly everyone joins the college ratrace, going above and beyond seems to have become the new norm, forcing everyone to reach even higher. And even though LHS can sometimes feel like a pressure cooker, as it’s so often called, this phenomenon unfortunately exists outside of our suburban bubble too. Meet LimmyTalks, a Duke student and social media college advisor who’s known for posting attention-grabbing videos showcasing college applicants and their acceptances. Using headlines like “Here is what Harvard wants,” Limmy’s videos feed into the prestigious college frenzy that’s sweeping the nation. And here’s his idea of an “average” college application: a Valedictorian with a 4.0 GPA and a 1580 SAT. But the applicant’s awards, he says, are “nothing crazy”: a Book Award from Princeton; top awards for excellence in science, leadership, and citizenship; and student athlete hall of fame nominations. “It’s just not anything particularly special,” Limmy proclaims in his video. A valedictorian who’s clearly demonstrated hard work and success in academics, athletics, and extracurriculars deemed as unnoteworthy epitomizes today’s struggle: you can do it all, and sometimes it still isn’t enough.

So, how exactly are we meant to focus on just a few interests when this is our competition? To the competitive students hoping to get into a remotely “prestigious” school, well… we can’t. Much as I would appreciate people committing more to the team I captain, I’m guilty of the same issue, leading several different clubs and participating in numerous other activities. The reality of it is, until we get into that coveted dream college, we can’t rest. 

But as unfortunate as this environment that we’ve created at LHS is, maybe there’s some benefit to a diverse extracurricular portfolio. Exploring old hobbies and new interests is all a part of a well-rounded and enriching school experience. And I’ve had more fun sampling a number of different clubs than I probably would’ve had I pigeonholed myself into one niche. Until this college frenzy dies down, it seems like LHS students will be keeping their five-page resumes—all while crossing their fingers for their dream schools.

by JANET LIU