You don’t have to be a star. You just have to rock.

My favorite teacher was big on the dramatics and bigger on “excellence-or you’re-out.” She never actually said that, “excellence or you’re out.” But she told each of us in my high school AP English class that we sat in 28 coveted seats, and that if we failed, our former seat would stay warm it’d be filled so fast by someone else ready to take it.

Failing wasn’t difficult. The work she threw at us was a daily assault on our literary sensitivities. Our summer reading list alone could have built the first spoke on the Axis of Evil. There were writing assignments way out of our league. Due every freaking day. Failing wasn’t difficult. It was de rigueur.

Subtle Genius

But she had this genius thing going. Here in this hallowed hall, we could keep our coveted seats even if we were completing “C” and “D” work. We could fall flat on our faces and get a big fat green “F” on the page (she liked to use Crayola markers to grade our assignments), and still take home an “A” on our report cards.

This genius lady had a plan she called, “On your average.” The plan was we start with an “A” and keep the “A” as long as we 1) complete every assignment, and 2) arrive on time. Any incomplete assignment, or a second tardy arrival meant our grade fell to our average. We’d get on our report cards the value of the work we were earning in class.

Result? We worked our asses off. I was regularly doing “D” work in her summation. I felt like a total idiot. But her fat felt tipped comments in red or orange or teal were always informative. They told me what worked and what didn’t. They told me what to try and what to kill. Helpful comments, but all those ugly “D’s,” I wondered if I would ever feel smart again. I wondered if someone else deserved my seat.

She answered this with a “Keep going. You’ll get to the ‘A.’” Lord howdy if she wasn’t right. By the end of the year, I was a skilled little automaton of composition. I was a critical thinker and a creative analyzer. I could say what I saw and spin a yarn. And I was earning my “A.”

Astral Terrestrial

In recent months and years of sister doin’ it for herself, I’ve been plagued by having to do it right, having to be the best at my new business or quit, thinking I needed to compete at the front of the pack to survive. I knew how to write, but I didn’t take into account that running a business was a new exercise. I wasn’t going to be the star right off the bat.

That’s when I realized you don’t have to be a star. You just have to rock. You just have to get the thing done, every day, whatever it is. Stretch your efforts and callous your thinker. And sure, live on your average a while. Earn the “D.” Let it humble. But keep completing the work. It’s yours and no one else’s, the style you’re finding, your rhythm. Your rock. And, maybe you’ll be a star. But more important, you’ll rock.

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