In Defense of Mediocrity

A lot of cool things happen in the messy middle.

Photo by Ksenia Makagonova on Unsplash

I accidentally went semi-viral on LinkedIn last week, which has been kind of fun!

My mildly ranty post, which thankfully garnered widespread agreement instead of viral anger, was inspired by a deeply flawed David Brooks opinion piece.

While there’s a lot to laugh at in the column, the most (unintentionally) amazing part comes as Brooks is asking us to sympathize with the 5% of the most privileged students in America because they’re rejected a lot.

He admits that he’s focused on an already privileged part of the population and, as though to convince the reader of his awareness that people outside of Yale exist, adds this little gem:

And in this column I’m not even trying to cover the rejections experienced by the 94 percent of American students who don’t go to elite schools and don’t apply for internships at Goldman Sachs. By middle school, the system has told them that because they don’t do well on academic tests, they are not smart, not winners. That’s among the most brutal rejections our society has to offer. [emphasis mine]

This paragraph made me laugh out loud when I read it.

What a wonderful elite commentary on us mediocre plebes.

Tales from the 94%

As part of the 94% that did not go to an elite school, I can reassure Mr. Brooks that I’m doing just fine, thankyouverymuch. I didn’t have anyone tell me in middle school that I’m not smart or not a winner. To the contrary, I was an above average student (like around, you know, 45% of the 94% he references, because math) and I applied to a number of good colleges.

Far from the world of darkness and despair that Brooks implies await non-elites like me, I did get rejected from Rice University early decision but then applied to three other very good schools (one private, two public) and got into all of them. Instead of bemoaning the unfairness of the world, I figured that rejection is part of the process, pivoted, and made a new plan.

But I also limited my likelihood of rejection by being realistic about what I shot for. I didn’t apply to any Ivies and when I applied to PhD programs (and got rejected from quite a few of them) I applied to a mix of top and mid-range programs as insurance.

The rest of my 94% life has been one of powerful and meaningful mediocrity. I went to one of those mid-range graduate schools for my PhD, got a tenure track job at an R2 private university, published two academic books with good but not top tier academic presses (which, by the way, you should buy!), and taught a lot of average and above average students. I got married to a wonderful guy who is also part of that 94% that Brooks implies have lives of deep and never-ending sorrow. We went on to have three incredible kids who will very likely inhabit the same 94% world we also inhabit. We live in a suburb in a not-that-exciting area of the country with a low cost of living. We have two rescue dogs - one with an above average IQ and one far below average.

Maybe this sounds depressing to Mr. Brooks. If it does, it’s hard for me to sympathize with that assessment.

And there’s a lot, of course, that I’m leaving out. I’m a full professor. I have a job I love that I get paid very well to do. We have a beautiful house and yard within walking distance of wonderful public schools. Our low cost of living means we’ll be taking the kids to the Dolomites later this summer. Our very dumb dog is also very cute.

In a lot of ways I’m the 1%. In others I’m still firmly in that 94%.

I could Instagram my life to make it look flawless or I could describe it in a way that makes it sound deeply mediocre, but both would leave out a lot of the messy middle.

Rejection is Both Reality and Choice

While my husband and I have both experienced a lot of rejection over the years, we also made conscious choices to reduce our risk of rejection.

We were realistic about the academic job market.

My husband made sacrifices for his career so that we could focus on my more stable one.

We bought the ugliest house in town because it was the one we could afford and spent a lot of time and energy fixing it up ourselves (well, my husband did).

I didn’t apply for jobs in high cost of living areas because we knew doing so would require sacrifices we weren’t willing to make.

Instead of working to climb the ladder of pedigree and prestige, I focused on building a career and reputation at my current university.

Neither of us ever assumed we could have it all because that’s a dumb thing to assume.

Instead, we made thoughtful choices about our risk and rejection-tolerance and as a result have landed in a pretty good place.

Balance Rejection With Agency

On the one hand, rejection is part of human life: if you’re not being rejected at all, chances are good that you’re not trying hard enough.

But if you’re being rejected all the time, chances are good you’re making choices that make failure more likely.

The people I know who are really flourishing (and I count myself in that group and am deeply grateful for it) are those who use rejection as a learning opportunity.

What went well? What didn’t? What tweaks can we make moving forward?

But they also chose how much rejection they’re willing to take in the first place. A friend of mine was bemoaning how bad the job market was for academics (and in many fields, it’s admittedly awful), but when I dug deeper she admitted that she was only applying to schools near major cities on the west and east coast.

It turns out rejection is a lot more likely if you won’t live or work in 94% of the country.

The Stories We Tell Matter

Brooks’ hilarious blindspot about us 94 Percenters tells us something not just about elitism broadly, but about the stories we do and don’t tell our young people.

Too many of the stories of success our young people hear are those of Ivy league grads or celebrities or influencers or tech bros. They don’t hear the stories of the 94%, many of whom live awesome lives of meaningful mediocrity.

Our students need to hear the stories of people who didn’t go to college but found meaningful work in the skilled trades (thank goodness for Mike Rowe).

They need to hear the stories of elementary school teachers and welders and nurses and lawyers and Marines and palliative care physicians and the CEOs of companies who make really boring things no one has ever heard of.

They need to hear about the cool cities in the middle of the country that actually have (relatively) affordable housing.

They need to hear about boring entry-level jobs in companies that promote from within.

They need to hear that the path forward might not be linear and sometimes you have to bushwhack your own path because no one else has done it before.

And no, I’m not ignoring the many crises these generation is facing. Political instability, student debt, rising prices, unaffordable housing… the list goes on.

But the worst story we can tell our young people is that agency and choice don’t matter.

What they do with all the failures and rejections that are part of everyone’s life - whether they crumble under that weight or turn it into meaning - will determine the kind of life they eventually live.

And the people who did just that are those with the most important stories to tell.

Your Turn

What do you think? What kinds of stories should we be telling? How can we get those stories out? How can higher ed help with these conversations? And if you’re part of the 94% like me share your story of meaningful mediocrity below!

As always, if you like what you read subscribe and share. Shares from readers are the primary way people find my writing. Thanks!