Greetings, Council Members!

I’m gonna tell you a story.

It takes place in Earth year 1998. US President Bill Clinton is embroiled in a polarizing national controversy, and so are well-known humans Brandi & Monica. I, your faithful Agent L, am in 8th grade art class sitting next to my nemesis, Eugene.

Eugene didn’t know he was my nemesis. He was too nice to have nemeses. He was nice to everyone, all the time. That was the exact thing about Eugene that made him my nemesis: he was smart, funny, athletic, good at everything and loved by everyone. He was baseball team captain. Science fair finalist 3 years running. Rumors swirled that he had made out with two separate people at two different parties that weekend. Eugene had it all, plus he was one of the special students selected to be in the G.O.A.L. program, which stood for Galaxy of Advanced Learners, for kids who scored higher on aptitude tests, or had some other predisposition toward excellence. To me the name was stupid because I knew that in reality there was no such galaxy. The G.O.A.L. kids got to go to special classes where I assume they learned high-aptitude things, but the rest of us never knew for sure what they were really up to because nobody in G.O.A.L. ever talked about what went on in G.O.A.L. What are they learning that could be so secret and high-aptitude, I wondered, and what makes Eugene qualify but not me?

Our art teacher told us our project was to build something out of popsicle sticks, and he gave us all popsicle sticks.

I didn’t want to do it, because I couldn’t imagine the popsicle sticks being anything other than popsicle sticks. It frustrated me and I thought it was boring. Plus I found working with glue to be stressful. I observed the popsicle sticks and tried to get excited about them, but inspiration was not forthcoming.

I stared into space for a while, and when I reawakened to the situation I was annoyed to see that Eugene had basically built a whole popsicle house in under 7 minutes.

Our art teacher was crazy thrilled about Eugene’s house and he made the biggest deal about it. Eugene just sat there smiling, happily gluing away, and then he said, “Actually, it’s not just a house, it’s a BEACH HOUSE!”

Really, Eugene? It’s not enough that you’re cool and in G.O.A.L., you have to also literally achieve every possible achievement ever? The Popsicle Beach House trophy is all yours, Eugene. All yours! Hope you like tidal surges, Eugene, because… because… my fist… is gonna surge…. into your beach house… like the… tide… would. GahIhateyousomuch.

If I’d built a popsicle house, I knew for a fact it would have been 10 times better than Eugene’s. But I didn’t want to, so I didn’t bother, so I got an F for that project.

The next week, our teacher wanted us to make sculptures, just in time for Mother’s Day, the traditional Earth celebration of child-bearers/carers vis-a-vis the giving of cards and homemade gifts. He gave us all lumps of clay.

I didn’t want to do this either. Couldn’t see the lump of clay as anything other than a lump. Didn’t want to disappoint Mother on Mother’s Day but knew she would understand how slimy and repulsive it is to touch clay.

Meanwhile, over in Eugeneland, a classic male nude was being lovingly chiseled from his earthen lump.

Stupid Mr. Perfect Renaissance-Pants Eugene strikes again.

And then, with his last little piece of clay, Eugene did the most badass thing I’d ever seen.

He gave it a weiner.

It was an aggressive display of talent and confidence. I hated him so, so much for his smarts and calculated rebelliousness at that moment that something inside me snapped.

Suddenly I knew I would never be as good at life as Eugene was. And I was afraid to even try, because no matter what, nothing I did would ever be good enough to shut out the angry little perfectionist in my head, always telling me to do better, be better. It would never let me just feel good about myself for trying my best. Why bother doing anything if you aren’t really, really good at it? it said, why be anyone if you can’t be someone like Eugene? And since I wasn’t someone like Eugene, or any of the other G.O.A.L. kids, I decided I wouldn’t bother trying to do things because the things I did would never be as good as the things other people do.

But then I thought, what if I literally never do anything just because I’m scared of comparing myself to others? My whole life would be another wasted pile of popsicle sticks! Plus, what Eugene does has nothing to do with me. He’s not responsible for me being scared to fail. I just resent him because he isn’t afraid to take risks, and they seem to always pay off. But maybe they don’t. Maybe even Eugene fails at stuff sometimes. What do I know? If he did, he didn’t let it stop him.

Determined, I reexamined the disgusting lump of clay.

I poked it a little.

I did not wait for inspiration; just picked it up and started sculpting…

…And made it into a sweet ashtray which I gave to Mother on Mother’s Day, even though she is a non-smoker. I did this because I couldn’t think of anything else to sculpt that would be special enough for Mother, so I figured an ashtray is better than nothing. Bonus: I learned some things about ashtrays in the process, and then Mother filled it with M&Ms and put it on the coffee table. We had never been a candy-dish family before, but we were now, thanks to me not being a quitter.

Council Members, there are many important lessons to be learned from the ashtray story. Don’t compare yourself to others, obviously. Start small. Don’t make a big deal out of the Thing, just do the Thing! Realize when you’re procrastinating because you’re scared of not meeting your own expectations. Complete your task and the universe will reward you with chocolate.

Until next time, Council Members, PEACE AND PROSPERITY UNTO YOU! IN THE NAME OF RESEARCH I SALUTE YOU!