Identity Crisis

Can I tell you one of my deepest, darkest fears, the one thing upon which I make my fate hang on a daily basis?

Kids, I'm terrified that I will fail at school. Because this would mean that I was, in fact, a failure.
First of all, let's define our terms. For me, failing is pretty much getting anything below an A-. That's the cut. And last semester, I made four Bs and one A.
See the problem?
Let's review some ancient history.
I grew up in a home where the intellect was prized above all things. To this day, my father shouts things like "Nerd power!" when I or my brother does something smart. And I was born with nerdy genes: my mother graduated from Welsley, my father got his doctorate at MIT. It's always been an unwritten rule that I Will Do Well in School.
I first remember being conscious of grades at age six. This was first grade, and we got real grades this year, not just checks or minuses. When we got our report cards, we were all marched down the hall to have them signed by the principal. And there, I noticed an important fact: some kids got Blue and Gold stickers and some kids' stickers were only red. - Didn't take me long to figure out what that meant.
In the third grade, I remember my first bout of grade-induced anxiety. I was sitting at my table, waiting to be called up to the teacher's desk to learn my grade in math. I twitched. I figeted. Finally, she called my name and I flew up to the desk, learned my grade, and sank back into my chair, murmuring, "Thank God it's not a B." For me to take The Lord's Name in Vain in the third grade meant things were pretty serious.
In fourth grade, I transferred to a priavate school because I "wasn't challenged enough" in public school and there I quickly established my place in my class of 12 students as 'the Smart One.' I may have been pudgy and socially awkward, and worst of all completely incapable of hitting a softball when lobbed slowly over the center of homeplate, but by golly, could I read! I read constantly, pretty much anything my mother would let me (we had v. strict book rules), during lunch, at recess, and any spare moment, because I had no friends, but I did have a brain. As time went on, things improved somewhat, and I at one point I even had friends, but my role as the Smart One never changed. It was the only thing I had to offer.
And then came high school. I went to a (somewhat) prestigious private "Christian" school that was supposed to offer a good education, altho that claim remains dubious at best. They weren't really interested in educating you so much as puffing up their own reputation, and thus they kept a few kids around to boost their test scores and left the rest of the school to be planned by a group of socialite parents who had waaaaay too much money and time on their hands. However, among the test score-boosting kids I met my nemesis: my dear, darling friend Anne. Anne is one of those amazing (disgusting) people who is good at Everything. And I mean everything. She sketches beautifully, plays the classical guitar, dances (on the drill team, in high school) AND managed to score over a 1400 on the SAT in the eighth grade.
When I took the SAT in seventh grade, I didn't even break 1000. And thus, the moment I met her my world, my role as the Smart One was shattered. She was now the smart one, and I was just me, the . . . ?

I've been struggling to figure that out, ever since. And even though my role as the Smart One has been shattered, I still cling desperately to the broken pieces, trying somehow to find signficance through school. In college I was surrounded by smart friends who got 'smart' grades and even now I struggle with feeling inferior to them. Because, at the end of the day, I have discovered that in my heart of hearts I believe that if I can't be the best at something, then I have nothing to contribute.
Which brings us back to my four Bs. Clearly, if one makes four Bs, one is not the best. And if I am not the best, what am I?