I had a grave procrastination problem in college. I struggled to conceptualize how to break down large tasks into manageable pieces. I also second-guessed small, simple tasks, trying to locate whatever secret complicated thing might be buried in there. Sure, I was meeting deadlines and earning good marks, but I felt perpetually behind the ball. Doing good work, exercising my strongest creative talents and critical thinking chops, but taking little or no joy in the work. It was all doing a number on my nervous system and sleep schedule.

One afternoon, when I was in my sophomore year, I was sitting in the office of the honors college, per usual. Ostensibly there to study, I was mainly venting to the head of the department about the burnout I saw on my horizon. After listening for a while, she paced her elbow on her desk and rested her chin on her hand. “You know who you should talk to about this?” she asked. “Curt McHugh.”*

I knew Curt. He was a junior. He lived on my floor in the dorms. The hot, athletic guy on a floor full of nerds, indie rock dweebs, and backpack rappers. “Sure,” I said. “Why?”

“Because he’s the top-ranked student in the entire honors college.” She shuffled some papers on her desk. “Not just the top-ranked junior. He has the highest GPA of any honors student here, at any level. You might find he has something valuable to share with you.”

This was news to me, and intriguing. Curt was unlike most of the other honors college students. He grew up in the Bronx and was here on a full academic scholarship. He was buff, with a shaved head and piercing blue eyes. He kept to himself on campus, but was known to go clubbing downtown on weekends – a habit of no one else on our floor. He was also known to bring home girls from said clubbing, while I couldn’t manage to bring a girl upstairs from three floors down. He ate one (very large) meal per day. My relationship with Curt was limited to cordial pleasantries in the dorm hallway. I thought he was an interesting figure and persona, but I had never expected that the most distinguished scholar in the honors college was this guy.

So I walked down the hall from my dorm room the next evening, and I saw Curt’s door was propped open slightly. I knocked and heard a “Sup?”

I stuck my head in. “Hey, man. I feel like I should ask you for a little academic advice.”

“Come on in and have a seat.” Stepping into Curt’s room, I was struck by how on-brand his dorm room setup was. Subtle. Streamlined. Inscrutable. It was a double, but he didn’t have a roommate. There was a pull-up bar above the door, and no other decor on the walls. The only seats available were the metal-framed, shitty-cushion chairs that came standard in every dorm room, and which students tended to augment by bringing in their own more comfortable seating. He’d been typing on his computer, but he swung his chair around, pulled over the other chair to face it, and gestured for me to sit.

Deep breath. I felt strangely anxious in this quasi-monastic setting with this intense dude looking straight at me. “Is it true,” I asked deliberately, “that you’re the top-ranked student in the whole honors college?”

“It is,” he said casually. “At least that’s what I’ve been told.”

“So,” I said, realizing I was rushing right into it, “how do you… do it? Like, what’s your method? How do you kick that much ass and then, y’know… have a big weekend afterwards?”

Curt inhaled and tipped his head back solemnly. “I’m getting the sense that you’re pretty stressed right now,” he said. “Have you been feeling stressed?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m stressed pretty much all the time. And I would love to be less stressed.”

“All right.” Curt looked very serious now. He leaned forward, folding his hands on his lap, making highly intentional eye contact. He was speaking quietly now. “I’m gonna tell you the secret. Are you ready?”

“Of course,” I said.

“Okay. Here’s the secret.” He closed his eyes and took another deep breath. “Don’t get stressed.” His eyes snapped open again. “Just get A’s.”

Seconds passed in silence. “Wait,” I said. “That’s the secret.”

“Yes. Don’t get stressed. Just get A’s.”

“But…” I was at a loss here. “I wanna know how you get the A’s then. I think if I were getting the A’s all the time, I’d be a lot less stressed, but I need to get there first.”

“I think you know how to get A’s. Are you on the Honors scholarship?”

“I am,” I said.

“There you go. The reason you’re here is that you can already get A’s. So just keep doing that. You have no reason to get stressed. Getting stressed is only getting in the way of getting A’s. Don’t get stressed. Just get A’s.”

This is one of those pieces of advice that are worth mulling over for a few years or decades. It initially seemed impossible, but a couple months later, a variation popped into my head that felt more tangible to me: All you have to do is do it. There’s a thing you want to do? Okay. All you have to do is do it. Then you won’t need to worry about it anymore. Does it seem daunting? Okay. Break it into smaller pieces and start anywhere. Now you’re doing it. Eventually, you will have done it. Want to get A’s? Okay. Do that. Don’t get stressed. Just get A’s.

I understood what Curt meant. You’re here because you’ve demonstrated you’re able to perform academically to a certain high standard, he was telling me. During your time here, you’ll be asked frequently to demonstrate that ability again. That ability is already in you. So just access it, and trust. And that’s everything. It’s not just school. Everything you know how to do is a thing you didn’t know how to do at one point. But you learned it, and you’ve retained it, and it’s there for you whenever you need it. So use it.

* Not his real name. I gave him a pseudonym for the sake of publishing.