“Why am I doing this to myself?”, I asked myself on the morning of the day I was going to take my exam, for the umpteenth time in my life. It happened on March 1 this year, a day when people are preoccupied with spring, flowers, marigolds, parties.
A few years ago, when I finished my master’s thesis at Insead, a work for which I had studied, read, written and rewritten a lot, I promised myself that I wouldn’t take exams anymore. I knew that I would study, read all the time, but I didn’t want to take any more exams. My stress is very high when I’m in these situations.
And yet, here I am. When I walked out in front of the group and the exam board I felt my heart gallop. I told myself to breathe in and out, like we do in public speaking classes. But as soon as my brain oxygenated, I started yawning. Embarrassing, I know, but it was beyond my control.
After the exam, on the way home, I remembered how lobsters develop. I read about it a few years ago in one of Jordan Peterson’s books, if I remember correctly.
When the lobster grows, its shell doesn’t expand. The lobster retreats to an area where it can be protected from potential predators, sheds the shell and produces a new one. It then emerges from that hidden space and, over time, its body grows back. It retreats again and sheds the shell, waiting a while for another to grow. And so on, several times during its life. When the lobster starts to feel uncomfortable, it means it has started to grow.
Perhaps we also expose ourselves to formal learning several times during our lives precisely because we feel that something isn’t quite right anymore, as if we have a skin that is slightly tightening. Ah, I’ve got some more course ideas, so I don’t get bored ????.
