“Why do I do this to myself?” I asked myself on the morning of the day I had yet another exam in this life. It happened on March 1st this year, a day when people are usually concerned with spring, flowers, “mărțișoare,” and parties.
A few years ago, when I finished my master’s thesis at INSEAD, a paper for which I had studied, read, written, and rewritten extensively, I promised myself I wouldn’t take any more exams. I knew I would always learn and read, but I no longer wanted to take exams. My stress level is very high in such situations.
And yet, there I was. When I stood in front of the group and the evaluation committee, I felt my heart racing. I told myself to breathe in and out, as we do in public speaking courses. But as soon as my brain was oxygenated, I began to yawn. Embarrassing, I know, but it was beyond my control.
After the exam, on my way home, I remembered how lobsters grow. I read about it a few years ago, in one of Jordan Peterson’s books, if I recall correctly.
When a lobster grows, its shell doesn’t expand. The lobster retreats to a place where it’s protected from potential predators, sheds its shell, and grows a new one. Then it comes out of that hidden space, and over time, its body grows again. It retreats once more, sheds its shell, and waits to grow another. This happens several times during its life. When the lobster starts feeling uncomfortable, it means it’s beginning to grow.
Perhaps we, too, expose ourselves to formal learning several times in our lives precisely because we feel something isn’t quite right, as if we have a skin that’s becoming a bit tight. Oh, I have some more course ideas – just to keep myself from getting bored. ????