A blast from the past

When I was at school, I was a mostly unexceptional student. I was resigned to it, and not overly bothered, but every now and then I had an inkling that I was smarter than my marks, as well as a hankering to prove myself. When the fifth form English research project rolled around - it was considered a big deal, and a bit scary - I knew it was my time to shine.

I decided I'd research Amnesty International. I did it painstakingly, absolutely painstakingly, in the days before the web, examining everything from the history to the funding arrangements to the governance structure. Did you know Pablo Picasso was an early supporter of Amnesty? Well, I frickin did. I left no stone unturned, from writing letters requesting international information to interviewing a local woman from the Southland branch. It took me hours and hours and hours, and it was typed with the greatest care, if kind of ugly even by 1990s standards. It ran to over thirty pages. My project was well thought out, impeccably written, and almost error-free. I knew I had gold in my hands when I submitted it.

I remember getting it back. The teacher gave the reason as he handed it to me. He showed me the project of a classmate who'd done the same topic, and explained theirs was just more interesting because it had pictures. I can't remember if I got as high as a B, or whether it was a C. I bounced back soon enough, but I was devastated at the time. I kind of gave up on my smart-person dream after that, and it was a long time before I found the self-confidence to try again in earnest - eventually taking on a PhD in my early thirties with the world's kindest supervisor.

Look what emerged, as I unpacked the final box in my new house today. It's 32 years old. And you want to know something? It's fantastic work. It foreshadowed the writer and policy thinker I'd become, that no one saw just yet. I was proud of my project then. I'm more proud of it now. I was right. My teacher was wrong.

My learnings?

Never forget to say 'I told you so'. Let historical grudges energise you like your morning coffee. Find it within your heart to tell other people to shove it. And hold on to your most boringest dreams.