Caleb Fallin
Hand me a 600-page biography on a dead entrepreneur and I’m locked in for hours. But stick me in a classroom for an hour to learn chemistry-you’ve lost me.
By the time high school rolled around, I’d learned one thing: how to do as little work as possible to get decent grades and keep me out of trouble. I was your typical B-average student.
I spent my nights out with friends or waiting tables at the local burger joint to fund our antics. I spent my days sleeping through class or doing homework that was due the next period. By my Junior year, I’d crafted a schedule of designated nap periods- first, third, and fifth, every day, like clockwork.
I went to college because I was supposed to. That’s what everyone else was doing. I didn’t know any other path.
I spent my college years exactly like my high school ones, maximizing experience, and minimizing schoolwork. I was lucky to start college at the peak of the pandemic, or else I never would’ve made it through. My freshman year was fully online. I never took an 8 am, and I somehow managed to be late to my 12 pm’s.
I was never a bad student. I never failed a class, and I kept a decent GPA. But I never felt the craving to excel in school. I always looked down on myself for this. I thought I wasn’t smart. I thought I was lazy. I thought I would never be successful.
Rather than spending countless hours in the library, or in the classroom, I spent my time running a fraternity, joining clubs, and rising to the top of the things that genuinely interested me. I was curious, and I wanted to learn. But only on my own terms.
I recognized the amount of effort it would’ve taken for me to be a “better” student, and I decided that my time was better spent elsewhere. I learned more about budgeting and how to run a small business from my fraternity than I did from my 4-year accounting degree. I was teaching myself how to lead a group of (unmotivated) people, how to build a resume that people are interested in reading, and how to interview for jobs I was definitely underqualified for.
I was laughed out of interviews because of my “relevant work experience” and I was denied opportunities because I was “too young”. I thought academic success was the only path to meaningful work. But I could never compete with people smarter than me in the classroom. It was dispiriting to constantly feel like I was ten steps behind.
But by the time I finished school, I’d received a total of 6 full-time job offers.
At the time, it didn’t feel like I was doing anything special. It certainly didn’t feel like I was doing anything right. I was defying everything I had been told throughout my life. But certain people seemed drawn to my curious nature. I stood out because I was able to recognize my weaknesses and lean into my strengths.
I played the game by my own rules. Instead of wasting my effort trying to get 10% better academically, I spent half the effort getting 90% better everywhere else.
Focusing my effort wasn't just about padding my resume or standing out from the crowd. It was about discovering what truly drove me and leaning into it full force. It gave me options.
By the time graduation rolled around, I wasn't just another face in the sea of identical resumes. I had my pick of job opportunities, each one more exciting than the last. I landed at a company that saw something in me, one that recognized and valued the unique perspective I brought to the table.
It allowed me to pack up and move to a new state the day after graduation, chasing opportunities that aligned with my passions rather than settling for whatever came my way.
For the first time in my life, I felt like doing what I wanted actually paid off instead of holding me back.
Some might argue that extra 10% in academics is just as worthwhile. But I can imagine how things would've unraveled if I continued playing that game. For me, that 10% would've meant sacrificing the experiences that shaped who I am, and burning myself out trying to compete in areas where I was naturally weaker. I'd have little to show for my efforts other than slightly better grades, camouflaging me with the 4 million other graduates that year. It would've meant ending up in a job that looked good on paper but left me feeling empty.
By following my curiosity, I carved out a unique path. It wasn't always easy or conventional, but it led me to opportunities that resonated with who I truly am. Playing the right game meant embracing my strengths and accepting my weaknesses, a strategy that ultimately proved far more rewarding than forcing myself into a mold that never quite fit.
Caleb