[转贴][每日一译]《纽约时报》文章：一个美国好学生的懊悔

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一个美国好学生的懊悔

PAMELA PAUL 2013年03月23日
IN my high school, as in most schools of upper-middle-class overachievers across the country, there were the students who strived and stressed out, the students who knew just what it took to get the job done and then that one kid who unnervingly surpassed us all even though he showed up in class stoned every day.
我上高中时，班里有些学生十分用功、压力巨大，有些学生则很清楚付出怎样的努力就能达到目的，还有一名学生与众不同，他整天神情恍惚地出现在教室里，不费吹灰之力就把我们远远抛在后面。在美国，中上阶层那些争强好胜的孩子们所上的中学大抵如此。
I was one of the middling sort, endowed with a reasonable amount of natural ability. But, I figured, if all went according to my carefully hatched plan, I could graduate with all my “to do” boxes neatly checked off, my teachers impressed if not wowed, and the ultimate achievement: an acceptance letter from the Ivy League college of my choice. It all went as planned. I didn’t learn much of anything.
我在班里属于中等生，天资还行。当时我觉得如果一切都按我设计周详的计划进行，毕业时我就能一个不落地实现所有目标，然后我心仪的那所常春藤联盟(Ivy League)高校就会向我伸出橄榄枝，拿到这个最终成绩会让我的老师惊叹不已，或者至少留下深刻印象。
At the risk of sounding like yet another wizened Gen Xer wagging a precipitately middle-aged finger at millennial youth, I’d like to share a lesson I learned only years later: the overtly accomplished child is often the less educated one. To be clear, what I call the accomplished child is a very different creature from the born or cultivated genius, and equally different from the aspiring superstar. With neither the superlative skill of the former nor the extraordinary efforts of the latter, the accomplished child does exactly what is expected of him. And nothing more.
这样的腔调可能会让人感觉这我又一个干瘪的“X一代”（指婴儿潮过后，在20世纪60年代中期到70年代末出生的美国人——译者注），在激动地挥动着一根中年人的手指向“零零后”的孩子说教。尽管如此，我还是想和大家分享一个我多年后才学到的教训：成绩太好的孩子学到的东西往往比别人少。更清楚地讲，我所说的成绩好的孩子与那些先天出众或后天培养的人才是极为不同的，与那些志向远大的精英也是极为不同的。这些孩子既不具备前者出类拔萃的资质，也没有像后者一样付出过超越常人的努力。他们只是按照外界的期望做事，仅此而已。
In my case, having pored over my “Fiske Guide” and “The Insider’s Guide to the Colleges” and estimated the precise mix of quirkiness and well-roundedness desired by my chosen Ivy, I did what I needed to do to approximate the right ratio. Sure, I studied for my standardized tests, but I also avoided taking any A.P. science (no guaranteed “A” there). Pre-TiVo, I scheduled my senior year classes around “Santa Barbara” and an after-school job, so I could leave school by 1 p.m. every day.
拿我来说，仔细研究了《菲斯克大学入学指南》(Fiske Guide to Colleges)和《大学入学内部指南》(The Insider’s Guide to the College)后，我按照自己所选的那所常春藤大学的要求，计算了综合素质中关于在特长和全面发展的精确比例，然后努力让自己接近这个比例。当然，我以标准化考试为学习目标，但我不会去上大学理科预修课程（因为不一定能拿到“A”）。到了中学的最后一年，我精心围绕着热播剧集《圣芭芭拉》(Santa Barbara)和打工的时间来安排选修课程，这样我每天下午一点就能放学，然后回家看电视。
This approach held when I got to Brown, a college that, given its lack of core curriculum, was exquisitely structured for my minimal-work ethic. Didn’t want to take science? Didn’t have to. You can forget about math. A dabbler and a dilettante, I coasted along in the classes that interested me and I would do well in.
上了布朗大学(Brown University)后，我仍然坚持这种做法。这所大学没有核心课程，其教育结构极其适合我的最低付出准则。不想上理科？那就不用去，而且可以把数学置于脑后。作为一个不求甚解的半吊子学生，我避重就轻地选了那些我感兴趣而且能拿到高分的课程。
The theory of risk homeostasis holds that you can make the playground safer, but children will just make increasingly risky moves. Humans will find a way around any limits, self-imposed or otherwise. In my case, there were signs of antsiness: An atheist who couldn’t sing, I signed up for the gospel choir. I joined the women’s rugby team, even though I was terrified of getting the ball and, heaven forbid, getting tackled. But I wouldn’t have taken those kinds of chances with any decision that “mattered,” like my academic record and the path it would set me on after graduation.
风险平衡理论认为，你可以把游乐场变得更安全，但这只会让孩子做出更危险的举动。人总是能找到打破限制的方法，不论是自主的还是被迫的。就我的情况而言，我有些坐不住。作为五音不全的无神论者，我参加了唱诗班。我还加入了女子英式橄榄球队，虽然接球让我感到害怕，遭到对手擒抱更是让我魂不附体。但参加这些活动不涉及什么“重要”决定，比如我的学业成绩和我毕业后的发展轨迹。
If you want success and know how to get it, why take unnecessary chances? Why risk failure?
如果你渴望成功而又知道怎样去获得成功，那为什么还要进行不必要的尝试呢？为什么要冒失败的风险呢？
Because, as research shows, actual learning comes by making mistakes and figuring out what went wrong and how to make it right. In a world of high-achieving but vaguely lost new graduates, the importance of not always doing well or being told you are doing well is gaining currency. Recently, David McCullough Jr., a high school English teacher and son of the historian David McCullough, signed a book deal based on his popular commencement speech, “You Are Not Special,” which was widely viewed on YouTube. What young graduates want today, Mr. McCullough said in his speech, is the accumulation of accolades rather than genuine intellectual reward: “It’s, what does this get me?” The book, according to a publicity statement, will argue that “life is a great adventure to swallow whole rather than a checklist to complete.”
研究表明，这是因为犯错误会让人真正学到东西，知道哪里不对以及如何纠正。成绩优异但颇感迷茫的新高中毕业生正越发认识到，并不总是表现良好，或并不总是有人说自己表现良好是一件很重要的事。最近，历史学家大卫·麦卡洛(David McCullough)的儿子、中学英语教师小大卫·麦卡洛(David McCullough Jr.)签了一份协议，内容是以他广受欢迎的毕业典礼演说为基础撰写一本书。他的这次演说名为《你并不特殊》(You Are Not Special)，在YouTube上点击率很高。麦卡洛在其中讲道，如今年轻的高中毕业生想要的是积累赞誉，而不是真的提高学识：“他们的想法是，这能给我带来什么？”从宣传语中可以看出，这本书的主旨是“生命是一场需要完全体验的伟大冒险，而不是一份需要逐项完成的任务清单。”
Though I alone was responsible for insulating myself from challenge and failure and meaningful reward, an entire system buffers today’s children from such possibilities. Overprotective parents, schools dedicated to acing exams, a college preparatory system that offers zero capacity for error (unless it provides pathos fodder for the application essay) — all of these elements make it hard for the ambitious child to risk a misstep. There is no room for failure, let alone soap opera afternoons.
让自己远离挑战、失败和有意义的奖励，这完全是我一手造成的；而现在把孩子们同这一切隔离开来的则是整个体制。家长的过度溺爱、学校的高分至上和容不得半点错误的大学预科体制（除非所犯的错误能成为大学申请书中博取同情的素材）——所有这些因素都不允许那些有抱负的孩子们去冒失策的的风险。他们不容有失，更不用说把下午的时间用来看肥皂剧了。
Today, perfect children check off boxes at all levels. At a Manhattan preschool last year, word spread about the magnificent child who had won acceptance at 12 — 12! — coveted kindergartens. “How did she manage it?” parents were heard to whisper. And then the answer was passed along the same gossip chain. “When asked to jump, my daughter will not only jump, she’ll ask, ‘How high?’ ” her mother explained.
时下，在各个层次，完美的孩子们都在完成着各项任务。去年，曼哈顿的一所学前班传出这样的消息，一名12岁神童拿到了大学入学通知书——12岁！这所学校真是让人梦寐以求的地方。家长们低声说：“她怎么做到的？”答案同样口耳相传。这个孩子的母亲解释说：“你让她跳的时候，我女儿不仅会跳，而且还会问，‘要跳多高？’”
I don’t doubt this child will bound her way to great heights. But suppose she doesn’t want to be an acrobat? And will her need to excel and exceed subside as she makes her way up the academic food chain?
我不怀疑这个孩子将来会取得很高的成就。但假如她不想成为杂技演员呢？在她沿着求学之路向上攀爬的时候，她争先创优的欲望会不会减弱呢？
A novelist I know who teaches personal writing, typically to older students and recent immigrants in continuing ed programs, related a telling account of a class she taught to today’s superstars at Wesleyan. In all her classes, she starts her first seminar with an exercise. Students ask one another five personal questions, then they get to ask the same of their teacher. The exchange helps create the kind of intimacy conducive to a writing workshop. But at Wesleyan, the first student who raised her hand asked, “What do you expect from us in this class?”
我认识一位小说家，她教别人怎么进行个人化创作，听课的通常是年龄较大的的学生和正在接受继续教育课程学习的新移民。这位小说家把这些人同卫斯理安大学(Wesleyan University)的精英进行了比较。在她教的所有班级中，第一堂课都是从练习开始。学生之间相互问对方5个个人问题，然后再问老师同样的问题。这种交流有助于创造一种融洽氛围，而这种氛围对写作学习班很有利。而在卫斯理安大学，第一个举手提问的学生却说：“你对我们这个班有什么期望？”
In the high-stakes world of accomplished children, a B+ is akin to failure, and failure is not allowed. Is it any wonder that a generation of accomplished students increasingly resorts to dishonesty on papers and exams? Large-scale cheating schemes at the elite Stuyvesant High School in New York City and at Harvard University reveal a growing willingness to compromise standards to maintain the facade. Meanwhile, the lessons taught are lost on their intended recipients — or a very different lesson is learned.
成绩良好的学生生活在一个高风险世界中，在这里拿到“B+”就相当于失败，而失败是不允许的。所以，当他们越来越多地靠作弊写论文和通过考试时，你会感到惊讶吗？纽约市著名中学史岱文森(Stuyvesant High School)以及哈佛大学(Harvard University)的大规模作弊事件表明，为了维持表象，学生们越发愿意向标准妥协。同时，这些学生并没有在课堂上学到应该掌握的知识——或者，他们学到了一些和教学内容大相径庭的东西。
My own epiphany — more like a break, really — occurred senior year of college. I was mid job interview with Quaker Oats, explaining why I wanted to work there (it had something to do with Crunch Berries). Suddenly, I saw myself from a distance. Is this what I’d gone to four years of college for? What happened to my dreams of writing, of public service? I ended up interrupting myself by saying, “I’m sorry, I’ve made a mistake — I actually don’t want to work here.” Then I walked out.
我对这个问题的顿悟——其实更准确地说是对自己以往想法的背弃——发生在大四。当时我正在桂格燕麦公司(Quaker Oats)面试，向他们解释为什么我想在那里工作（这和松脆浆果有关）。突然，我从远处看到了自己。这就是我上大学的目的吗？我的写作梦、我的公众服务梦都到哪里去了？最后，我突然话锋一转说，“对不起，我弄错了，实际上我不想在这儿工作。”然后，我就走了出来。
At that moment, I knew I needed to do something completely different, something I had no idea I wanted to do — no, something I actually didn’t want to do. I needed to get off track, to completely challenge every assumption I’d ever made about who I was and what I wanted. I had to do something that would quite possibly make me miserable. It could end up being a terrible mistake.
在那一刻，我发现我得做一些完全不同的事，我原来并不知道自己想做这样的事——不，实际上是我不想做的事。我得脱离原来的轨道，我曾回答过自己是谁和自己想要什么，而现在我要彻底反思此前的每一个答案。我要做的事很可能会把我弄得很惨，最终可能成为一个可怕的错误。
On the spot, I decided to pick a country off the map that I had zero interest in, one with a different religion, a different ethnicity, an unknown language. A place where I knew not a soul. Somewhere I couldn’t go about my usual routine, diligently checking off boxes.
在那一刻，我决定在地图上挑一个我丝毫不感兴趣的国家——一个有着不同宗教、不同种族和不用语言的国家。这将是一个举目无亲的地方，一个不需要我像往常一样孜孜不倦完成既定任务的地方。
Within a week, I’d bought a one-way ticket to a small city in northern Thailand.
几天后，我买了一张单程票，目的地是泰国北部的一个小城市。
And only then did I finally learn something.
从那时起，我才真正学到了一些东西。

Pamela Paul是《纽约时报书评》的专题编辑和童书编辑。
本文最初发表于2012年11月4日。
翻译：Charlie

http://blog.sina.com.cn/s/blog_4aac673c0101cbtj.html