On most evenings at Andover, the lights stay on longer than they need to. Dorm rooms glow well past midnight, study spaces hum with the murmur of unfinished work, and students move through commitments with practiced efficiency. None of it feels unusual. In fact, it feels like proof that things are going well. Andover does not explicitly ask students for this level of devotion, but it feels normal anyway. Institutional messages center around wellness and mental health. Assemblies urge adequate sleep and leisure with friends. Despite it all, overcommitment exists because it is quietly rewarded.
Andover culture of overcommitment is subtle, manifesting itself in the social cues we receive from the community. We learn early on that our achievements cement our place in the community when disproportionate praise is given to the busiest among us. Often, it feels that admiration is reserved for those balancing a rigorous academic schedule and four leadership roles at once. Anyone doing less, even intentionally so, risks appearing demotivated to others, reinforcing excellence as the norm.
This expectation is not exclusive to Andover; elite institutions attract ambitious students. The issue lies in attributing ambition to overextension. Ambition is healthy, serving as a catalyst for growth. Overextension is not; it sacrifices mental well-being for feelings of achievement, which may lead to intense burnout within students. Moreover, in a setting like Andover, comparison is inevitable. We ask ourselves: is my GPA high enough? Do I have enough board positions? Should I be doing more? This rhetoric is common among many, manifesting itself simultaneously in exhaustion and guilty self-care. For example, taking time to recharge by, say, watching a movie, feels unsatisfying when that time is categorized as “wasted” rather than necessary. Worse, our community often prefers performance over transparency, which cultivates an environment where fatigue is common but rarely named. Those who succeed are placed on a pedestal, their success labeled as a consequence of perfection, rather than consistent effort and growth.
Institutional incentives play a role in this matter. Recognition systems, such as athletic awards and college admissions, often spotlight “model” students. The achievements of our student body should be celebrated, but students’ journeys and challenges are rarely discussed. Thus, the audience receives a clear signal about what type of “success” Andover champions, reinforcing a standard of perfection that students may grapple with. Ignoring the obstacles of model students diminishes the value of perseverance. It’s important to show that growth and struggles are integral parts of any narrative.
To Andover’s credit, rigorous instruction is part of the school’s appeal. Students come here expecting to be challenged. Rigor motivates students to engage deeply with academic materials, and many are energized by a packed schedule that pushes them to grow as thinkers. Still, the current environment gives little flexibility for selective ambition. It’s difficult to define what “enough” looks like person to person without feeling the need for an explanation. Consequences can even bleed into other aspects of student lives. Many prioritize productivity over curiosity and growth because failure is framed as an absolute. Students prefer safety and predictability over the uncertain and genuinely exciting because every choice they make seems consequential.
Many times, when discussing this topic, I’m met with a simple answer: “Well, that’s just life.” The world is a demanding place, requiring sacrifice to manage the intensity of day-to-day activity; there is truth to this. However, a key distinction exists between preparation and normalization. Students should not be taught to simply bear unsustainable systems; they should instead be given the courage to question and reshape those systems. Addressing overcommitment does not require lowering standards or dissuading ambition. It means making space and celebrating alternative forms of success. Broadening the narratives we celebrate, recognizing depth alongside breadth, and being more transparent about the tradeoffs even the most accomplished students face is critical. Celebrating small wins, like raindrops in a bucket, compounds to overflowing success. After all, culture is not built solely on what we say, but on the way our actions shape our community.
The lights will probably stay on tonight. After all, that’s Andover. But questioning whether it’s all necessary — maybe turning the lights off a little earlier — is a vital step in the right direction.
