For most of my life as a high school student, I thought I understood what success looked like. It was the number at the top of the page—the grade, how it affected my GPA, the final result after everything was turned in. Like many students, I focused on getting the highest score possible, assuming that was what teachers cared about most.

But after speaking with three teachers from different disciplines—Sofía Arcila, a high school art teacher; Sandro Berrio, a 10th- and 11th-grade math teacher; and Tamir Mickens, a science teacher for grades 10 and 11—I began to realize something important: the things they value most are not always what gets graded.

One of the first ideas that stood out came from Arcila, who emphasized how limited grades really are. She explains that “effort…is not on a grading rubric…[and] the overall process…[is missing because] the rubric and the grades are usually just like a little snap of the moment.”

That idea challenges something most students don’t question. If grades are only a snapshot, what about everything else—the time, frustration, and improvement along the way? Especially in a subject like art, where the process matters just as much as the final product, it becomes clear that effort cannot always be measured in a percentage.

Arcila also reframes how students think about failure. She encourages students to embrace it, saying they should “learn how to fail…don’t be scared of failure…just keep getting up and keep trying.”

Hearing this shifts failure from something negative to something necessary. It connects directly to what Berrio describes as resilience. From a math perspective, where students often expect quick answers, he explains that success rarely comes immediately, noting that “immediate success…is not actually a thing…you might not succeed during your first try.”

Together, these perspectives show that learning is not linear. Whether solving equations or creating artwork, progress takes time. The students who stand out are the ones who understand that—and keep going anyway.

At the same time, Arcila highlights something that feels almost opposite to struggle: enjoyment. She observes that the students who stand out are not always focused on grades. Instead, “they usually don’t ask that much about grades…you can see…they’re enjoying what they’re doing, and they have lots of ideas.”

While Arcila focuses on creativity and process, Berrio emphasizes consistency and work ethic. From his perspective, success is not about one strong performance but about repeated effort. He explains that “consistency is key to success…work ethic…[is] the foundation for the things that you do on a consistent basis.”

This idea shifts the focus from short-term results to long-term habits. Anyone can succeed once, but consistency leads to real growth and discipline.

Berrio also highlights the importance of asking questions. He notes that students who stand out are willing to ask things like, “How can I improve? What do I need to do to be better?”

This reflects a different kind of effort—the willingness to seek help and take initiative. It transforms learning into a more collaborative process between student and teacher.

Mickens, approaching from a science perspective, focuses more on character. While academic skills matter, he emphasizes that personal qualities are just as important. He looks for students who are “honest, respectful, and…persevere…that don’t give up…[and] are always trying their best.”

This expands the definition of success beyond academics. It is not just about what you achieve, but how you approach challenges and how you treat others.

Mickens also introduces the idea of authenticity. He explains that while student behavior can sometimes feel routine, what stands out is when it is genuine: “When I can tell that it’s genuine…it stands out.”

This shows that intention matters. It is not enough to simply follow expectations—students need to believe in what they are doing.

Finally, Mickens emphasizes accountability, tying everything together. He explains that students must take responsibility for their actions by “not making excuses and accepting responsibility…[because] some of them are going to be shocked at the next phase.”

This serves as a reality check. School may feel structured and predictable, but those conditions do not last forever. Learning accountability now prepares students for future challenges.

Looking at all three perspectives, it becomes clear that the common definition of success is incomplete. Grades matter, but they are not the full picture. What teachers truly notice are the qualities that do not appear on a rubric—effort, resilience, curiosity, consistency, communication, character, authenticity, and accountability.

But this is where the contradiction begins.

If being a good person, putting in effort, and genuinely learning are what matter most, why are those qualities not reflected more clearly in how students are evaluated? Why do grades—something teachers themselves describe as “a little snap of the moment”—still carry the most weight?

This creates a disconnect. Students are told one thing, but measured by another. Over time, it becomes difficult to know which truly matters.

That contradiction becomes even more personal when it is expressed directly. Being told, “you’re simply not a four,” reduces effort, growth, and intention into a single number. In that moment, everything teachers claim to value—resilience, curiosity, accountability—feels secondary.

So while teachers may value much more than grades, the system itself does not always reflect that. And perhaps that is the real issue. It is not that these qualities do not matter—they do. It is that they are harder to measure, harder to standardize, and easier to overlook.

In the end, students are left navigating two realities: trying to grow and improve, while still being defined by a number. And until those realities align, the question remains—what really counts?