I still remember my first day of high school. I anxiously walked into the Forum and scanned the space for my friends from middle school. I found them, and we set our bags down in what we soon realized were the sophomore steps. An upperclassman then ushered us into the freshman pit.
The building seemed big and complicated compared to the uniform hallways of the lower/middle school. Unlike the LMS building in which I spent the previous two years, the high school overflowed with art and buzzed with conversation.
The upperclassmen looked like adults, and I didn’t think I would ever be that mature. On the morning of my senior walk two weeks ago, I realized that I was now one of the students whom I looked up to in middle school. I was now one of the students for whom I spent advisory making colorful congratulatory signs in eighth grade.
Looking back on my four years, I realize that I spent too long treating high school as just preparation for college. I tailored my schedule and my summers to my warped view of what colleges wanted to see: a student who filled every second of her day with impressive activities and schoolwork. I convinced myself that bombing a precalculus test would change the course of my life.
During the winter of my junior year, my grades slipped, and I could not figure out why. I stopped making plans with my friends and studied more than ever. I pushed myself to work for hours after the sun set. Day after day, I exhausted myself to absorb as much information as I could.
But, the harder I worked, the less I could do. I would walk into tests tired, and my mind would go blank. My self worth rested on the grades I received, and the work I was putting in didn’t yield the results I thought I needed to be worthy of appreciation.
After weeks of disappointing grades and lonely weekends, I realized I was letting the best times of my life slip by. I spent my childhood watching coming-of-age movies that romanticized high school, and I felt I should have finally reached the life I imagined. I loved my circle of friends and school community, but I had pushed all of that aside for school work.
Later that spring, I replaced my late nights of studying with extra hours of sleep, and I spent more time with people I loved. I studied less, and I tried to put less pressure on myself to perform well in school because pressure wasn’t helping me. To my surprise, my grades improved.
I had spent months studying for U.S. history tests by tirelessly memorizing vocabulary, events and figures. Before the final exam, I didn’t stress myself out by cramming all of the material into my mind. Rather, I made my preparation enjoyable by debating who was America’s best president with a classmate. (It’s Abraham Lincoln.)
I now played cards in the Forum. Through competitive games of slap jack and spades, I grew close with classmates whom I had never known.
When teachers asked me if I had fun after I completed a test, my answer a few months prior would have been a definitive “no.” I now told them “yes,” even if I wasn’t confident about the answers I wrote. I started to love learning again.
As a freshman, I joined public forum debate and realized, after never completing a tournament with a winning record, that I was not destined for a debate championship. I still stuck around for a few extra months. Even if I never won much, the club had to look good on my resume, right?
As I wrote my college application, my time in debate didn’t make the cut. So I started thinking about everything else the club offered me. Debate taught me to take quick notes and prepare immediate responses. I learned that public speaking is not hell on earth. Debate brought me closer to someone who is now one of my closest friends.
Debate made me think about the other things I have done at this school that I would never hand in for evaluation. In meetings with my chemistry teacher, Greg Dallinger, I learned the material for the class, but I also learned more from him about basketball history than anyone else. I frequently asked my precalculus teacher, Jason Aigen, questions outside of class. I even learned that he keeps chocolates in his desk—a supply which I often exploited.
As I moved through the halls during my senior walk, I realized just how many students and teachers have made my high school experience as good as it was. My basketball teammates with whom I bonded through hours of practice made some of the hardest moments on the team some of the best. Teachers who never taught me but always greeted me in the hallways made me feel welcome in a place that used to terrify me.
During my last day of calculus with Tom Spilsbury, my classmates and I filled out senior reflections. As I thought about the questions, I remembered that after that day I would no longer learn math in the room in which I had spent four years and five classes. I realized that people I had been in classes with every year since sixth grade would soon be across the country.
Embarrassingly, I started to cry.
As graduation approaches (and I look for the textbooks I need to return), I’m grateful for every bad grade and mistake I made because each one taught me to move on. I’m grateful for every teacher and student who valued me. And I’m grateful for this school for making the last seven years of my life ones that I will remember forever.