“‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all -”
-Emily Dickinson
I have always felt that my own words are the hardest to say. When it comes to thinking of expressing myself, there has always been this fear lingering that I may misspeak, skip over the words and sound straight-up foolish. There is an intimacy in writing that I cannot achieve in speech. In writing, the patience given and time are less limited; there is no time placed or appropriate length for a response. Yet, it still isn’t easy. So when it came to writing this, my final work, it has been difficult to place an introduction that details with authenticity the totalities of what high school has been for me.
Admittedly, I have written a dozen docs that have ended trashed, because it all crumples flat when contemplating the end of my 12 years attending school, moving on to college, all the while becoming an adult. It’s a mouthful to say, and it’s also a mournful experience, something similar to what everyone reading will one day experience, or already has. Although this shift has been something coming, it used to be something that once seemed remote and far. Now, it only grows nearer every school lunch spent with my friends. I thought for a bit that if I ignored it, then graduation would wait for me to be ready. Unfortunately, I’ve come to discover that life doesn’t function that way. That’s the one thing of growing up I hate the most. As you age, time advances faster than it did a year ago. It’s stupid, there is a reason behind why, but it’s still stupid.
As time accelerates, I can only hope that everything turns out all right. Saying “extraordinary” is too far-fetched, but hope sometimes makes it appear reasonable. Too much is left up in the air, and so much of it we will never be able to control, no matter our approach. So hope is the one thing that is constant in moving forward in the unpredictability of an ever-changing world (for better or worse). Still, there are silly thoughts I keep close as I advance. I think of how I want to keep in touch with people far beyond high school and continue my friendships until the end of forever. I think that there’s greatness in change and that even as times seem dark, there will never be a time when all the light is dimmed. I also think that even in change, the most important things of life remain consistent. So perhaps, change isn’t as scary as we make it be and maybe it shouldn’t always be so terrifying. Still, I do understand why it is.
In the future, much of what we have lived in high school will seem inconsequential. Today, it is all we have known and I can’t deny it hurts to say goodbye.
Just a year ago, I was a junior thrilled about senior year and terrified for college. Truthfully, that bit didn’t change. The only thing that did is that graduation is no longer a year away. It’s now weeks away. Even so, I think everything a little terrifying deserves to be chased. It is cliche, I know, but sometimes cliches are acceptable.
Once I graduate, I think I will miss writing for The Clarion the most. I’ll miss this classroom, the one I entered every day of school for the last four years. I’ll miss the people too. Students who wrote pieces that were riddled with vulnerability, and gave a piece of themselves in every story they wrote. And, an advisor who told stories in a greatness that captured everyone’s attention. I’ll also miss the jokes he made, and the things he taught that made me fall a little more in love with writing. I hope they all know how much they meant to me.
Ultimately, I want to remind those of you who still have a few years left before graduating that you shouldn’t let fear be what holds you back. Don’t let your embarrassment be what ties you down. Don’t let yourself be what stands in the way of being a little terrified every once in a while. You’ll one day glance around in regret if you don’t allow yourself to pursue these little moments of apprehension and excitement.
I will confess, however, that still, I really really don’t want to graduate. It’s a little hypocritical of me to preach all this about accepting the change and fear, and still feel so sad about it. It’s just a hard thing to do—to let go of the familiarity and routine of a life you carved all those years ago. It’s saddening to catch a glimpse of the friends and faces of the classmates you met from childhood in your second-grade class when staring at the face of an adult (or soon-to-be-adult). Even if I don’t remember names, their faces and eyes remain. It’s something so bittersweet—remembering someone based on the face they have grown into. Yet, it’s a sweet reminder that some remains of your childhood are still here, it’s still you.
