This assignment gave me a Zoom flashback. I can see it so clearly now, In my mind’s eye—pinky toes at the edge of the 2020 school year starting line, stuck in my stuffy room with the windows closed because I was afraid of the neighbors hearing the zoom call. Worse yet, I was in a breakout room with four faceless freshmen and two LIFE Crew leaders. I don’t remember any names, or any quirky activities we slogged through. The only thing that stuck with me like Extra to Nikes was the advice the senior LIFE Crew member kept repeating: “Take it slow, because it really goes by quick. It feels like yesterday…” You know the drill.
Out of curiosity, I looked through some old senior reflections. Imagine my shock to find that the most common theme was “Oh lordy, it all just went by so darn fast.”
Unpopular opinion: it didn’t. If you feel like high school zipped straight through to the graduation line, you’re not wrong, just slow. You came in unprepared, and I can’t fault you there; so did I, all of our peers, teachers, administrators, and only the rest of the world (due to the unprecedented plague happenings). Regardless of how things turned out, we all tried to keep the ball rolling as best we could, and that’s something worthy of respect. That’s downright admirable really. Over four years, the whole world decided to start falling apart, and where were we day in, day out? Westmont High School, 8:30 a.m. to 2:40 p.m. at minimum, every day. A blinding monotony, chaining us with a ceaseless fatigue—thus why so many feel deja vu’d back to freshman year. How were you supposed to take a minute and realize how far you’ve come when everyone around you consistently demands your best effort; there’s just not enough time or energy for self-reflection.
I don’t know about you, but freshman year doesn’t feel like yesterday. Nor should it. Neither should sophomore, or junior year. Categorically, four years at Wesmont is undeniably a speedrun of the public education system, but in terms of individual development at our age, four years seems more like four eons. As a general rule of existence, everything changes all the time. But, in those magical four years of high school, that change is on steroids; a rapid, unforgiving, and constant evolution, catalyzing the daunting revelation that the development boasts no ending, only an extension until inevitable decay. It’s beautiful. It’s nightmarish. It’s boundless. Most of all, it’s overwhelming as balls. Therein lies what could be the saddest part of high school, and honestly growing up too: you’re nothing like freshman year you. Arguably, the newfound distinctions are probably a good thing. Regardless, that person with your name and your features is gone. Only alive in memories and cringy blackmail from old group chats with friends you don’t really talk to anymore. Whatever you had then, good or bad, you can never go back to it. Your experience; your existence during that time frame, the only thing any of us can say indisputably belongs to ourselves, has evaporated. What an uncomfortable finality. Doesn’t help that the progression wasn’t smooth. Positive transformation has never been a linear process. Real growth takes just as much regression as it does progression, as is the nature of real self-discovery. Let me put it this way—I only know I don’t want to be an awful human because I’ve been an awful human. I’ve seen what that does to myself and the people around me, and I don’t like it. So, I aim for something higher, the same way we all do. That’s the preparation we needed freshman year, an aid denied—a wisdom better discovered than gifted.
Maybe high school did go by quickly for you, but unpreparedness isn’t a state of being, but rather a state of mind—one that can only be squandered through slamming your head against a wall until you finally realize your calcium based skull can’t crack brick. In my most un-humble opinion, true preparedness is like a fresh forest, blossoming through the ash heap of the saplings’ seed-bearers, fathered by a cleansing flame. My unwarranted advice? Abandon your pride. Shut up and fail. It’s alright. It doesn’t matter where you’re starting from, only that you are starting. The rewards you want and the results the people around you seek don’t come fast, or easy, and you have to be prepared for the grind. Good luck dude, I believe in you. I hope it doesn’t go by too fast for you. Go Warriors. See you around Class of ‘24.