I hated high school. 

What a cliché phrase. I’m not the first to say it, and I’m definitely not the last. Recently, every time I walk down the hallways of Stoughton High School, I end up ruminating on the previous four years. 

You would think I would be able to take all of those emotions and create something beautiful, something that would make all of this worthwhile. Sadly, all of my eloquence was abandoned in my third-grade gifted and talented class, and now I must grasp onto a string of words that I know, deep down, will never be capable of scratching the surface of the depth of it all. 

More specifically, I hated who I was in high school. 

This girl left herself out of almost everything due to fear thinly veiled as self-preservation. It seemed as if she never fully felt anything, always held a bit of herself back. 

I was watching from the sidelines.

As senior photo Sundays grew in intensity and grad party invites began to make their way to me, the bitterness of missing out on high school grew, taking root in my chest and growing quickly as if it was an invasive plant. 

I fixated on my regrets. 

I regretted not being able to relate to my peers. I spent so much time struggling to fit in, but no matter what I did to try and change myself to become the most watered-down and universally acceptable version of myself, it never seemed to work. 

The endings of those unsatisfactory memories would never change, no matter how frequently I replayed them in my head. 

Even though I couldn’t change my past decisions, I could learn from them and redefine my future. 

Who I was in high school didn’t have to define who I was any longer once my wish to experience my life fully outweighed my fear of rejection and embarrassment.

It has been a blessing to have the opportunity to take on a new adventure next year in the windy city for college and I am immensely grateful for the fresh start. There’s no plan of re-inventing myself, but I’ll strive to become the most authoentic version of myself. 

At this moment, the world seems so big. I have been disrespecting it by believing that my experiences in this town is all there was. 

None of what brings me pain now really has to matter if I don’t give it the power to. 

 I know I’ll make many mistakes, create objectively bad art, laugh too loud, waste money, and wear unflattering clothes, all while losing and finding myself in places I would never have expected. 

I’ll wear my heart on my sleeve, and I know it will be inevitable that I will get hurt. 

But that’s just part of being a human. 

It is so incredibly painful when it sinks in that the people you love so dearly will be living so far away from you, but it also means you are so lucky to have individuals in your life that you value to that extent. 

It is lonely when you’re stuck in spaces where it doesn’t feel as if anyone truly sees you, but it makes you even more grateful once you find those who do. 

It’s frustrating to be in a high school with almost no windows, but it makes basking in the sunlight feel like a miracle.

You can’t pick and choose what you feel, no matter how incredible that would be. So while I thought I was shielding myself from suffering, I was actually preventing myself from feeling anything. 

Never again do I want to take my time on this earth for granted. Every day of my existence as the sensitive, anxious, and complicated being that I am is a blessing. I wish I had known that long ago. 

The future is so incredibly and overwhelmingly bright, and the urge to cast my gaze is strong.

Thank god I’m stronger.

So instead, I take one step. Then another. Even though almost every day I wish to descend back to my comfort zone, I don’t. It becomes easier with time, I’ve been told. I hold onto that hope, along with the newfound urge to experience every single aspect of my life. 

I may be leaving high school with numerous regrets, but somehow, I ended up grateful for the lesson they taught me. 

I take another step forward.

It’s time for me to leave the sidelines.