on moving on and growing up

musings of a recent high school senior (as of today)

Today was the last day of junior year, and this was all very upsetting to me because I actually loved this year! I am the sort of awful person who loves to study for the SATs and AP exams (except French…). But as the bell rang at the end of my junior year and I became a senior, something felt odd.

I’ve never felt against leaving for college; the idea of being independent and forging my path has always been exciting to me. But suddenly something in the so far future is not so anymore. My list of places to apply has been curated, my notes app of essay ideas grows longer, and suddenly the people I’ve watched grow up begin to look older. And when I look in the mirror, so do I.

I won’t ask when things changed, because I was there— I watched it happen and laughed when they had said I had grown too old and too tall; but then suddenly they were right. I was never meant to grow this old or grow this tall— naturally, I would someday, but not now, not until I had truly exhausted my childhood.

This childhood has always felt strange to me. In psychology class, my teacher talked about how those who look forward to growing older will be happier. He asks people if that growing older scared them, and everyone had said yes. And yes, that seemed like the natural conclusion to me as well— who wouldn’t long for the days when worries were few and the grass seemed to grow greener? But no, I told him in a high, strangled voice that I had been waiting to be an adult for forever. My concept of adulthood has always been riddled with childhood fantasy— the idea of endless independence and no one telling you what you can or cannot do. I craved the notion of deciding who I am all by myself. But most of all, I craved the newness and possibility of it during adulthood.

Today I went to my partner’s high school graduation. It was very nice despite the heat and the rowdy crowd members (the people behind me needed to cool it with the air horns). But the thing I was thinking when I was spacing out while all the people I didn’t know were walking was— are people really that dedicated to their high school? I tried to picture myself giving a high school speech and could not muster up the enthusiasm to yell “GO HUSKIES!!”. Because I’ve never felt like “once a husky, always a husky” (maybe because we’re huskies like what). High school has always felt more of a monumental concept to me than genuinely commemorative.

So, will someone please let me know how much you’re supposed to love your high school? Because I like it alright, but at the end of the day, I don’t feel endlessly dedicated. I suppose the commemoration of growing up is significant, and I do understand that. But if this were a metaphorical war or something, I wouldn’t metaphorically die for the Huskies.