Carly Menker
Editor in Chief '17
As I sit here, fingers dancing across the keyboard in a pattern only the words will tell, I tell myself to stop. Take a step back. Evaluate everything. It’s April, 11:46pm on a Tuesday night. The sky is dark and the stars remain clouded over begging to peek out from their covers. For a moment, I close my eyes.
Flash to eigth grade, sitting there bored at graduation: I can’t wait to leave this place. Proudly sauntering up to the stage to receive my diploma, I smiled to myself. Next year is high school. A place of new beginnings and diverse experiences.
That next year on day one, I got very lost. Stumbling up the grandiose stairs underneath the pillars wearing a backpack disproportionate to my body, I successfully made it inside. I was late to every single class and I was so disorganized I had no idea what was happening. Hallways curved weird ways and the students were double my size. As scared as I was, I survived my first day. And the second, and the day after that. Each day became a pattern which meshed into a meticulously carried out routine. But as the year went on, I, the frazzled freshman began to find her way and establish herself into someone who she knew she was destined to be.
When summer rolled around, I realized she was no longer the baby in high school but rather the negelected middle child. As a sophomore, I would be neither incredibly important nor completely insignificant. The choices I made would dictate the rest of my high school career and my path for the year to come. I dreaded the start of the year because I wasn’t ready to be back so soon. But, as with everything, we must face the things we want to do least.
Walking up those slightly less intimidating stairs underneath the pillars and inside to start of my sophomore year, I dove headfirst into a year that would be the start of many things I had never experienced. One of these things was Community School (CS). Scared of my own shadow, I was catapulted into a situation where I would have to speak my mind and share my voice. I began to like school even more so now that I was in a place where I learned for the sake of learning and my satisfaction became a function of my participation.
When sophomore year came to a close, it was bittersweet. Of course, any sane individual would be delighted the year ended, but alas I was not looking forward to junior year. This was the year where everyone supposedly ‘dies’ and drowns within their work. But, here’s a secret: senior year is even harder. Junior year I worked my hardest, I found things I felt passionate about and stuck to them. I followed what I believed and the day I stopped caring what others thought of me was the day I became happier. That year I stayed home and worked harder than I ever had before, and that payed off more than I could ever imagine.
The hardest part of high school is first semester of senior year. The emotional tears, drama and obscured thinking will tear you to shreads and leave you to build yourself back up again. But you survive. You live and you learn and the experiences are hopefully worth it. No matter how much you don’t believe it, life does work out whether it be the way you predicted or in ways you never thought it could.
After opening my eyes again, I realize I’m still sitting here, fingers poised above the keyboard, blank word document open in front of me. Since this perpetual train of thought began, it is as if I am remaining suspended in this moment forever. Sometimes, I wish I was. But life goes on and experiences shape you into who you are to this day. So revel in the past and imagine the potential in the future to come. The clock changes to 11:51pm and I look down at my fingers. The document on my computer screen shines and the words begin to be written, my fingers moving rhythmically writing the intangible thoughts streaming from my imagination.
Editor in Chief '17
As I sit here, fingers dancing across the keyboard in a pattern only the words will tell, I tell myself to stop. Take a step back. Evaluate everything. It’s April, 11:46pm on a Tuesday night. The sky is dark and the stars remain clouded over begging to peek out from their covers. For a moment, I close my eyes.
Flash to eigth grade, sitting there bored at graduation: I can’t wait to leave this place. Proudly sauntering up to the stage to receive my diploma, I smiled to myself. Next year is high school. A place of new beginnings and diverse experiences.
That next year on day one, I got very lost. Stumbling up the grandiose stairs underneath the pillars wearing a backpack disproportionate to my body, I successfully made it inside. I was late to every single class and I was so disorganized I had no idea what was happening. Hallways curved weird ways and the students were double my size. As scared as I was, I survived my first day. And the second, and the day after that. Each day became a pattern which meshed into a meticulously carried out routine. But as the year went on, I, the frazzled freshman began to find her way and establish herself into someone who she knew she was destined to be.
When summer rolled around, I realized she was no longer the baby in high school but rather the negelected middle child. As a sophomore, I would be neither incredibly important nor completely insignificant. The choices I made would dictate the rest of my high school career and my path for the year to come. I dreaded the start of the year because I wasn’t ready to be back so soon. But, as with everything, we must face the things we want to do least.
Walking up those slightly less intimidating stairs underneath the pillars and inside to start of my sophomore year, I dove headfirst into a year that would be the start of many things I had never experienced. One of these things was Community School (CS). Scared of my own shadow, I was catapulted into a situation where I would have to speak my mind and share my voice. I began to like school even more so now that I was in a place where I learned for the sake of learning and my satisfaction became a function of my participation.
When sophomore year came to a close, it was bittersweet. Of course, any sane individual would be delighted the year ended, but alas I was not looking forward to junior year. This was the year where everyone supposedly ‘dies’ and drowns within their work. But, here’s a secret: senior year is even harder. Junior year I worked my hardest, I found things I felt passionate about and stuck to them. I followed what I believed and the day I stopped caring what others thought of me was the day I became happier. That year I stayed home and worked harder than I ever had before, and that payed off more than I could ever imagine.
The hardest part of high school is first semester of senior year. The emotional tears, drama and obscured thinking will tear you to shreads and leave you to build yourself back up again. But you survive. You live and you learn and the experiences are hopefully worth it. No matter how much you don’t believe it, life does work out whether it be the way you predicted or in ways you never thought it could.
After opening my eyes again, I realize I’m still sitting here, fingers poised above the keyboard, blank word document open in front of me. Since this perpetual train of thought began, it is as if I am remaining suspended in this moment forever. Sometimes, I wish I was. But life goes on and experiences shape you into who you are to this day. So revel in the past and imagine the potential in the future to come. The clock changes to 11:51pm and I look down at my fingers. The document on my computer screen shines and the words begin to be written, my fingers moving rhythmically writing the intangible thoughts streaming from my imagination.