I remember walking into school as a small, nervous freshman, barely aware of the building around me. I was scared to talk to people, scared to join clubs, and completely overwhelmed by how welcoming everyone seemed on freshman day.

Back then, I kept thinking, “I cannot wait to graduate.” I dreamed of independence and freedom of moving away from everything I had ever known and starting fresh somewhere new.

But now, standing on the edge of that freedom, I find myself lingering behind. The feeling I spent four years waiting for isn’t excitement like I expected, it’s terrifying. And maybe that’s because leaving means finally realizing how much this place, and the person I became here, matters.

Through the fearful freshman year, the sophomore slump, the academic lock-in of junior year, and now senior year, feeling like a bird learning how to leave the nest.

Everything I thought I knew has completely changed.

Four years ago, I was determined to play volleyball in college. I played every day, committed to the school team, convinced that was my future. Now, I haven’t touched a volleyball in two years.

Even the people I thought would always be there changed. The friend group I was once inseparable from slowly drifted apart, only for us to reconnect as seniors and wonder why we ever separated in the first place.

As this seemingly long, yet tiny, one percent of my life comes to an end, I find myself reflecting on both the struggles and determination that shaped my four years. From the hugs after winning a game to the tears shed while staring down my AP Environmental Science homework (as anyone can relate), every moment played a part in who I became.

I have always been the person to say, “I can’t wait to graduate,” but now I realize that was a way of pretending I didn’t care. The truth is, I cherish the friendships I made with classmates, teachers, and people I never expected to become close to. And most unexpectedly, I never thought taking journalism my senior year would open my eyes the way it did, teaching me to see stories, people, and even myself differently.

As my first and last year in journalism, I’ve come to love the people in this class, the friends I reconnected with because of it, the people I grew close to again, the underclassmen I laughed with and played Wordle with, and the fellow seniors beside me as we all battled senioritis together.

So maybe graduating isn’t about finally leaving. Maybe it’s about learning how to carry this place with me, the memories, the friendships, the lessons, into whatever comes next. I may still be scared, but this time I’m ready to leave the nest knowing I’m not the same person who walked in four years ago.

“I know these will all be stories some day, and our pictures will become old photographs.” – Charlie, Perks of a Wallflower