I live in the sweet little town of Moscow, Pennsylvania. I love where I’m from. Where I’m from, everybody knows everybody. People are nosy, and word spreads like wildfire. But people look out for one another. And people take comfort in knowing everyone and everyone’s story. Where I come from there are politics involved with the school board and pretty much everything else. And where I come from we are so proud of our public school, which is continually listed as one of America’s hardest high schools by the Washington Post. Where I come from we spend Friday nights in the bleachers with our friends, our parents, and our teachers. From the scorching heat of late August to the bitter cold of early November people of all ages stand around the field, hoping for a win. Swirl Girls sit and wait for the end of the fourth quarter, knowing that the line for ice cream will quadruple once the game gets out. Where I come from, worshipping Penn State is one of the most widely practiced religions, second only to Catholicism. Where I come from, when you have nothing to do on a Thursday night, you build a fire and have your friends over. Where I come from, freedom is the windows down and music up. And where I come from, people can’t wait to leave.

Which I understand, but I am saddened by. Moscow has some of the most beautiful sunrises, and some of the most beautiful people. People say “there’s nothing to do here”, and in a way they’re right. But that doesn’t mean people should rush the years they have left here. I get bored with Moscow, but I love it here. And maybe I’m naïve, but I think that deep down inside everyone else has an inkling of love for its simplicity and familiarity. My college is only 15 minutes away and I still get homesick. I miss my family, and I miss my friends. The first thing I did when I got home after finals was have a bonfire with all my friends. It was so typical, but it was much needed. I urge all high schoolers who are so hell bent to leave, to slow down. Engage with nature. Nurture your family. Make memories with you friends. Graduating seniors: soak up every second of this summer. Spend time with the people who matter most to you. Order one last pizza from Mendicino’s, have one last bonfire, drive around backroads with your friends and your favorite playlist, and thank your parents profusely. You don’t think you’re going to miss this, but I promise you, some little part of you will. Don’t get me wrong. You will love college. You will meet new people, you will follow your passions, and you will find yourself. The people from high school who don’t belong in your life will fade away. When you come home, you will have a feeling of comfort, not pressure. Your parents will watch you and let you grow, because they have no choice. The will watch their little girls and boys become teachers and soldiers and engineers and physical therapists. You will flourish outside of Moscow. Great things will come of whatever your next step is, but don’t rush it. I urge high school sophmores and juniors to take the same advice and prolong it. Do not live for the future. Live for now. Stop yearning for what’s next, and appreciate what you have now. What’s next will come inevitably, you don’t have to rush it. And to all my friends who have already graduated, I hope I see you in line for Tasty Swirl. I hope I see you at Covington Park. I hope you have kept the people who matter to you, and I hope you spend your summers with them. And I hope you still have some love left for Moscow.