I grew up in Montclair, New Jersey.
When I was growing up I didn’t think it was anything particularly special or important. I cycled through school with the same group of kids, I went to the same pool club for my entire life. I had my favorite shops, and attended nearly every high school football game, and lived for those moments at the State Championships in MetLife Stadium. My life was good, but I thought nothing of it.
As I got older I saw my town evolve. It grew into a “suburban” town. It was “cool and trendy,” and hosted its own film festival.
Stephen Colbert, Michael Strahan and Bobbi Brown were local celebrities. As I left for college my quiet normal town was being hailed as the next Park Slope.
Even then, I didn’t see the true magic of my hometown. I didn’t notice the little things that made it so special.
As I arrived to college, those realities hit me like a ton of bricks. All of a sudden I looked back on Montclair with remorse. All those years I spent in that town and I never saw how exceptional it was.
My town was diverse, and inviting. It was a cultural melting pot and created a beautiful bubble of acceptance that I don’t think I’ll ever see again in my life.
When I went to college, I was shocked at how close-minded and sheltered people were at such a young age. That was the bubble I grew up in.
My high school was extremely special (we even have our own definition on Urban Dictionary, definitely check it out for a laugh.)
When I arrived at my private college in the middle of Washington D.C., I felt like a fish out of water. I was surrounded by a group of people who were nothing like what I was used to. There was no diversity; there were no varying socio-economic backgrounds. The culture was driven by “who had what” instead of simply taking it back to “who you are.”
I found myself reminiscing on all of the things I took for granted, and even today, as I write this as a junior at the same private college—I look back on my hometown, my friends, and my high school memories with a fond smile.
And of course, when the holidays roll around the nostalgic side in everyone creeps forward, and as I return home for winter break I'm left thinking even more about my hometown. About how much I never truly appreciated it, about the old friends that I've lost contact with. About the boy I should have told I liked, but never did.
As I’m listening to “Nothing Was the Same” and writing this piece, a tragic series of events from my high school years begin to flood in. That time when that great boy liked me, but I was too immature to realize what was right in front of me, and when I finally figured it out, he turned around and got himself a girlfriend.
Is this an a-typical high school story of moments lost? Definitely.
But rewind back to the story. So my moment of courage with the boy never came. Shocker right? So as we sat across from each other in class, I simply smiled and then we graduated, and now we like each other’s pictures periodically.
There are a million moments within my stupid youth that I would go back and change. There are friends I would have held closer, and others I would have cut out earlier. There are boys I would have put a big red ‘X’ next to their contact and told my young and naïve self never ever to talk to. Like ever, ever. There are also those I would have pushed myself to reach out to.
To the people and situations I could have handled better, and treated better. I hope you know how much I regret the way I handled things, truly.
The first time I ever blacked out during my Sophomore year, I probably would go back and grab that pint of Vodka from my hands before the room went black. But these lovely mistakes have made me the person that I am.
I think back to the small moments that seemed to have lasting impacts on my life.
I remember the conversations in the overly crowded hallways about the “move for the weekend” or the latest gossip of the day. I remember back to our first homecoming my senior year of high school where our DJ was named “DJ Lil Man” and how he mixed Montclair our very own rendition of “Red Nose.” Welcome to the great town of MTC, NJ.
I remember being at every single State Championship Game for my football team and beaming with pride as we won, and won, and won again. I laugh as I look back on the hype that was build up in the “Lot K pregame” Facebook group before the championship game. #mountieup
Don’t get confused; I still hang with the same crew, so not everything’s changed.
“Same city, same friends if you’re looking for me.”
Except, now as I look back at these moments I understand the true value of them.
To “House Scribner” that I belonged to from 6-8th grade, and the Breakfast club I attended everyWednesday morning in Middle School with my Social Studies teacher…
(Thank you House Scribner for every remarkable and extraordinary memory. To my teachers, you guys gave me everything I needed and more to help guide and prepare me. I was truly the luckiest kid in the world to get to call you all my teachers…thank you from the bottom of myheart for the best middle school experience anyone could as for.)
…To the late night drives, and fro-yo runs I took with my best friends during the weekends, or when I needed a moment to decompress. To those stupid basement parties I went to too frequently, and the proms I attended.
The model American Government institute I joined sophomore year—the amazing friends it brought me (weeps what’s good!!!!)—those moments shaped me. They changed me. They grew me. They showed me what the world could offer me, and sent me into college with a wide-eyed curiosity, and longing to find a place that brought just as much happiness and inclusion.
Whenever something doesn’t go quite right in college, or I stumble into an Internet hole of scrolling through my time-hop (Let’s just pause for a quick second. I was the straight queen of sub-tweeting people in high school. I held nothing back, and so, a more mature version of myself who has kicked the old habit would like to apologize if you ever fell into my path of dragging), in these moments I look back to high school and Montclair and wish more than anything that I could go back.
She said what?
Yes, I understand I am a unicorn. Who wants to go back to high school? But I’m telling you, this was special. What my classmates had, the town we called home, its something once-in-a-lifetime. Montclair is the true unicorn in this story.
As much as my parents are thrilled to see that I finally value the scarifies (and high taxes) they made to give me the childhood and education that I received, they remind me that these memories are just parts of who I am. High school (hopefully) isn’t my golden years, but they were some damn good times.
Montclair, thank you.
Although Montclair will always be an exceptional place that can never be fully re-created, I am thankful for the time and memories I was given there.
I know that I know no matter how far I stray, or how difficult things may get in my future—I’ll always have a place to call home, and one that I know will always welcome me back with open arms.
