As I write these bittersweet words, I sit alone in a lecture hall. You might be wondering, why would I, a self-proclaimed social butterfly and seventeen-year-old girl, choose to sit alone in a lecture hall at 7:38 pm on the evening of my very last day of high school? Well, the answer is simple. I did not choose this fate; a small, bitter woman by the name of Ginny chose it for me when she decided that my actions warranted a Friday night detention. While I am aware that as the "Dean of Attendance," Ginny's position requires her to admonish students like myself for our tendency to disregard the school's rules regarding ditching class, I can't help but resent her for doing her work with such unforgiving moxie.
Despite my distaste for her professionalism, I broke the rules and am now paying the price— but am I? There’s this famous Ernest Hemingway quote, “If you make mistakes you find out faster.” Usually I am moved by Hemingway quotes, and blown away by their brilliance, but I must admit, I cannot relate to this particular statement at all. In fact, I feel as though every mistake I’ve made throughout my high school career has led me to something great. If anything, I’m only inclined to make more mistakes, out of curiosity for what lies ahead, after I make them.
I’ve skipped psychology classes for impromptu beach trips with soon-to-be best friends, played soccer games on only fifteen minutes of sleep, after having spent entire nights gallivanting around New York, consuming massive amounts of naan bread at cool Indian restaurants with whimsical lighting fixtures, or even crashing gallery openings. I’ve meandered into classes, bright and early, only to discover that my teachers were anticipating the submission of eight-page research papers on topics I was deeply unfamiliar with. I’ve gone days on end without opening my inbox, which by the way contains 2,301 unread pieces of mail, only to discover that I’d missed the deadline to sign up for MUN conferences or purchase tickets to prom.
I am absolutely aware that as a student and human being, my life for the past four years, and perhaps always, has been a collage of recklessness and irresponsibility. Yet, somehow, I am graduating without a single regret. Maybe I’m naïve to say that it was worth it, but I truly believe that every stupid decision I’ve made thus far has ultimately led to satisfaction. Had I have played those grueling, hour and a half long soccer games minus the puffy, lavender bags that hung beneath my eyes, I may have been more successful or skillful, but I would have gone without ever acquiring the knowledge that soup dumplings taste best at 3:30 am. Had I have not skipped French last Friday, I would not be confined to this lecture hall, but perhaps I'd be writing something different— something less honest, less telling or true.
