Highschool.
How can ten letters inspire so many different reactions in so many different people?
Some shake remembering highschool. It was the "worst years of their life".
Others laugh out loud, claiming it's the peak of everything wonderful.
Still others divulge in a simple smile, as though they know a secret they can't tell.
Surely, not everyone's experiences were this different. They couldn't cross vast worlds, from miserable to shades of Heaven.
Or maybe that's just me, being naive.
I think the most important thing, through all, is to keep your chin up, for back of a better phrase. To remain a "glass-half-full" outlook. And in examining, I find that the optimistic people are the ones who enjoyed their highschool all the more.
Generally, I'm over-the-top optimistic. I'm painfully cheery and bright. I just feel sunny. Like blindingly so. I don't know why. I don't know what I've done to deserve this brilliant glow.
I really need to take this with me. Through highschool, through life, through thick, through thin. This is what matters. When people ask me, twenty years ago, whether I liked highschool, I want to be able to say: "Why yes. It was absolutely, without a doubt in the world, unforgettable in the best way.
I'm a freshie. Freshman. 9th grader. Low man on the totem pole. Whatever you want to call it will work for this illustration.
Right now, I'm having so many ideas thrust in my direction. Not that that's a bad thing, but it feels so different. Not only ideas, but things to remember. This class is this way. Lunch is this hour. Your locker is this one, your com is here.
It's all so incredibly overwhelming, it must be easy to get distressed and depressed. I guess that for some, the depression sticks. For all four years.
"I can't wait to get out of highschool."
In others, it's fleeting.
"I'm sure tomorrow will be a better day."
And for a tiny little few, they aren't touched at all. And how lucky they are.
Oh, for all those who only read this cause it's about the most dangerous city in America, here you go.
My highschool is in FLINT. Some nights, while practicing with the band in the parking lot outside, we've heard what we assume to be gunshots.
You know what the truly amazing part is, though?
It doesn't make a difference to me.
I'm so not afraid of this city! It's not a bad place to live! None of us have ever gotten killed during practice. Not even one person. I mean, sometimes we feel like we're dying from working so hard, but we never actually have.
So highschool. Exciting. New. Different. I've gone from a school of 200, to a class of 150. I know, tiny, tiny numbers. It's still a weird leap.
What does highschool mean for me, after a week?
It means a lot more responsibility. More work. More activities to juggle. What feels like millions of people judging me off things teachers say every single moment of the day.
But it gives me a chance to be spread my wings a bit, and to grow. I've always felt a little cramped. Like a huge bird in a little egg. Scratching, poking awkwardly, unable to get out of the space I'm in. It was, in its sense, comfortable. I didn't dislike it, but I knew in my heart of hearts that it did not present a true challenge for me. Life was simple, yes, but it was monotonous.
Now, I'm in a position to learn and to be challenged more than I have ever dreamed of being.
I thank my parents, teachers, and school for setting me up for that.
And I thank all my old teachers for preparing me for that.
The change feels nice. It fits me well.
And now, out of the egg, I can stretch out, take a few wobbly steps, and stretch my wings. And only then can I really fly.
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