The lights were off and my teacher, Ms. Fernandez, stood at the front of the room like she always did before lunch and recess. Since it was our last day of 8th grade, Ms. Fernandez wanted to follow our prayer with something to think about: “Before we go downstairs, take a look around at everyone in this room. This is the last time that this group of people will be ever be together like this.”
I still remember the pencil marks on my desk, the back of the head of the kid who sat in front of me, and one of the first realizations that my life was really changing. Because going to high school was a big freakin’ deal.
I’ve been home for the last two months while most of my friends have been hanging out together on college campuses, either in the US or abroad. So you can imagine that boredom has been a factor lately and that I’m ready to finally go. Currently, I’m about 30,000 feet above land on a plane to Houston, with a final destination of Shanghai–my home for the next four months. And even though deep down I know I’m extremely excited and ready to travel again, in this moment, the feeling isn’t as obvious as usual.
But I think I know why.
It’s been nice to sleep in my real bed, to see my sister perform in the old high school cafeteria, to watch the races at the track where my best friend once accidentally tripped me and almost cost me a spot in the Regional race. It felt good to really appreciate the comfort and the certainty that new places and new people simply can’t offer. The feeling I won’t have for a few months.
But in revisiting these old places from my younger life, it’s obvious that time’s rolled on. I don’t really recognize a lot of faces anymore at my high school. On the cross country team, one that I was once the captain of, I can count the guys I know on one hand–and they’ll all be gone to college this coming summer. So does that mean I can’t visit anymore?
The perfect word to describe the feeling is bittersweet. A mix between the excitement of the future and the understanding that your group of friends “will never be together like this again,” at least not exactly how it was before.
But not knowing what’s going to happen next is pretty cool. Did I know that the kid sitting in front of me in Ms. Fernandez’s class that day would become that best friend who tripped me on the track? No way.
I’ve realized a few things these past months. That complacency eventually turns into mediocrity. That leaving a comfort zone is not only helpful, but necessary. That you never really change unless you let yourself go a little bit.
And that the beauty of life is not knowing who’s going to walk around the corner next.
So here goes nothing
Stefano Montali 