The Familiar and Extraordinary Glow

It is difficult for me in this very moment to comprehend the definitive fact that I will graduate in less than a week. After these past four years forced me to become someone unlike anyone I could have ever imagined (someone, in many ways, better than anyone I could have imagined), an ending such as this feels incomplete. Too abrupt, perhaps. The end is palpable, though I still feel like I will return to campus yet again next fall for another year of all my experiences. Despite this feeling of ceaselessness, the class of 2016’s exodus will come in 106 hours. All of my aforementioned experiences are quite difficult for me to now pick apart from one another. I’m sure you’ve heard this, but I must write it down in fear of forgetting: the days here are long and the years are short. Everything, upon first glance, has ground together, leading me to selfishly, and thankfully fleetingly, conclude that I have gotten to where I am today through my own sheer willpower. Nothing could be more false.

I arrived at this school as it seems many others did: a walking cliché found in the smart, quiet girl with the potential to grow into a prominent leader on campus and beyond. Despite the air of promise I threw from myself, I harbored in me myriad self-doubts, just as all my peers did. To me, though, the harkness table grew to be more intimidating than it had been for others. I simply chalked up my silence to my own unique transition into Exeter academics. I finished prep year without joining any clubs, without the grades I wanted to hold myself accountable for, and without saying more than, at tops, twenty to forty comments total that entire year. Maybe I’m exaggerating, but I can’t see myself saying any more than that. The next year I was unable to speak again, except I had developed a panic disorder on top of an anxiety disorder. At least, during my lower year, I had found in me the small bit of daring to join a club or two. During class I was speechless other than the occasionally hyperventilation. I was confused and utterly disappointed in myself: was I truly an Exonian when I was physically unable to speak at that table?

Finally, my upper spring, I spoke more easily at the table. Panic attacks in class went from once a class to once an entire month. I joined clubs. I approached new social circles. I slowly gained faith in myself. I was unfamiliar with the feeling of self-pride, yet by the end of upper year, feeling anything less than that seemed ridiculous. Another cliché—the people are what make Exeter so special. It would be naive if I were to say I alone made my way to who I am now. In fact, I think it may be just the polar opposite: I cannot tell if the people who surround me, who make up this community, are the inspiration behind who I am, or the architects. The people here are my best friends, my biggest motivators, my competition, and the nameless faces which color my days.

I have run barefoot across campus through torrential rain, explored Exeter, NH with a new sense of freedom I had never felt the previous eight years of living here, gone ice skating in snow boots across a baseball field, cried upon countless shoulders, stayed up on phone calls countless hours, trudged through winter storm Juno to Penang for no reason other than lunch and to say we did it, sung by candlelight with the help of talented friends, said goodbye to those I felt were deserving of staying, jumped into rivers holding hands with my inspiration and supporter, sat outside in the dark on Swasey Parkway with Stillwells to whisper secrets, to listen, and to laugh. Both my internal struggles and the relationships I’ve formed with so many wonderful people, the makeup of Exeter’s campus, have helped to forge what I see as important. Much, if not all, of what I have learned could have only taken place within the unique landscape of our high school, with its unrelenting schedule and demanding expectations.

I think the biggest takeaway I’ve gotten from the past four years is to be spontaneous and to be unforgivingly myself. To the former: of course, I have forgotten so many adventures I’ve taken, so many jokes made, so many plans abandoned, and the origins of so many friendships made. Without spontaneity, where would we be? The organic moments which crop up by simply living play a more significant role in defining ourselves than we think, I think.

To the latter: I have abandoned many of the pretenses when it comes to presenting oneself in an attempt to be a more true version of myself. I have cried in public, I have told jokes I believe to be funny, I have developed a sense of sibi in order to know what it is like to be truly non sibi and find ways to strike a healthy balance between self love and loving others.

I am grateful for the moments I’ve stumbled upon and everything Exeter has shaped me into these past four years. Yes, there has been bad. In fact, there has been overwhelming bad and weeks where I have felt utterly shattered and defeated by my brokenness. Sometimes, I thought, my Exeter experience would be defined by the tears I’ve cried, the breaths I’ve lost, the staggering averageness I accepted feeling. But yes, there has been good. Instead, my Exeter experience is defined by a hazy glow of smiles and hand holding and hugs, of friends who have made me stronger and the overall kindness of this community, of late nights and late papers, of loneliness and togetherness, of tears both out of sadness and radical love. It is important to acknowledge both, I’ve learned. Graduation, now 96 hours away after writing and editing this piece, is coming. Every term of my Exeter career, I have expected to leave this campus with a sigh of relief, ready to move on, out, and upwards. Much to my pleasant surprise, I will miss this place once I leave.