Graduation

Like many people who are around a similar age as I am, a large portion of my friends and acquaintances are either graduating or are attending graduations for their respective schools which they have already left. I've heard speeches and seen tears and laughed alongside people I've known for a majority of my life up until this point. The speeches were inspiring, the tears were bitter-sweet, and the laughter was sincere. For these individuals whose lives are at a cross-road where the future is vast and uncertain, ceremonies and camaraderies such as these are full of symbolism, and the memories made wont be easily forgotten for at least the rest of the summer. Probably.

There has been an inundation of excitement emanating from the young, energetic minds on an exodus from their daily school-time routines. Mission trips to Africa and South America, vacations to exotic islands and secluded suburbs in the European countryside, preemptive pilgrimages to new college towns, and a slew of Summer parties and trips to lakes and beaches of all types. Frankly, all of these activities sound like a blast, and I'm a little jealous. I've never been out of the country, I'm not rich enough to take spontaneous trips to beaches, nor would my full-time job allow for it, and I'm not attending a university, nor do I have any reason aside from adventurousness to travel to another town. I realized all of this a few days before I attended the graduation ceremony for the high school I attended from 7th to 11th grade. For five years, I spent at least 8 hours a day in the same building with most of the same people, working on plays, writing papers and failing math tests; you know, average high school stuff.

My senior year, I didn't go to that same school. I didn't attend senior skip day, because I was home-schooled, and I was no longer part of the same clique I used to be in. Most of the people who were my closest friends and most trusted colleagues hadn't spoken to me in months. I didn't sit at a lunch table surrounded by familiar, smiling faces every day. I didn't go out to dinner at fancy restaurants because I wasn't invited to dinner at fancy restaurants. This was no fault of my peers, because I was the one who left them. I struggled with that for an extended period of time, because being away from my best friends was miserable.

I wasn't ever the loud popular person in school, simply because it doesn't go along with my personality. When I was no longer going to school, I'd make random visits to see my friends during lunch. Walking into the same building I'd spent most of my young adulthood in, I'd find myself in the same position I knew I had been in all along: very few people yelled my name and ran across the room to greet me, like I had seen done to what I'd define as "popular" kids time and time again after then had been gone for only a day, or less. Nobody took pictures of me and uploaded them to social networks, captioned "So glad this guy came to visit today!" or "look who I got to see! Miss you already!" I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was, because when you're 13, or 14, or 15, or 16, or 17, or 18, or even 19, most of what drives you is being accepted and loved by your peers.

In high school, I formed some great friendships with wonderful, lovely people, whom I still enjoy the company of today. One of whom once challenged me to a thought battle, which spawned this blog! (Fyredog gives me the please.) These were the people who ran across the room and greeted me. I was accepted and loved by most, but I wasn't loved exceptionally; I never achieved the type of popularity that I'd imagine most high schoolers, including myself, dreamed of. Maybe it's because I didn't have the confidence, or maybe it's just because I didn't have the right hair color, or the right connections - these are the things I'd tell myself, at least. Something extraordinary happened, though: I grew up. As a matter of fact, I'm still in that process. (You are too, in case you didn't realize it.) I've grown up slowly at times, and at other times I've grown exponentially in a short period of time, and still some other times I've retrograded into a dummy and done things so stupid that a million apologies couldn't repair the damage. The point is though, that we've all done a lot of growing up. I was still clutching onto something though, somewhere deep in mind. I still had this selfish desire to become popular.

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I smiled and walked briskly through the crowd. I would lock eyes with an old friend, raise my hand to wave, grin, and stand at a distance while a lake of bodies floated carelessly in the space between us. Some old acquaintances would make eye-contact and then immediately return to their prior conversations. Others didn't make eye contact at all. At one point in time during my high school career I prided myself on knowing the name of every full-time and part-time student (there were only about 130 of us, so it wasn't hard,) and, attempting, at least, to engage in conversation with most at least once a week. As I looked around the reception area into the eyes and at the smiles and heard the laughs of a multitude of students dressed in uniforms who were foreign to me, I realized what would probably be considered a very obvious fact.
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I went there that night to watch people who I had once called my underclassmen and women walk across a stage, symbolically, accept a diploma, symbolically, give speeches, clap, cheer, and shiver with nervousness (symbolically). The graduates walked off the stage and the spectators got up and shuffled down the hall. Probably half of the names on the list of graduates were unfamiliar. The fact that I was there that night made no impact, positive or negative. When I walked out the doors, got into my car, and drove home, I didn't have anyone on my mind in particular I missed talking to or was disappointed I didn't see. I was no longer trying to win the love and acceptance of my peers. This could either be because I grew up, or because they are not my peers any more, nor have they been for two years. The obvious fact I had realized presented itself in the most lucid and glaring manner I can imagine: I am not in high school anymore.

I went there that night to watch people who I had once called my underclassmen and women graduate, but I left there that night graduated.

So, congratulations, graduates of 2014. You've accomplished great things thus far, but don't get comfortable, because much, much better things are to come. And congratulations, graduates of high school everywhere, people just like me, who left the building long before they really moved on. Here's to leaving the past in the past: it's where it belongs, and if you carry the past with you, you wont have any room to build a future. I've known some of you for most of my life, and most of the rest of you I've known for a few years at least. I heard your inspiring speeches, I empathized with your bitter-sweet tears, and I laughed sincerely alongside you. Thank you all so much for the memories. Now, let's get out there and make some new ones.