Photo: ZoeMall on Pinterest

Photo: ZoeMall on Pinterest

Kamya Sanjay, Editor-In-Chief

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Three weeks into senior year: I have already been lulled into a particularly monotonous rhythm. After rising at 5:50 like clockwork, I navigate semi-automatically through a series of poorly executed tasks, chugging from a lukewarm mug of coffee with one hand as another does my mascara. As I coast down Hull Street- sun scorching my poor retinas- a playlist hammers at my ears from the aux. Tomorrow, for some miniscule feeling of variation, I might try a podcast; but for today, the deep thrum of bass speakers rattles my windows as I pull into the Maggie Walker parking lot. I’m almost certain you can hear it from outside; volume at 23, that faint thump-thump-thump that echoes in crisp morning air. Echoes loud and empty in my head. Much different from my slow beating heart, sedated by the uniformity of routine.

It truly feels like I’ve been in high school long enough for days to bleed into years. The reality is that this journey has only been three years long- hardly a blip on the radar of a lifetime. But I’m moving into the season finale of a period of drastic and formative change. Observing freshmen walking to their first day of classes, I don’t feel any pressing, bittersweet nostalgia. I have a hard time categorizing the feeling; a sense of disembodiment, perhaps, thinking that the young woman that will walk out of Maggie Walker’s double doors next June would never recognize the girl that once shuffled in.

It would be a lie, despite various ordeals and exhausting tribulations, to claim that I have had a poor experience in Maggie Walker. This school has brought new interests to life within me and nurtured them into full-blown passions. I’ve studied under some of the most remarkable, insightful, and engaging teachers that I will ever meet. I have imbibed a spirit of service, embraced my burgeoning ambitions, and even made mortifying mistakes. Every stepping stone to my growth and development as a student and individual has only been augmented by Maggie Walker’s characteristic community culture of boundless enthusiasm and perseverance.

Which is why I am disconcerted to feel how I feel now, at the beginning of my senior year. I feel a cloak of complacency stifling me- lulling me into a feeling of false comfort. Routine is an old love of mine, for it keeps me active and engaged and allows my mind and body to exercise, which always invigorates me. Nowadays routine feels like asphyxiation; my energy diminishing, my thrill for the day-to-day subsiding like low tide or the setting sun.

Perhaps entering the homestretch of this three year period has exhausted me, dulling the light of my vigour. I want to feel an ardour for competition, a spirit of inquisitivity, and the thrill of experiencing something new. I suppose that in this final year I ought to foster a deeper appreciation for the learning environment that has cultivated my zeal- rather than letting experiences chance upon me and then dictate my personal growth, as if I’m some third person observer to my own intellectual and emotional development. I will seek out the bizarre. I will seek out the exhilaration of spontaneity, the discomfort of the unknown, and the beauty of novelty.

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