After four years of rediscovering myself in the amalgamation of identities that is Arcadia High School (AHS), it’s finally my turn to add my two cents about the high school experience via The Quill’s Senior Column—and then, embark to do it all over again at Berkeley. In writing this, there are a few memories that instantly spring to mind: the elation of East Coast hockey trips and the dread of airport layovers; becoming an “American Scholar” in AP Lang; hunkering down in Seattle, Washington, at the height of the pandemic; more recently, the stats videos and portal astrology of college admissions; learning to fail; and a tendency to obsess over the unnecessary and an eagerness to neglect the present. There is much to be gained as I step into my future self, but there is also an element of loss.

Graduation is an uncanny notion to me. In many ways I feel nothing; I am more than ready to venture into that unknown next stage of my life. I don’t dare regret the past, but even so, there is an almost melancholic awareness in moving on. A word to describe it, if ever there were one, is charmolypi (the joy that emerges from the middle of sadness and vice-versa). The best way I can convey the sentiment is through a similar journey I am experiencing with sports.

When I first donned hockey skates at 4-years-old, I fell in love with what I consider to be the greatest game to ever grace this earth. Since then, I’ve won a state championship (and lost many more), had a meniscal repair and learned not just to skate but to walk again, watched Miracle on Ice and had coaches try to replicate Herb Brooks’ magic tirelessly, devoured junk food at 1 a.m. before a 6 a.m. game, ran suicides due to hotel noise complaints, and dressed outside in Minnesota blizzards because of Covid guidelines. I’ve found friends in the most unexpected places from a scouting combine for top prospects where ego and grit seem to be your only companion to the kid who tries to kill you every time you step on the ice and is an equally devout pacifist off it. And I’ve been inspired by plenty, a player with one arm or a teammate who works three jobs just to pay the outrageous price of Tier 1 Travel Hockey.

In choosing to prioritize education over pursuing my dream of playing NCAA intercollegiate sports (hockey players play until age 20 before college recruitment), I have struggled with losing something that has come to represent so much of who I am. Much like my high school experience, there’s a lot to regret, and yet, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. To lose those moments of pain and pleasure would effectively change who I am. While I am ready to move on, it also makes me sad, because there was a boy who used to skate tirelessly in Lake Tahoe and who couldn’t imagine a tomorrow without playing hockey. I find something beautifully human in that contradiction.

Though in many ways I can relate my experiences in hockey to high school, in countless others I find myself at a loss for words. I am not the ideal Arcadia student. For a long time, I’ve tried to calibrate my life in the way Arcadia encourages perfection. In an environment of so many brilliant individuals, I convinced myself that if I wanted to find meaning in my life, and a perception of self-worth, I would need to change the world. An ostracizing sentiment. For someone who is fascinated by the law, that means attending a HYPSM school (Harvard/Yale/Princeton/Stanford/MIT), graduating top of my class; then, Harvard Law, Moot Court, and the Law Review, clerking for a feeder judge, clerking on the Supreme Court, landing partner, and so on until SCOTUS nomination. Pretentious?

AHS’ greatest flaw, in my eyes, is that sometimes in pursuit of greatness, a prestige-centric mindset eclipses all else. The pressure to succeed comes from many places, including students, parents and peers. However, high-performing schools also inadvertently perpetuate this toxic culture. A consensus study on advancing health equity among American children published in 2019 by the National Academies of Sciences, Engineering, and Medicine added “high achieving schools” to their list of “at-risk” groups. All this aside, I would be an unreliable narrator to suggest I didn’t buy into it. Too much of my time here was spent concerned with my future. Too much like Ricky Bobby, life was about being first.

I’ve been experimenting with a theory of my own. That is, the best part of any activity is not the finish line, nor its inception, but instead the point of uncertainty. Consider a race– you’re winded, your quads are burning, and every fiber in your body is screaming. Will you continue? If you do, will you succeed? These questions are inconsequential because right now anything is possible.

Therefore, if I had any advice it would be the following: be honest with yourself, don’t be afraid to explore your interests, challenge yourself in uncertain areas, and find a community where you are valued. If you want something, pursue it regardless of what anyone thinks, and if you don’t, realize it’s pointless to let others dictate your actions. Forget about college for now, AP courses and standardized tests included. These will ultimately be irrelevant to your future success. Focus not on what you should do, but on what you want to and are willing to do. After all, life is only meaningful in living it.