Sinusoidal nature

Life is a rollercoaster. This is something I've learned since freshman year, coming to a pressure cooker environment that I've come to know as "high school." This colossal experience consists of moments of highs and equally important, low points. Yet being here over the past four years has taught me something invaluable: the humbling nature of being at a low point. It's a moment that washes me in emotions, confusion, frustration, and sincere desperation. But a low point acts as both a torrent and a respite. It's both a point of reflection and a point of inflection. 

But if life's highs and lows are sinusoidal, then aren't we bound to come across a low after a high? This is something I've also grown anxious about over the years. Whenever I experience a period of prolonged happiness, I fear the pain that's bound to come. I see it lurking around the corner, waiting for the moment to crash upon the bliss that made me too comfortable for too long. This way of thinking has caused me great anxiety over the years. I've always been cautious to declare happiness and to indulge in joy. I'm scared that a low will pounce upon that opportune moment to send me into even greater pain if I do. 

Lately, I've been trying to change the way that I look at lows. I believe this is the long-term solution to getting over my anxiety. As I wrote earlier, I've found lows to be some of the most humbling moments of my life. It's a time when things fall back into perspective and when I begin to see myself clearly in the grander scheme of things. It's a time when failures help me reset, find ways to adapt, and come back better. And given the sinusoidal nature of life's highs and lows, I'm starting to believe that life is about being humbled over and over. And that each time, we are given the opportunity to fall deeper or come back stronger. 

Until you cross the bridge

"Until you cross the bridge of your insecurities, you can't begin to explore your possibilities" -Tim Fargo

Tomorrow

In-person classes commence tomorrow, as our 10-day quarantine ended this weekend. I'm struck by how much time has passed since I've been in a classroom with people. This evening during our dorm meeting, we literally addressed the process of returning to class in person, something we would have never talked about in previous years. There's now a new need to prepare backpacks early, to charge computers the night before, to leave the dorm 10 minutes earlier to walk to the classroom, to wake up an hour earlier to get breakfast. All of these habitual actions that have been ingrained in us for years seem to have disappeared during the pandemic. Readjusting to in-person classes will certainly be something on my mind for the next few days and I will need to plan out my days better to accommodate walking times. 

But when I think back on my experience as a remote student this past year, which is no insignificant amount of time, I'm amazed by how the pandemic has thrown out the window everything we knew as students and simplified life. Gone are the days where I would schedule my day so that I managed to log onto my computer 2 minutes before class started. Gone are the days where I could eat lunch whenever I pleased because I was constantly at home. But I'm excited that life is returning to some sense of normalcy and where school days are blocked out as class time, sports, and study hours. 

And more strikingly, this is my last term at Andover. My last term as a high schooler. After quarantine on Friday, I was able to spend a lot of time walking around campus. I noticed that when I walk through campus, it appears different and new ideas burst through my mind. It's not just school work, tests, and social events that bog me down, but rather, savoring my last moments on this campus as a student, my last moments as a high schooler, and the fact that I'll be departing from this place that I've grown so familiar with over the last four years. Something I've realized during my four years is that I've rarely stopped to capture the beauty of the campus. I'm not sure whether being a remote student for an entire year has helped me appreciate campus more or whether the pull comes more from reconciling with my last term as a student. However, there are certain "views" or angles of campus that I've particularly enjoyed over my four years. Perhaps not even a view, just a particular juxtaposition of buildings and landscape that exudes a warm, happy, and grandiose sense in me when I walk by. For my last couple of weeks as a student at Andover, I'm going to spend some time capturing photos around campus when I walk by places that elicit this positive, peaceful feeling.