As a child, I happily went along to every single event my older sister Joy was a part of at Winthrop High School. I was so immensely proud of her, beaming as I would scream her name. I was lucky enough to have a front-row seat to my sister’s high school experience. I vividly remember attending her promenade and crying during her final performance at Dinner Theater.  At 10 years old, senior year felt like a mirage in the desert to me. It felt like a hurdle I would never jump over, a mountain I would never climb. I can still feel the bleachers under my denim dress, my mother’s pride radiating from her smile. I remember posing with the sign outside of the school and my cousin saying, “Elaina’s next.”  As the flash of the phone camera blinked, I thought, “Wow, I’m next. But that’s not for another 8 years. I have so much time”. I had no idea how fast those 8 years would fly…

Times of transition have always been a struggle in my life. I like feeling comfortable in my routine and enjoying the order of the ordinary.  I am content when I am comfortable, resisting change at every turn. For many, a new school year marks the beginning of a new chapter, a fresh start. I love beginnings, but I feel that you need to acknowledge the ending before you can jump into the next chapter. Simply, change stresses me out. Logically, I understand that the only thing you can count on is that change will appear again. The transition into middle school was less than ideal. My days were spent crying and shaking with fear. I didn’t feel ready to enter the big scary middle school. In my mind, I didn’t belong in a school that big.  It was impossible to me that I was actually old enough to be attending school in that building.  During one of many, many conversations with my mother on our couch,   I remember fully shutting down. When she asked me what was wrong, I said, “I’m starting middle school, I’m going to be 13 next summer. Then it’s high school and college. I’ll be 18 soon.” She told me to take a deep breath, to which I responded, “Don’t you get it? Entering middle school means it’s the beginning of leaving my childhood behind”. 

That summer, I made every attempt not to let my childhood become a thing of the past. I wanted to prove I was still a kid, not the pre-teen I actually was. As high school loomed, I wanted to pause time. I didn’t want to grow up, my hold on the world I was accustomed to living in tightened.   Now, three years later, my brain is going through a similar experience. Except this time, it’s not being afraid of jumping from the Gorman to the ACT or from using the middle school door to the high school door. It’s a fear of what comes next because I can say with certainty a year from now, my life will look very different. 
Like high schools across the country, Winthrop High School has officially congratulated and said goodbye to the class of 2025. As underclassmen, my friends and I have always talked about the silence of the school without the seniors. We’d sit around at lunch talking about how empty the cafeteria felt or how the hallways were significantly quieter. Now, our conversations have consisted of how much smaller our classes are without the seniors and which teachers are still assigning work.  As juniors, we have been asked to participate in a “Senior Step-Up Week”- a week purely designed for us to step into the role of being seniors.  The spirit week is supposed to create a sense of camaraderie among the class. 

As I sit on my bed, attempting to capture my feelings about this milestone, my “Step-Up” shirt stares back at me. The light blue shirt hangs over my desk chair and seems to be the only thing I can focus on within the chaos of my room.  Honestly, this moment is one I once again do not feel old enough to be experiencing. Looking at my “step up” shirt, I’m flooded with many emotions. I am nervous to see what the world has in store for me. I’m emotional thinking about actually leaving the home I’ve built here. I’m nostalgic about the memories my friends and I have experienced together. I’m excited for the opportunity to try and change the world. I’m in disbelief as I truly do not feel ready to have the title of  Senior. I’m worried because what if I’m not prepared for the changes to follow? I’m grateful; grateful for the people I’ve picked up along the way and grateful to have grown up in this small oceanside town. Lastly, I’m grateful that there are the kids I will receive my diploma alongside.  

So why did I decide to write about this as my conclusion to junior year? Why was this the last piece I wanted to publish before officially being a Senior?  Honestly, I think it’s because I wanted to talk about all of the strong feelings that go along with “stepping up.” During preschool, I had the opportunity to move up to the grade above us. My mother advocated for my needs and wrote a letter to the superintendent that I belonged in this grade. I was born a month early, in August rather than September. With the cut-off date for Kindergarten being Sept 1st and my due date Sept 23rd, I was not supposed to be on the planet yet. I’ve always heard this story, and while I was writing this piece, it came to mind. I wrote this with the intention of discussing the emotions of “not feeling ready.” When my mother wrote that letter, I wasn’t developmentally ready to move on to kindergarten. Honestly, I’ve never felt ready to tackle most of the big changes that have happened in my life. While I still don’t feel ready for senior year, maybe deep down, I’m more ready than I think.  In the same way that when the time came, I was ready for kindergarten, maybe I am ready for senior year, too. Maybe I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. So here’s to feeling unsure, uncertain, and “not ready” for what the future holds. And here’s to maybe deep down being more ready than we think we are!