Though amazing, my high school was not for the faint-hearted. When my guidance counselor saw me for the first time at open house, she jokingly asked my mom if she was sure she didn’t want to transfer me to another school. She commented that I looked like an 8 year-old. Navigating a blend of crazy, cool, smart, harsh, funny, acidic, insensitive, warm, loyal and tactless. High school was parallel to the world I would eventually learn to negotiate, just in a miniature form. Those were training days. Here I discovered the art of war. Life was not about to exempt me from those lessons. I had to find the source of my strength and draw from it in those early days. Here I began to learn to embrace my limitations, face my fears, look failure in the eyes, fall and rise again while still embodying charm, poise, and finesse.
I developed a tough skin. Learned how to laugh at myself and face the tongues that wag with a certain grace. I vowed never to let the opinions of the naysayers and the nonfactors cause me lose a minute of sleep. Someone taught me this , ‘Truth crushed to the ground, will always rise again.’ I learned how to be unbothered by lies that swirl around like wounded birds. I refused to give them space to make a nest in my head. I found out that there were more people who are cheering you on than those who are watching for your demise. So, I found a safe place with those who knew and loved me. Those with whom I could create heart-warming and endearing memories.
Thankfully we survived and thrived – grateful that we lived to mature into version 2.0. For the most part we became better people. Then again, we don’t claim to be perfect. Those days are deeply imprinted in my memory. Today, I’d like to think I am resilient, not easily offended – battle ready in many ways because of those early years. I salute that school on the hill.
***If you survived high school and left with cherished memories – hats off to you. I did!
Restored Hearts 