Senior Reflection

After Winter Gathering, I cleared out my dark purple “everything” folder: any and all papers, whether from my Honors Government class or from an elective I took last term, end up in its plum-colored embrace. I questioned what I wanted to keep—a particularly insightful reading assignment, or maybe a test I did well on? Do I recycle these papers, or stash them away for a different day? Would I ever use any of this? 

Every kid is familiar with the dreaded question that parents ask on school commutes—what did you learn today? As the end of my high school career inches toward me, I ask myself this on a larger scale. I want to proclaim I soaked up all the knowledge Lawrenceville offered me, but that simply isn't true. Returning my trusty folder into my worn-down backpack, my heart was struck with worry: had I wasted my Lawrenceville experience? 

I have been connected to the Lawrenceville School for nearly 10 years.  From the age of seven, I attended Allegro Shows and read TFA articles, marveling at the size of the Bunn Library and longing for the day I could call Lawrenceville my own. When I was accepted into the Class of 2024 I couldn't wait to begin my own journey. Unfortunately, I spent much of my freshman year in Zoom classes. Still, I was convinced that the great Lawrenceville experience I awaited for so long would surely happen.

Over the course of III Form, I applied to be a RLC leader, a RCI, a Hutchins Scholar, House President, and House Vice President, and was rejected from all of them. Combine those rejections with the worst grades I ever received, and you could understand why I truly believed I was failing Lawrenceville. Day after day, I felt beat down by the very School I hoped would mold me into the ideal student. By the end of my III Form year, reality sank in—I would never achieve the same accomplishments I watched my older siblings and their friends attain. 

The illusion of what I expected Lawrenceville to be only began to fade when I changed my mindset. I could not relive the experiences of my older siblings; I needed to create my own (realistic) goals and work in small steps to achieve them. This School forced me to learn patience, and helped me discover exactly what I enjoy learning. As I opened up to other students about my difficulties here, I realized that nobody is immune from feelings of doubt, inadequacy, and failure. It is humbling to learn that even the best students, athletes, and musicians question their own undeniable talents—but these are the very feelings that make us human.

The great Lawrenceville experience should not be defined by grades or leadership positions. My time at this school showed me that striving for the perfect resume will only leave one unsatisfied. At my lowest points, it wasn’t an empty title that lifted me up – it was the people. Lawrenceville taught me that it takes a lot to sustain a community: it requires teachers who are willing to go the extra mile and friends who are always there for you. What made my years here so meaningful were the times we laughed a little too loudly in the library or ate overpriced slices of pizza in a TJs booth. My friends taught me more than any class ever could, and I look forward to a lifetime of friendship with them. These invaluable moments are impossible to shove in my messy purple folder, but I will keep them forever.