The most important memories I’ve made in high school are the ones where I felt uncomfortable. 

Like when I walked into freshman English on the first day, looking around desperately—but in vain—for a familiar face. Or when I showed up to tennis tryouts, wholly out of place and abashedly intimidated by the six-foot-tall upperclassmen towering over me in the locker room. Or when, bleary-eyed and coffee-drunk, I crashed in first period chem, my head resting on the stoichiometry test I was supposed to have studied for.

I believe those are the moments that mean the most of all. Why? Our natural instinct is to suppress our awkward faux pas and situations that made us want to hide in a locker. If we don’t remember them, it’s almost like they never happened at all. But unlike Schrodinger’s cat, those memories happened whether we look back or not. 

For each of those incidents, I can remember a story of personal growth. I met one of my closest friends in that English class. One of those upperclassmen became an invaluable mentor for me during my college search. Maybe, in four years, I might well be on my way to earning my chemistry degree.

It’s easier said than done, though. In each of those scenarios, high school threw me into discomfort until I stumbled into a way out. But sometimes, we’re given the option to walk away and recline on the familiar. I’ve made that mistake.

If I regret anything from school, it’s the excuses I made to hide from the things I really wanted to do. I wanted to sing classical music, but that would’ve taken too much time. I wanted to play cricket, but I found no one to play with. I wanted to compete in geography competitions, but I heard that geographers don’t find jobs. 

If only I’d stuck with each a little longer, I would’ve put aside my insecurities just enough to realize that my problem wasn’t time, space or money. I fell prey to comfort. I was so swept up in the hurricane of high school that I passed up what made me happy, because it was the easy thing to do.

So to the future graduates—the ones who think they’ve got school figured out, the ones with no idea what they want to do in life, the ones who’ve already made all their friends, the ones doubting whether they’ll ever fit into a group—my advice is the same. 

Today, we’re at a crossroads. Just a step away from the Algonquin lies an unforgiving world. So don’t pretend that you can escape unfamiliarity. 

Instead, remember those situations where you didn’t know how to act. Internalize those bizarre, mixed emotions. Embrace your discomfort. Pursue what excites you.