TISD Senior Perspective
And you have been filled in him, who is the head of all rule and authority. —Colossians 2:10
It can be easy to get caught up in accolades, especially in high school, where there’s an award ceremony, certificate, or title for everything you do. Especially as a senior, someone that everyone wants to recognize somehow before they leave. Especially as a teenager, someone fighting to figure out who they are and who they can be. Officer, HighStepper, smart, hard worker, Class Rep, Top Ten, and more were all labels I fought to obtain, but the older I got, the more I realized that I could work towards these things without putting my worth in them. Now this isn’t to say that there’s anything wrong with celebrating someone’s accomplishments, but remembering that they are not a person’s identity is just as important as it can be difficult.
First up, fish. Before you even step foot in the door, you have a label. You are new, you are confused, and it is obvious. Freshman year is a minefield of firsts, both good and bad. From my first game as a HighStepper to my first time tripping and falling down the Math and Science Building stairs, lessons were learned at every turn. I was taught about more than the school’s layout or biology because I was constantly learning about myself, mainly through failures. As someone who had been dancing since they could walk, I was beyond excited to join my school’s drill team, but as I steadily failed to make dances, despite hours of practice, as well as tears, I found myself questioning my talent and work ethic. However, I reminded myself that my identity was not found in my abilities. I continued to work hard, and even though it wasn’t paying off just yet, I knew it would eventually. The next year, I made every dance, and later, I served as Senior Lieutenant. This experience helped strengthen my grit and lessen my reliance on the opinions of those around me. While I can still be a people pleaser at times, I can recover from failures and find the bright side if I am willing to look hard enough. After my first semester as a high schooler, I was met with an entirely new set of challenges as I unfortunately only got to experience half of that first year because COVID-19 made spring break into an endless quarantine, yet it turned out to be one of the best things that ever happened to me. While I would still get rid of it if I could, the pandemic had the unforeseen effect of forcing me to slow down. Months of rest and devoted quiet time changed my life. I began reading my Bible every day and for longer periods of time than I had attempted before, and I felt more comforted and loved than ever before despite being surrounded by a culture of fear and isolation. I grew closer with my family as I traded constantly heading out the door towards school, dance, and club meetings for bike rides and dining-room dinners. Though every normal was thrown into question, I had reminded myself of my anchors. While school would eventually end, I had other things to focus on that would last an eternity.
Next up was sophomore year, and it tested the identity I had in my friendships. Despite the physical separation brought about by the pandemic, we had all stayed in touch thanks to technology. Now that we had reunited, we were determined to spend as much time together as possible regardless of distancing or masks. On one hand, my friend group was planning monthly hangouts and always talking, but on the other, I was going through a massive fight with one of my closest friends. I struggled to understand our miscommunications and explain the principle of issues. I learned the most important thing about fighting with anyone: you can only control yourself. Even though we needed our relationship, I focused more on myself. I knew that some distance might be healthier as even a slight disagreement had blown up so much.
Most importantly, I learned that identity is not who other people see. It’s not what they think about you or how they treat you. You can decide your own identity, and I knew mine was not found in those around me. Though it wasn’t an immediate fix, sophomore year taught me that the group you hang out with can also easily become a label, but I was determined to forge an identity that was solely mine.
Junior year you receive a new label: upperclassman. Even though I supposedly knew what I was doing, the year was filled with struggles I had never experienced with such magnitude because they were aimed at my academic pride. I thought my new title was the end of my “firsts,” yet a single class brought me so many. For the first time in my life, I was heading to a tutor every single week, sometimes on multiple nights. I had my first B for a semester and then year, officially killing my 4.0 GPA. As a “Morriss kid” -yet another label I proudly displayed- I felt that math was something I was supposed to be good at. I was extremely discouraged and constantly frustrated or disappointed in myself. Fortunately for me, I learned a lot about asking for help. My tutor was one of the kindest people ever, with a knack for explaining things in a way that easily made sense, even if I had to rework a problem multiple times. Allowing someone to help me felt like I was giving up at first or admitting that I wasn’t good enough, but it actually eased much of the pressure and stress I had placed on myself. Sleepless and tearful nights forced me to remove my value from the A to F scale. While my grades remained extremely important to me, and I still struggle with thinking I should be perfect, I wish I could tell my past self that everything worked out regardless of that one class. In the end, hardly anyone even knew or cared that I had had such a tough time in a class barely anyone took. Though trying not to take refuge in a label that you are proud of is incredibly humbling, it produces growth because it forces you to find other aspects of yourself to celebrate and acknowledge. While I would always prefer a higher grade, I have had much less pressure from myself this year, and it has helped me avoid burnout and beating myself up over things that I cannot help.
Finally, senior year. A label all of its own denoting a year of change and asking who you’ll be after leaving everything you’ve ever known. It is especially difficult because it’s filled with both the earning and shedding of numerous labels. You are asked to wrap yourself up in just a few hundred words for colleges and scholarships, and the spring semester seems to be filled with a ceremony or banquet at every turn. Even “Class Favorites,” silly as they are, still attach labels to us. Accomplishments are celebrated, but it can begin to feel as if everything you’ve worked towards is ending. You give up an identity from sports, clubs, organizations, and even your school because all of it is suddenly the past. In a way, you feel stripped of the past 13 years as you pack everything up and leave, never to walk the halls as the same person again. However, as creatures of habit, we all begin searching for labels in what is to come, hoping to find the next box to shove ourselves in. We stop referring to ourselves as Tigers and begin emphasizing our future education by proudly displaying its mascot and colors. We prepare ourselves for rush and search Instagram for different student life groups. While it’s fun to look to the future and reminisce on the past, nothing can be more important than placing identity and value into what we know is eternal. For me, that is only one thing. Though I’ve had plenty of lows and struggles, I have always known I can take refuge in Christ. He is where identity and strength come from because He is the only constant. My college search was certainly stressful, but it only got clearer the more I prayed and listened for the answers. The best advice I can give anyone, especially someone in high school or someone feeling lost in their identity, is to anchor yourself to the word of God because it will never fail, change, or leave you behind. It is the only thing that is perfectly constant and true because He is the ruler of it all and knows you so perfectly.
