A letter from Jun 3rd, 2021

Dear Future Sam, It's been one long day. Not that it was a bad one, it was really good, but it was long. I'm going to be brutally honest when I say that today, June 3rd, 2021, was one of the best ******* days ever. When I was younger, I used to ask myself what it would be like to graduate. To be sitting in robes adorned with medals and cords and sashes, knowing that your future is set and the last thing to do is say goodbye to the people you've grown up with. What's weird is, for the longest time, you spend year after year imagining that moment. It's something that seems so distant, almost unattainable even, but here I am. And here you are, all those years later. Today Sam, you graduated. You flipped the final page on another chapter of your life. You closed a door, and by doing so you have opened a new one. You sat down with your mom, talking with her while she straightened and curled your hair. You closed your eyes when she put that silver eyeshadow on you, and you could feel yourself tear up when she told you how proud she was of you. But, tears are for after-parties. You ran out the door, heels in hand, your robes and cap in the other. You were almost late but dad is a crazy *** driver. You put on your white valedictorian gown and you ran in wedges to catch up with your friends on the baseball field. You took pictures and you laughed, and it took a long *** time until they had you line up. It's been a long day, as I said. I'm having trouble putting together the right words for the emotions I feel, but for what it's worth, they're all good. When you walked out there, it was a little bit of a wake-up call walking into a stadium of people clapping, cheering, calling your name. The flower arches, the flags in the wind, the orchestra playing the classic "Pomp and Circumstance." Everyone in the line is whispering about how they didn't expect this much, and you didn't either, but you also didn't have the words to express your happiness. All you did was finger the notes to the song like you did every year before this one. Because now it's your turn, and it's real, and suddenly, it's a lot. But it was good. It felt nice to be appreciated, to be told that your hard work was worth it, and that it's your turn in the spotlight, even if it's only for the few seconds they call your name. Fourteen years of learning to read and write were all worth it. You've proved to not only everyone, but to yourself, that you went above and beyond their expectations. You're wearing white, after all. It's the best way of telling you that you're worth it. Those late nights of studying, the endless hours of school days, the exhaustion of academia; it was all worth it. Another thing you thought of as a reward was honestly your friends. It's one thing to see your friends in everyday clothes, or even a prom dress, but to see them in scholarly regalia brings out some sort of camaraderie you didn't know you had. You're proud, and relieved to know that you aren't the only one who dedicated themselves to something so worthwhile. Something that I regret was not saying goodbye to everyone. Graduation comes and goes so fast that you don't really recognize how fleeting it is until it's all over. Sure, the ceremony consisted mostly of calling out names, but when you realize that graduation is the last bit of high school you can cling onto, you want it to go a little longer. What you really want is that last hug goodbye, or that last picture with that certain person. Losing someone you've met through school is like losing a limb; sure you can go on without them, but it's just not the same. I guess that's what life is kind of about though. Saying goodbyes. It's rough but it's what has to happen. And if it matters at all, I'm glad my high school year ended the way it did. At least I got a graduation. At least my family got to watch me walk across that stage. My dad got to record his daughter completing a life goal, and my mother got to know that her sacrifices were worth it. And in a way, I think I made myself proud by doing that for them. I know how hard they worked to get me where I am, and without them, I would not be walking across that stage in valedictorian robes, if at all. I am forever grateful for what they've done for me. I love them. The best part, however, was moving our cords from the right side of our hat to the left. The grand gesture we were all waiting for. The official moment we knew that we could move on with our lives. And when the confetti cannons burst strings of color into the sky, our caps joined them shortly after, dotting the sky with black, white, and gold. It was pure joy, and it was beautiful. The rest of the ceremony was a blur. It wasn't really a ceremony, but I ran to hug my friends and felt tears ***** at my eyes once more when I saw my mom coming towards me, arms outstretched, telling me I had done a great job and that she loved me. It was something I needed to hear after a long fourteen years. To hear your own mother tell you something was truly worth it is unlike any other feeling, ever. Now, it's time for me to get a little sappy. I left a part of me on that field. I left behind memories, good and bad, on the ground, hiding under bits of confetti and the legs of plastic chairs. The stadium, where I played my first and last soccer games, tore my ACL on the 35 yard line, and spent countless hours on day after day, was now one of my last images of high school. That stadium, filled with families and students and people, hugging and crying and telling each other they loved each other. I threw my cap in the air as a girl, and when it came spiraling down in the wind, I caught it now as a woman. I stood up from my chair, and I walked off the turf field with my friends and family by my side, leaving behind a younger version of myself sitting there, watching me, waving goodbye. I leave my high school now. I leave behind football games, teachers, pasta parties, practices, classes, and a home I've grown to love in four years. I leave behind a lot of things, but above all my childhood. There are no children where I am going now; only young adults like me, who choose to take a leap of faith into unknown waters, to see if they will be able to handle the twists and turns that make up the seas and rivers of life. It's scary, but I know that I have what I need to go forward now. I have my family, friends, and fond memories of this place. I have an unshakable determination to forge my own path and ensure my own place in this world. I have courage to fight for what I want and the strength to secure it. I have love for my family, including my wonderful boyfriend Justin, who I know will continue to support and guide me endlessly. And above all, I have faith that things will turn out just fine. I've made it this far, haven't I? See you in 4 years. Sincerely, Sam