As I find myself in an unusually long security line at the Southwest terminal of LAX, I can’t help but notice that I’ve chosen the slowest line possible. It seems everyone around me is struggling with the straightforward task of placing their belongings on the conveyor belt. Progress is almost nonexistent. Eventually, my frustration bubbles over, and I mutter to those within earshot, “If we move any slower, we might as well be going backwards.”
Suddenly, I hear someone call my name from behind. I turn to see Mark, a high school classmate I haven’t seen in two decades. I always thought he was great, but I’m taken aback to realize he recognized me. “You haven’t changed a bit,” he says. “Still the same witty, red-haired shoe enthusiast.” I glance down at my sparkling shoes, realizing I had a similar pair in high school. While I’m flattered that he remembers, I’m also disconcerted by how little my tastes have evolved.
Panic washes over me. “Oh no!” I think. “I can’t be the same person I was in high school! That was a time of tragedy for me. I’ve spent my entire adult life striving to be different!” This line of thinking continues throughout my flight from Los Angeles to JFK, spiraling into anxiety about how I might still be perceived as that same awkward teenager.
Like many, I look back on high school with a mix of dread and nostalgia. My main goal back then was to blend in and remain unnoticed. I had braces, overused hairspray, and was a fan of shoulder pads. I worked hard to overcome my invisibility, so the idea that I might still be seen as that same girl is unsettling. It raises a troubling question: Am I still that same awkward teen who faced challenges like late development and early braces?
However, as I reflect further, I recognize that high school wasn’t entirely negative. I had an incredible group of girlfriends—friendships I still yearn to replicate. The vibrant 1980s fashion and music brought their own joy. I often felt like a character in a John Hughes film. Yet, in my version, the popular guy didn’t come to my rescue; instead, he and his friends tried to get answers from me in AP math or vandalized my house after a party.
Interestingly, I still listen to much of the same music from my high school days. Morrissey and The English Beat are constant companions on my playlist. While my fashion has evolved away from shoulder pads and penny loafers, my hairstyle resembles what it was in my senior portrait—thankfully, I avoided excessive hairspray back then. I remain the witty redhead who can’t resist buying new shoes, just as Mark pointed out. These tastes were shaped in high school, and they still influence my identity today.
Perhaps I’m not as different from my high school self as I believed. High school is a formative time when we first explore our tastes and identities. It’s often when we experience heartbreak and become someone’s first crush. Those years are filled with daydreams about our futures and who we want to become. While they may be marked by insecurities, they’re also a time of innocence and potential, despite the presence of those who might take advantage of us.
The next time I encounter an old high school peer, I might just take it as a compliment if they say I haven’t changed. Upon further reflection, maybe high school wasn’t as terrible as I thought. Perhaps I wasn’t either.
In conclusion, our high school experiences often shape who we are, leaving lasting impressions that can either be embraced or challenged as we grow. For those navigating their own journeys of self-discovery, resources such as this article on home insemination and fertility supplements from experts can provide valuable insights. Additionally, the March of Dimes offers excellent guidance for pregnancy and home insemination.