Revised: Date TBD
As I find myself queuing in an annoyingly long security line at LAX, I can’t help but notice I’ve chosen the slowest one. It’s packed with travelers fumbling through the “take your stuff and put it on the conveyor belt” routine, and we’re inching along at a glacial pace. Eventually, I can’t contain my thoughts anymore and mutter just loud enough for those nearby to hear, “If we move any slower, we’ll be heading backwards.”
Suddenly, I hear someone call my name. I turn to see a familiar face from high school—Mark, a friend I haven’t seen in two decades. I’m thrilled to see him but puzzled about how he recognized me. “You haven’t changed a bit!” he says, grinning. “Still that witty redhead with a flair for shoes.” I glance down at my dazzling Sergio Rossi sandals, and for a moment, I’m embarrassed to realize I owned something almost identical back in high school. While I’m flattered he remembers, I’m also horrified that my taste seems frozen in time.
Panic sweeps over me. “Oh no!” I think. “I can’t be the same person I was in high school! It was a total disaster! I’ve worked so hard to be different!” This thought spirals through my mind from Los Angeles to JFK. Like many, I reflect on high school with a cringe. My sole aim back then was to blend in and vanish. I had braces, overused hair spray, and was a fan of shoulder pads. I’ve fought tirelessly against that invisible nerd persona. The idea that I might still appear as that same awkward girl is unsettling.
Yet, as I ponder more deeply, I realize high school had its bright spots. I had an incredible group of girlfriends—friends I still long to replicate. The outrageous 1980s fashion and music brought so much joy. I felt as if I were living in a John Hughes film, albeit one where the popular guy never returned my affection and instead, his jerk friends tried to cheat off me in math class.
Interestingly, I still jam out to the same music I loved back then. Morrissey remains a constant in my playlists, and The English Beat never strays far from my speakers. While I no longer sport shoulder pads and penny loafers, my hair somewhat resembles my senior portrait, minus the excessive hairspray. And yes, I’m still that wisecracking redhead who can’t resist buying shoes, just as Mark pointed out. Those formative tastes developed in high school are still part of my identity today.
Perhaps I’m not as different from my high school self as I thought. Maybe none of us truly are. High school marks the first time we start to carve out our own identities and express ourselves. It’s a period when we may experience our first heartbreak and crush, as well as a time filled with dreams about our futures. Sure, those four years can be filled with challenges, but they’re also a unique time of innocence and endless possibilities, even when dealing with jerks in AP math.
So, the next time I bump into an old high school friend, I’ll take it as a compliment if they say I haven’t changed. Reflecting on it more, maybe high school wasn’t so terrible after all. Perhaps I wasn’t either.
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Summary
This article reflects on the notion of whether our high school selves truly represent who we are today. Through a chance encounter, the author contemplates the ways in which their high school experiences shaped their identity, revealing that while we may evolve, the essence of who we are often remains rooted in our formative years.
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