The Risks of Romanticizing High School: Advice from a Disillusioned Senior
No crazy parties. No sneaking out. No late-night drives. After reading all the juicy young adult novels and watching cinematic coming-of-age films in middle school, I thought each day would be an adventure. What happened to this idealized adolescent experience? For four years, I yearned for these opportunities of youthful bliss: a food fight in the cafeteria, a first kiss at the homecoming dance, a race through the empty hallways. Even as time continued to pass by, I still clung to this idea of false hope. However, as fourteen faded into fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, and now eighteen, the rose-colored glasses have gotten knocked off my face with a brutal blow of disillusionment.
In a way, I regret hyper-fixating on my high—not to mention unrealistic—expectations for high school. As an overly-optimistic and naive freshman, I viewed the world through the lens of books, movies, and television series like Perks of Being a Wallflower, The Breakfast Club, and Freaks and Geeks. I suppose a majority of the melodramatic media that I consumed during my formative pre-teen years warped my perspective. The visceral spontaneity, recklessness, and passion of the high school experience made me covet my teen years long before they would even reach me. With each page, soundtrack, and movie scene, I spiraled down into this mystical adolescent fantasy.
Each year, I would tell myself, “This is the year,” and I would blindly believe it too. Except I watched youth slip away through my fingers, somehow escaping my grasp each time and drifting on to future high school dreams. What made me believe I would live life just like the teenagers running across the book pages or dancing around the television screen? The romanticization of high school comes with risks—namely disappointment. But, for me, this sense of disappointment mixed together with a bit of guilt after I realized that I forgot to appreciate the important yet often overlooked high school moments.
Focusing on fantasy rather than reality left me dissatisfied with my life. In the hours dedicated to completing homework, studying for assessments, and participating in extracurriculars, I would feel unsatiated, wondering when the teen spirit would kick in. I scoured my high school experience for something wild, something rebellious, something electrifying, just something that would make me feel alive. Yet, I felt betrayed—not knowing by what or who—as if I have been fed a pretty lie all my life just to face the ugly truth.
I have learned to stop blaming myself or romantic young adult authors or idealistic movie directors. Perhaps, this beautifully-constructed vision of high school is nobody’s fault. After all, these are works of fiction, not fact. As a senior, learning to accept this concept has reoriented my view on high school. As I reflect back on my memories, I start to value some of the brief pauses in the daily mundaneness. While I may not be jumping off roofs or spray painting the school, my teenage experiences are just as valid—perhaps a bit more safe and legal too.
Instead of dwelling upon unfulfilled dreams or unmade memories, I reminisce upon the small moments in time, the moments when I am consciously aware of my happiness. Something about that intimate state of euphoria engrains the memory in my mind forever. If I can make my own memories, then I can write my own books, direct my own movies. I can make my life my own work of art. Art is everywhere.
Art is dancing in the middle of Ferris street with your friend on your walk home. Art is pouring your heart out on the hallway floor before orchestra practice. Art is running around spraying Silly String in the Menlo Mall parking lot. Art is having a midsummer picnic on Long Branch Beach. Art is devouring a slice of Lo Chiatto’s pizza with strawberry bubble tea after school. Art is belting your favorite 2000s songs with your friends at karaoke night. Art is sitting on a bench at Roosevelt Park with mango Italian ice and watching the ducks on the lake. Art is having a pancake breakfast in your friend’s backyard. Art is taking your friend thrifting at Plato’s Closet for the first time and finding them the perfect outfit.
I cherish these simple adolescent adventures. As my four years come to an end, I feel reassured in knowing that each moment was worth it. Every subtle smile or hysterical laugh reminds me to revisit these memories. This is my book, my movie, my high school experience.