Ending Epiphanies

I found myself perched on a barstool at my kitchen table a few Saturdays ago, face to face with an old family friend of mine. As a Stuyvesant alum and current Harvard student, she bore both years of fatigue and crimson semi-circles beneath her eyes. And after spending two years here, where wearing a hoodie branded with an Ivy League name on College Apparel Day is often seen as worth more than the years of education we’ll depart with, I couldn’t help but seek advice.

Her words certainly provided me with valuable insights that have since shaped my view of the Stuyvesant experience. They just weren’t the ones I anticipated.

When I first asked about her Stuyvesant years, I was comforted by the fact that her experiences were, to a large extent, akin to mine. She recalled late nights that spilled into daybreak spent hunched over her Physics textbook, memorizing facts and formulas she knew she’d soon forget. She recalled cheap coffees from the cart near the 2/3 station, the ones she needed to chug to keep from nodding off in the Spanish class she only liked because it was an easy 99. She recalled the bliss she felt when she saw that three-digit number scrawled in red at the top right corner of her exams, a frivolous quantifier that seemed the central trial of her worth. In short, she recounted with a bit of laughter and nostalgia all the languors and simple pleasures that accompany the ordinary Stuyvesant experience.

What was troubling, though, was her response when I asked how she spent her weekends.

“I can’t remember doing anything but studying,” she muttered, after a few silent moments with a pensive look on her face.

She said that when she came to Harvard—a place bustling with social justice activists and passionate young researchers—she felt lost, as if her college experience were just a big game of catch-up. Everyone around her seemed deeply passionate about whatever they took interest in; they somehow knew exactly why and how they intended to change the world. They weren’t fixated on having a 4.0 GPA or a 99 average like she was—their minds were set on far more significant goals, and they were pursuing them avidly. It seemed that the flawless transcript she had earned at Stuyvesant would no longer suffice. In fact, the grades she received should never have been what mattered most. She began to detail her Stuyvesant years once again, but her words, once lightly twinged with nostalgia, were now laced with deep regret.

And as this school year draws to a close, I’ve begun to reflect on my own endeavors. I’ve realized that, aside from my articles in these pages, through which I’m able to discuss the issues that fascinate me, I rarely pursue anything that is of interest to me. I’ve reminded myself time and time again that Stuyvesant is about the numbers and getting into college, that my passions can wait until I have more time. And I’ve told myself daily to put my head down, stay focused, and keep pushing—it’ll all be worth it when I finally make it through, right?

But from the family friend who stood in my shoes just a few years ago and now stands where I aspire to be, I’ve learned that high school isn’t an escape room.

Interests shouldn’t be brushed off—they’re worth developing. Invest yourself in that which excites you. Stop praying for the teachers deemed by others to be “incredibly light” and sulking when you receive those who aren’t. Be genuinely curious about the subjects you’re taught; your takeaways from a class should extend beyond a single line on your report card. Because in the grand scheme of things, a perfect high school average is only temporary. What will always remain, however, is the work ethic you’ve built and the passions you’ve nurtured. That is where the purpose of education lies—not within the numbers.

Thus, my sophomore year at Stuyvesant has taught me quite a few things. I’ve learned how to graph sine equations, about nuclear fission and fusion, and how to use the past perfect subjunctive in Spanish. More importantly, though, I’ve learned that it’s foolish to wish away the next two years of my life, just as it’s foolish to prefer an “easy A” class to one that poses fruitful intellectual challenges. We have the potential to effect real change and the opportunity to be the future we’d like to see. We can’t squander it. And we won’t.