A lot of doors in my life are closing, I've
realized. There is so much to bid adieu, so much to turn my back on and walk
away from. (Blah, blah, blah. I’m a tad nostalgic, if you haven’t already
noticed. Bit repetitive, too. Sorry.) My childhood is
technically over now, which is weird. My friends are either going on missions or leaving for college. I am a certifiable adult. I could get
married. I could get my endowments out at the temple (a special rite of passage
in my religion). I am about to live on my own. I could just do so much more.
I am no longer a student at Tarrant County College,
which was essentially the closest thing I'll ever have to a real high school as
I studied there from 16-18 years old. Saying goodbye to TCC was as
bitter as it was sweet. I'm going to miss the many conversations I've had with
fellow classmates over warmed Subway sandwiches. I'm going to miss those
familiar hallways I've come to memorize like the back of my hand. I'm even
going to miss some of my professors, the ones who were fair and
befriended us.
My sister Bailey, freshly sixteen, has now been
accepted into TCC and it's like the clock is turning back. I'm helping her get
situated and prepare to start the journey I only just ended, which boggles my
mind. I still remember when I started
at TCC and first registered for all of my
classes, wide-eyed and naïve. It was going to last forever. I was never
going to turn 18 and move on to brighter horizons. I was to be forever sixteen,
forever at home studying at the community college. Time seemed to still.
It’s funny now. I thought time had been stilled.
But I was so caught up in thinking that time would freeze, that it actually
sped in little circles around me and now I’ve gone so far into the future I think I’m a bit jet-lagged. What happened? Is this what the rest of my life
will feel like? Will time just slip away and I will be left wondering where it
all went?
Strangely enough, I think that’s exactly how it
will feel.
This Saturday—May 28th, 2016—would have
been the day I graduated from high school. Had I not been homeschooled past
middle school and graduated early, this Saturday would have been a very busy, very exciting
day for me. I imagine busloads of family would come pouring in. I imagine my
parents would be bustling around trying to get the house clean for the throngs
of houseguests. I imagine I would be frantically picking out a cute outfit to
wear beneath my robes. Oh—robes. A
graduation cap. A graduation tassel. I would walk across the stage and hear
everyone I love shout for me . . . and, as babyish as it sounds, I am still to
this day a little bothered that I’ll never have that.
Truth be told I am a college sophomore. I am comfortable in a college setting and I appreciate the elevated maturity that is found in that kind of atmosphere. I feel quite removed from high school and all that comes with it . . . yet part of me misses the Sarah that never was. The Sarah who does things normally, like graduate from high school at 18, like everyone else. It's always been cool to say that I graduated at sixteen, but I've always felt a little separated from my friends because of it. I don't want people looking at me like I'm different, or somehow other. When I meet someone around my age, I try as hard as I can to not mention where I go to school in fear that I might sound pious or better than them. And then when I met someone at the college older than me, I tried not to mention my age to them in fear that they would look down on me, as if I were a baby.
It's happened so many times I've lost count. I was once humiliated in front of an entire lecture hall. My professor had known my age and mentioned it in front of the class like some sort of joke, and so many people laughed and scoffed as if it changed everything about me. Another time, a girl who had known and liked me all semester long, found out about my age and from then on talked down to me like she was my babysitter. (There haven't always been negative reactions, however. Many people are very understanding.)
There is a certain relief I feel, now that I am eighteen. When I go to BYU-I in the fall, I will be surrounded with people my age and we will finally be on the same playing field. I feel like, now that Other Sarah from the parallel universe is graduating high school, I kind of am too. I am relieved to be conventional now. That probably doesn't sound exciting, as society is always pressuring us to be original and think out of the box . . . but I suppose I'm weird because I just want to be normal. But what is normal, anyways? Normal is whatever you want it to be.
Your normal may have been graduating like everyone else, with a stage and people and camera lights, whereas I simply printed out a diploma and called it a day. Which is okay. Because I finally did have a graduation after all (sort of) just this past Sunday. Our lovely young women leaders set up a beautiful surprise party for the graduating laurels. There were no robes or tassels, but all the love and recognition was definitely there. And you know what? That was enough. More than enough, actually. I reflected on my time as a young woman in the youth program and just how much I'm going to miss everyone, and I got a glimpse into how loved I am and that I will be missed. And I think that's kind of the whole point of a so-called graduation.
Normal is what you make it.
photo cred: Tara Torres
