When I was 14 years old, I had just entered high school and was deeply nervous. I had only entered my new town about two years ago, and I had little familiarity with its people, culture, and social networks. No matter how hard I tried to connect with others, I felt like a perpetual outsider, unable to break into the shell of such a tightly bonded world.
To compensate for my social failings, I turned to academic performance and success, a major point of connection in the world of teenagers. If I could impress my students and teachers with a range of skills and intelligence, my latent charm would emerge, and I would finally be noticed. People would respect me, and I would finally be invited into that communal warmth I had always dreamed of finding.
Unfortunately, no such success came. Despite my best efforts, I continually felt like I was always making up for lost time, both in school, social activities, and my extracurriculars. I was a strong student, but no valedictorian. I was a decent debater, writer, performer, and presenter, but no awards or recognition arrived from Model UN, DECA, chorus, or from my teachers. In social activities, it took me Herculean strength to maintain the profile of a "nice girl": never treasured or befriended, of course, but nice, perfectly bland, always. As much as I loved the setting of my new school, there still seemed to be a void in my life following me, no matter how hard I tried to fill it and leave my awkward past behind. It felt insurmountable.
On one particularly exhausting day, I slipped away from my corner of the cafeteria, took my lunch to a near-empty classroom, and ate quietly. I could not bear the buzz and joy of the communal space in comparison to my own isolation, and the classroom felt, for once, like a refuge. To my surprise, a few minutes later, a teacher from a neighboring hall arrived before I could leave the room unseen. Instead of reporting me or driving me away, however, the teacher sensed my distress and chose to sit next to me to talk, something very few teachers had been willing to do for me in my life.
Though I remained silent in denial for a few minutes, I eventually opened up. I could not stop the loneliness from spilling out of me. I had not realized how much I had needed somebody to see and hear the pain I had been experiencing, and before long, intricate details and personal shames emerged. Though I was embarrassed to tell it, I could not hold my secrets in much longer. Throughout it all, my teacher sat with me, holding my hand and giving me space to tell my story without a semblance of condescension or frustration. It was oddly peaceful and cathartic. I had never experienced anything like it.
Finally, after I had finished my long, rambling speech, my teacher spoke, too. He told me of having experienced similar struggles in his life and how he had felt isolated from the small town he had grown up in, how loneliness crushes a soul. He told me that I was normal for feeling such things, and that I should never be ashamed of who I had become, because there was always a chance for one's life to improve. Most importantly, he encouraged me not to tie my self-worth to my performances, for the two were separate and did not determine who or what I could become. There was always hope, he assured me. There was always hope.
Later, he encouraged me to come by his study hall if I ever felt lost or needed support. I spent many hours in that room with others, watching movies, playing games, and talking more freely than I ever had before. A classroom I had wandered into by accident became a room I chose on purpose.
It has been three years since my fateful interaction with my teacher, and though he has since moved away, I still remember his words. His respectful and hopeful demeanor continues to inspire me to treat others with similar love, and I appreciate him being one of the first teachers in my life to speak earnestly and kindly to me, not a force beyond me. I have since stopped tying academic performance to selfhood, and I find myself more able to find the good in others and in the world. To this day, I remain one of the more optimistic members of my friend group.
Hope can be hard to come by, but my teacher allowed me to find it everywhere in my world, and I will never forget him for that.
