Since middle school, I’ve been waiting for this year, senior year, to come. I distinctly remember at the start of middle school, counting to myself how many years have passed and how many years I have left in public education. In sixth grade, seven years until the end of high school seemed like eternity.

But now that I pause to think yet again, I realize that these years have really flown by. 

I’m sitting here, trying to figure out what I’m writing in my college essays, and I realize that after this year, nothing remains truly certain. Every year in the past, I could expect at the end of the school year to show up at school again in two and a half months, but as of right now, I can’t say that anymore. 

I can no longer say that there is a clear path ahead of me. There are so many directions to take, sometimes I find it hard to make a decision for myself, because, for once, the future is quite truly in my own hands. It is what I make of it. I can only hope that I don’t and won’t waste it.