Personal Narrative: My Transition Into High School

Imagine you are carrying a basket on your head, surrounded by beautiful fruit. Every one you see is a gem, catching your eye with exotic colors and assorted shapes, so—with childlike fascination—you try to collect them all. As the basket gets heavier, and the fruit piles higher, you frantically shuffle forward in an attempt to keep it balanced.

Inevitably, a fruit will fall, and depending on how important it is, you may retrace your steps—or not. Every piece retrieved is a compromise—as you return to pick up a fruit you love, more will tumble down in its place. I have found, through my years of high school, it is the fruit left in the end, the ones worth making sacrifices for, that define me. It was when I realized the importance of letting go, rather than attempting to perch the Leaning Tower of Pisa on my head, I became an adult.

Growing up, I lived without compromise; I believed I could fit the world into my basket and never look back. There was always space for a new club or activity, and it was not until freshman year that my sanity mandated leaving something behind.

It was my favorite sport and one that I had imagined myself playing into college. As my schedule crowded, however, my love of the sport deteriorated. My transition into high school allowed me to explore new experiences. I became an active member of my school’s student-led outdoors club, joined Garfield’s Earth Corps, and even collaborated with a few of my friends to form a woodwind quartet. Each layer brought me great joy but also tremendous weight, which all culminated in a moment where I knew I could not take on any more. The clock struck ten while I was playing my bassoon after basketball practice when I came to a powerful, albeit tearful realization: there was no balance in my life, eventually all my fruit would come crashing to the