On May 11, 2022, I sort of cried in front of a room full of people. My high school had a yearly tradition in which seniors had the opportunity to give a speech, called a “chapel,” in front of the entire school and talk about whatever the hell they wanted to. It’s this bizarre, wonderful tradition where almost every senior has the opportunity to articulate, in 15 minutes or less, what their high school experience has taught them.

Up there — and, really, in every moment of your life — you are simultaneously the oldest you’ve ever been and the youngest you’ll ever be again. Senior me saw the world with extraordinary clarity, or at least that’s the impression I gave in my chapel. I remember poring over sentences, trying to streamline every emotional beat in order to communicate as much as pos

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