I cried on the first day of 6th grade. I cried harder than I had ever cried before, and maybe harder than I ever will. I was moving away. All my friends—they’d be gone. My home? Never to be seen again. My school… it’ll be like I was never there. My parents broke the news to me over the summer, and I felt nothing then because it wasn’t real yet. I couldn’t see the train barreling down the tracks. Sitting in class, looking around at everything I had to lose, I broke down. My face felt hot and red. I crumpled. Tears poured down my face. I couldn’t bear this loss. 

         This was the fifth time I’d uprooted my life. Time rolled on, and the moves kept coming—I didn’t have the power to change my reality, but I did have the power to change my point of view. I started to believe it’s easier not to be upset about moving when there’s nothing to lose. Why bother making roots in the first place? Why not just stay lonely? Moving hurt, so I learned to detach. Strategic, but imperfect: Every next move hurt a little less, but I was still lonely. I was so hyper focused on softening the blow of the next move that I ignored the good stuff in between.  

         It took the most recent month of sitting alone in the cafeteria for me to wake up. What had I done to myself? I was alone and miserable. I couldn’t go on like this. I mustered the courage to course-correct. I forced myself to talk to people, make connections, fully experience and see where I was for once. When I felt awkward, I remembered what had happened when I detached myself. Suddenly, social embarrassment seemed minor. I made more friends than I ever had. I was taking root. I joined clubs, went to parties. I wasn’t watching from the sidelines anymore. I was a part of something. I was taking root. 

         My renewed curiosity extended into academics too. I criss-crossed subjects, rejected limits, and explored whatever I fancied. Freeing my mind showed me the power of disciplines folding into each other. History is forever changed by developments in science, and scientists make decisions on what to study based on their culture. Developments in mathematics coincided with the evolution of art in the Renaissance. These areas of study would be meaningless if they were detached from one another, just like my detachment from the world around me left me empty. Early this summer, I started further this intellectual pursuit into philosophy, literature, and history. 

         I let myself enjoy my personal renaissance, but knew I couldn’t freeze time. I had three, maybe five years here if I was lucky. A scattered childhood taught me that time is fleeting. I started to actively appreciate the nature around me: the local pond, home to swans and turtles, is a favorite place of mine to relax and reflect. Walks became my outlet for when life felt like too much; I had the power to enjoy life in the moment. I explored the roads, trails, and streets around me just to see where I’d end up. I’d already won socially and unlocked academically—now, I felt truly acquainted with my community.

         I’ve come a long way from habitual detachment. I still can’t change reality, but I have the power to adapt my perspective. Now, the only way to live with uncertainty is to take in everything while I still can. I explore, appreciate, and bask in the experience.  Temporary as the next four years may be, I am looking forward to diving in. College is all about community. I won’t detach myself in the face of the life-changing classes, clubs, and people that await. I’ve wasted enough experiences. I’m all in.