Two years, nine months and eleven days ago, I was a small 12-year-old with bangs and a Superman shirt sitting on an ugly carpet in my new school, on my very first day of middle school. That was the very beginning of my journey, of our journey. A road that seemed endless at times, covered in trash, and at others covered in wildflowers. But, it turns out, as is true for any endless journey, an end did come. And here we stand now, our path fading into the dirt, with nothing but open, barren land in front of us and lush forest behind us. Now, I stand here in front of all of you today, and I couldn’t be more different that that person I left behind, rotting on the road behind me. This change I owe to the people that I met along the way: My teachers. Guest speakers. Parents. Classmates.
There is something about being forced to spend time with a small group of middle schoolers for multiple days in the infinite wilderness that changes a person. On 7th grade outdoor education, our entire class bonded in ways that only bones, oatmeal and bathtubs could do. In 6th grade, if someone had asked me about what I was like, I would have said that I adapted to my environment, changed how I acted when I was with different people. But there was something about that trip that brought about a change in that trait. Norah, Julia and I must have spent hours wandering the woods around our campsites. On one of our voyages, we found a small pile of bones on the forest floor. While we searched for more bones, each of us clutching a deer leg or rib, we came across a field. The only way I could describe it was beautiful. We found ourselves on a steep incline that pointed toward a pink sky bursting with light from the setting sun. Mesmerized, it took minutes for us to look away, but once we did, we spotted a white bathtub on the hill above us. We were astonished: we had just made a discovery to remember. So, as the grass rippled at our feet, we faced the sun as it set over the green mountains, and clutched a bone among the three of us. Each of us held some part of that deer leg, stared at the sunset, and promised each other that we would never tell anyone about this moment because it was so special. That promise, of course didn’t last. Eventually, the entire class had stuffed themselves into the bathtub, and, as we made peace signs and smiles, took one giant selfie. From that moment on, the connections between each of us became stronger than they ever had.
That moment, that connection, changed what it felt like to be around my classmates. After that, I felt safe to be who I am now: the person I am meant to be. Today, I wouldn’t call myself someone that changes along with their environment, I am now true to myself. I owe that entirely to the Headwaters class of 2017. Later that year, in the debate unit, by debate team of Jacky, Rowland and I worked our butts off for two weeks. We were so confident that we would win that debate, so confident because we had worked so hard. We got crushed. But we lost together, and, if anything, it brought all of us closer. That horrible loss that at first seemed to be unbearable changed my life for the better. I was encouraged, by my classmates and my future champion debate partner to join the HWA debate team. That small partnership of Jacky an

d I turned into one of champions. It never, never would have happened without my classmates’ support. The person I am today could not exist without that passionate love for debate, and, at the root of it all, my classmates are debate partner are the ones that made all of it happen. The mastermind.
Here we stand, on the edge. I stand here, my toes touching the end of the path, my entire past behind me. I carry with me parts of each and every one of the people that stand before you today. I am changed because of them. Now, I am sure of who I am, who I want to be, and who I might become. They have created the forest that lays behind me, been an essential part of my transformation. But now the forest is behind us. Headwaters Academy is gone, left in the grass. Now, all we have left to look at is openness. Endless possibilities. 2 years, 9 months and 11 days ago, this would be terrifying. But now I have the bravery to face tomorrow: the first day of the rest of our lives. All of our futures, and all that comes with them, lay ahead of us. All we have to do is leap.