College: University of Missouri
Major: Journalism
I used to park my car—practically in the grass—on Dougherty Ferry. Every early morning, I’d eat my breakfast bar and watch cars pull into the senior lot. For two years I did that, even when the junior lot was available. I still parked on the street, thinking I’d leave quicker. Truthfully, I liked watching the same cars and the same freshmen getting dropped off at the door. That spot felt secluded, like I could hide away until I had to start school.
I would sit there, engine off, windows rolled down, music playing softly, just wasting time. I fantasized about where I’d park if I were in the senior lot—whether I’d be courageous enough to back into a spot on the first try. Would I go to the back row, walk farther but maybe leave the quickest? Park close to the middle and hope there’s no traffic? Or park near the entrance, have the shortest walk, and, if my seventh hour teacher is generous, leave before the bell?
Now I sit here in the senior lot—in the front, of course—and I’ve forgotten all about my freshman embarrassment: being dropped off by my dad every morning, and by the end of the day, begging an upperclassman acquaintance for a ride home, gas money in hand. For three years, I dreamed of parking in the senior lot—more spaces, easier exit, less chaos. I realized I had focused so much on “when I’m a senior” instead of appreciating the present.
I regret not enjoying my other years. Granted, they were never going to be amazing, but I always focused on a blissful final year instead of appreciating what I had. Every year has its difficulties, but if you only focus on the bad parts, you’ll forget the great ones. I won’t reminisce about what high school could have been, and I won’t romanticize the future. For now, I’ll enjoy these last few days before graduation, and my summer, then keep on driving.
So to the underclassmen reading this: don’t dream about the senior lot. Just park your car in the lines—or at least four inches from the curb—and try to have a good first hour.