I have never felt completely comfortable here.
I traveled halfway across the country to attend Andover in the fall as a new lower. My first term, I struggled to find friendships as effortless and meaningful as the ones I had left behind in Fargo, North Dakota. I failed my first chemistry quiz and reacted as though my world had momentarily capsized. I realized that the brilliant ideas running through my head in world history were not regarded as “brilliant” by my teacher.
I’d lived away from home before, but it took my coming back from winter break to realize that Andover was a new home, not just a new school. I was depressed for days; my confidence took a pounding, and the work kept coming.
There has also always been a part of me that is attuned, if perhaps not worried about, how I am perceived by my peers. The usual Andover workload comes with the stress of many papers, standardized testing, college,and on top of all that, an emphasis on public image. No one is immune to it. While that piece of me has more or less disappeared over the years, I doubt it will ever leave me completely.
Andover has tested me time and time again. I go from school to practice to clubs to a night of homework. I repeat that routine until the weekend, when I take just enough pictures to make people believe I have something of a social life, and then get ready to do it all over again.
It often feels as though my teachers, coaches, and peers always expect me to be enthusiastic and ready to go all the time. All these external pressures at Andover, plus the pressure I put on myself, result in an unwavering drive to impress. And that drive is exhausting.
To adapt to the constant stress, orat least to prioritize and bullshit through the rest, is an essential life skill that Andover has taught me, and for which I will be forever grateful. Over the years, however, I have also learned how to find and make time for moments of comfort and friendship.
Too often, we overlook the importance of friendship, equating it with childhood innocence. In a world consumed by resumes and individual successes, we overlook the therapeutic qualities of laughter and social interaction. Friendships are based on trust. Trust guarantees a stronger relationship, but if broken, ensures greater heartbreak. It is a vulnerability that many of us are not prepared to sacrifice. We avoid the emotional investment required for meaningful relationships. By desensitizing ourselves, not only do we numb the pain, but also the gratification.
Andover has help me understand this. Here, I have realized that happiness is only real when shared with others. If I were to wake up with all the material goods in the world, they would mean nothing if I had no one with whom to share them.
We instinctively seek validation in nearlyeverything we do; it is human nature. We short-change ourselves, however, when we try to replace real relationships with time spent in study sessions or on Facebook.
Nothing could ever match the hug that Elana King-Nakaoka gave me after my disappointing nordic race, Emma Khan’s squeal of excitement after I presented my CAMD Project, or the effortless and often conversation-less brunches I have shared with Natalie Kim and Katie Williams on Sunday mornings. Rachel Murree listens to my fruitless venting late at night, and Kai Kornegay is always ready to discuss the big ideas.
My friends are constants in a perpetually changing world. Whether I have just given a speech, performed on stage, or ran a race, my friends’ encouraging words confirm the success of my achievements and offer faith in my resilience after failure.
What I’ll remember most, years from today, are not the tests and the grades and the readings, but rather the friendships I made along the way. I have finally found a sense of belonging in a community that has taught me more than I ever thought possible. It has barely been effortless, but that is what makes this school Andover.
_Harshita Gaba is a three-year Senior from Fargo, ND._
