The craziest thing happened today. I got a letter in the mail. From me. Way back when I was in eighth grade, my english teacher, Mrs. Montoya, had all of her students write letters to their future selves. Then in four years, she would send those letters to them at about the time they’d be graduating. To the eighth grade me’s disappointment, I quit softball in 10th grade, I haven’t had straight A’s since middle school, I’ve pretty much lost contact with all of my old friends, and I haven’t had that elusive first kiss. On the other hand, I went to prom, I was scary accurate in my prediction of college choice and major, and I met and made so many amazing friends in my new town over the last four years. I have also done things I hadn’t even thought that I’d do, like race cyclocross, place second at mountain bike nationals, and so much more. However, my handwriting has sadly not improved—it may have even gotten worse. I’m really looking forward to closing this chapter of my life and starting a new one once I step across that stage in my cap and gown.