I both made my athletic debut and then promptly retired because of one pivotal elementary school P.E. dodgeball game. As I was pelted by a slew of rainbow colored balls, my genetic lack of coordination was confirmed, and I (sensibly) gave up on any athletic dreams.

 From then on, I categorized myself as a non-athlete, and vowed to never attempt sports again. I told myself that evasion was the way to go – it was easier to acknowledge and adhere to my own clear limitations instead of risk failure.

During my first year of high school, I attempted to follow this mentality. I strived to be utterly ordinary and to never deviate from the carefully blueprinted pattern of my personality crafted by outsiders. I made few new friends and I stuck to the activities that were familiar to me, because it was what had worked in the past.

But as I grew up I also grew to be dissatisfied with the confines that had been set for me. Just because I had categorized myself as quiet, studious, and unimposing, didn’t mean that was all I was restricted to for the rest of my life.

So, I allowed myself to try do the unexpected.

Through my time on the Bark, I discovered my voice, and that it was okay to express an opinion, even if I stood alone in my beliefs. Most of all, I found an activity and community that allowed me to slowly redefine myself on my own terms.

For the first time, I found myself producing work about people and things that I truly cared about and wanted to share with the world. I proudly wore my Bark sweatshirt on publication days, because I was finally a part of something that I was happy to be a part of.

But, Bark has also introduced me to the inevitable flip side of passion. I’ve experienced more than enough frustratingly futile arguments to hold me over for a lifetime. I don’t wish to disclose the number of times I’ve driven home at ungodly hours on a school night pondering why I continue doing what I’m doing, but I can attest to the fact that Coldplay really does make it better.

So, as I am kicked to the proverbial curb of high school in a mere six days, I remind myself to remember perhaps the most valuable thing that I’ve learned in my time at Redwood: you can’t rock the world without breaking a few hearts, getting your heart broken a few times, and maybe getting hit one too many times by a dodgeball.