High school is supposed to look a certain way. At least, that’s what we were told. It’s the golden-hour glow of football games, the perfectly timed coming-of-age moments and the kind of memories that feel cinematic while you’re living them. And sometimes, it truly was like that. There were fleeting memories–laughing too hard in class, late drives after games, sitting in parking lots–that felt idyllic, almost scripted.

But more often, it wasn’t.

High school, for us, was not a constant highlight reel. As the seniors of the Tideline class reflect on the past four years, what stands out isn’t perfection, but the complexity of it all. It was uneven, unpredictable and at times, deeply uncertain. It was growth that happened so slowly we didn’t notice it until we looked back. It was figuring out who we were, not all at once, but in fragments: through classes we loved, activities we stumbled into and moments we didn’t realize would matter until much later.

And sometimes, it was disruption.

“For the first two days of the Palisades fire, I didn’t know if my house was still standing,” Co-Graphics Editor Zacharie Sergenian said. “The fire maps that I kept checking didn’t update frequently and my zoom camera turned off that night, leaving us in the dark.”

There was a clear before and after. Routines we thought were permanent suddenly felt fragile. The ordinary, like walking to class, sitting next to the same people every day and knowing what tomorrow would look like became uncertain in ways we hadn’t experienced before.

“The fires changed what high school meant to me,” Co-Graphics Editor Emma Hall said. “For a few days, I didn’t know if my house had burned down. My family couldn’t go back, all we could do was wait. I remember refreshing my phone, checking maps, listening for updates, trying to prepare myself for either outcome.”

In those moments, high school stopped being about what we expected it to be. 

“I learned how little control we have,” Hall said. “You can assume tomorrow will look like today, but sometimes it won’t. I learned how to sit with uncertainty instead of trying to immediately fix it. I learned how quickly normal can disappear, and how important it is to appreciate it while it’s here.”

But if there was loss, there was also something else. Something less loud, but just as defining.

Community.

“In the days that followed the fire, I witnessed strangers at my hotel sharing hugs, tears and stories of loss,” Managing Editor Audrey Smith said. “My cheer team brought me huge bags of clothes. Countless friends and classmates reached out to check in and support me… What it could not take was our community and the connections we have with each other. That is what remains when everything else is gone.”

We learned that high school isn’t a place. It’s not a campus, or a schedule or even the routines we held onto so tightly. It’s the people. It’s the way others show up for you, and the way you learn to show up for them.

And somewhere in between all of it–the uncertainty, the small moments, the unexpected changes–we grew into ourselves.

Not all at once. Not perfectly. But surely.

“Transferring was a scary change, but so crucial,” Copy Editor Lila Bigalow said. “Early into my freshman year I doubted my choices, but reflecting upon my past four years, I realize how much those struggles helped me grow… I learned it is never too late to try new things.”

That might be the closest thing we have to advice, even if it didn’t feel like advice at the time. High school doesn’t have to look one way. There is no single version of the “right” experience. There is only the one you build, piece by piece, often without realizing it.

So pay attention to the ordinary days, to the people around you, to the moments that don’t feel important yet. Don’t wait for something big to happen to recognize what matters.

As high school went on, many of us found ourselves stepping into roles we once looked up to: leading teams, running clubs, mentoring underclassmen, going from participant to president. With that came responsibility and true full circle moments.

And now, we’re leaving.

Not with everything figured out, but with enough to move forward. We’re carrying excitement, but also uncertainty. We’re ready to move forward, and still not quite ready to let go. And it turns out those things can exist at the same time.

Maybe that’s part of growing up too: understanding that you don’t have to resolve every feeling before moving on. That it’s okay to mourn what you’re leaving behind, even as you prepare for what’s ahead. 

We think Andy Bernard from The Office explained these conflicting feelings, especially for the era of high school, the best: “I wish there was a way to know you’re in the good old days before you’ve actually left them.”

High school was not perfect. It was not always magical. But it was formative in ways we are only beginning to understand.

And maybe that’s enough.

Sincerely, 

Tideline’s Class of 2026