I was welcomed into the Columbus Academy community at the accomplished age of four, and from that day forward I sported my khaki skirt, polo shirt (sin logo), and brown Merrell’s compliantly, as was expected. Academy was an odd environment, to say the least, but I fit right in; presumably because it was all I’d ever known. I was a model Academy kid, selected to tour prospective families at the annual Open House, scarcely defiant of authority, and just as “in Quest of the Best” as every other over-achieving college-prep student on the PreK-12 campus.

Freshman year, in many ways, was the calm before the storm. My 4.2 GPA and varsity letter masked the detachment I felt when thinking of the place I’d spent most of my childhood. I would sit in the carpeted hallway, rarely bothering to pull my nose out of whatever work I had been tasked with, fully unaware of the fact that every kid in the hallway was doing exactly the same. Whenever another kid left, it often took a few months for the rest of us to notice. We were all too busy worrying about making room in our vacant minds to cram the maximum amount of information, preparing for nothing more than regurgitation. We were “in Quest of the Best.”

I fell ill my sophomore year, missing upwards of two months of school. I tried to catch up, but I only seemed to be getting further behind. I spent every waking moment consumed with school. I didn’t smile much anymore. My parents wanted me to change something, because nothing would get better unless I made it happen. They suggested I leave Academy. I told them no, I wouldn’t leave. I was an Academy kid through and through. I told them that I wouldn’t let myself quit.

Quit? My parents were shocked to hear that word come out of my mouth. Why couldn’t this just be moving on? And why had it been so important for me to be an Academy kid in the first place?

Eventually, I came to the conclusion that leaving was in my best interest, so I did. Now, I am still an Academy kid, and I’m still myself, but I’m also an adaptable kid, and a resilient kid. Above all, I am a kid that doesn’t need a community to define who I am. I understand that I can belong to more than one community, and I don’t need to abide by every expectation to be accepted. When I visit Academy, I am greeted with open arms and friendly smiles. No one is resentful or condescending: people seem genuinely happy for me. I look around those same carpeted hallways and see those same kids with their noses glued to pages and their stress levels sky-high. Malcolm Muggeridge once said, “Only dead fish swim with the stream.” Now, I understand that there is nothing wrong with being an Academy kid, but I would still rather be me.