I have my regrets: classes skipped, tests that went unstudied for, and maybe the several hundreds of hours of Super Smash Brothers that I played with my wing (still not sure about that one). It isn’t like those things keep me up at night, though. My time at the Academy is the highlight of my life so far; any regrets that I have about it are minuscule in comparison to its myriad positives.

I never had a dull moment while I was there. I ran the Film Club, traveled overseas, went skiing, took a guitar class, and participated in too many other activities to list. To me, though, the most enjoyable and important part of my two years living in Florence Schneider Hall was that I socialized to an extent there that I never had at my old school. Because of the way that everything was set up, I was constantly surrounded by people with similar interests and personalities to my own. From long conversations about movies, religion, relationships, and stand-up comedy, to the late nights playing Smash Bros. (definitely not a regret now that I think about it) and frantically searching for pizza change, my time with my friends is (and probably always will be) the most cherished part of my Gatton experience.

It is still hard to believe that only two years ago, our class received emails proclaiming “Congratulations! You have been accepted to the Carol Martin Gatton Academy of Mathematics and Science!”

A new chapter in our life was just beginning. We excitedly told our friends and teachers that they wouldn’t see us much next year; we were going to a new school. At first, that’s all Gatton was to most of us: a new school, albeit one that would afford us opportunities of which we could only dream. We would get to take courses that would challenge us, perform research with amazing WKU professors, Study Abroad in places from England to China. Free college credit, free meals, free housing; it was almost too good to be true. It was only once we actually got there that we learned Gatton was not just a school, but a place where we could truly belong.

The best part of Gatton, as any student will tell you without hesitation, is the community. Although our studies were a big priority, even more important was creating and maintaining our relationships with each other. Between hours of video games, last minute study sessions, and staying up all night with friends to walk to Waffle House as a group in the morning, lasting friendships were created. We bonded through group messages, wing and weekend activities, spending accumulated meal plans on brownies and cheese sticks at Papa Johns; the list goes on and on. Some of my best memories of Gatton are of just sitting in the third floor common area and talking with the people I cared about.

As I sit in my room typing this a full four weeks after graduating, I still have trouble coming to terms with the fact that my time as a high school student is over, that yet another chapter in my life has been closed. I think I can speak for everyone when I say that these last two years have been some of the best of my life, and as our class prepares for the next part of their journey, spreading across the country like data in a scatter plot, there is one thing that I know will remain true.

There will never be another group of people quite like the residents of Florence Schneider Hall.

Author’s Note: Even though I drastically overshot my recommended word limit, this senior reflection still feels poorly abridged. The past two years are too precious to be watered down or distorted, but here they are: flat, two-dimensional, appearing to you in a standard, professional font. This reflection hurt to write. I have chosen to tell you about a few lessons I picked up over the course of my Gatton career, since it is a place of learning, after all.

On my first Sunday at the Academy, I woke up at 7AM to do my laundry. I did this for two reasons:

1. To establish good housekeeping habits
2. I was afraid of other people seeing my clothes. It seemed like such a personal thing to view or handle someone’s clothing without their preparation or consent.

In those first few months, I felt a self-imposed pressure to remain poised. I was somewhat terrified to fall into candid situations, to share myself entirely, jaded from more than a decade spent among peers who took such moments as opportunities to attack. With time, I would see that my Gatton family would never be anything but loving, nothing but supportive and sweet. They forgave my shortcomings and turned a blind eye to my clothes during accidental meetings in the laundry room. They would later be some of the most prized people in my corner, but I could not have anticipated that without knowing them first.

I continued my early morning laundry habits each week for much of my Gatton career, but my definition of “early” loosened over time. As I made room for movie nights, group guitar sessions, and church visits in my weekends, my Sunday morning chore began later and later, but I felt none of the remorse I expected. I gave the Gatton community my trust, and it gave me an hour or two of extra sleep on Sundays.

It also gave me the freedom to become an artist of personhood, to create a working draft of my self-portrait, with smile lines from the field I love and freckles of my personality. I kept a copy in my back pocket, ready to refine it at any moment, and I started to show it to the people around me. They witnessed my unstoppable bouts of laughter, my midterm grade breakdowns, and my college application worry. More than that, they understood. I was given both the permission and the responsibility to feel and to share my emotions as fully as possible. With time and Pokey sessions (meetings with our Asst. Director Dr. Pokey Bowen), I began to carve out the cheekbones of my childhood, and while the Gatton Academy is not known as an art school, it was there I learned how to draw a self-portrait worth studying.

I am happy to say that in my last week at the Academy, I did my laundry on a Wednesday afternoon. Most of the machines were full. Later, I carried my clean clothes back downstairs through a common area filled with people. I even stopped to talk. If I learned anything at the Gatton Academy aside from the curriculum, it was the art of improv—of dynamics, of growth. I learned to revise and to define but to do so fluidly, to not take myself too seriously, to give way to a transparent process—like thinking out loud, like proofreading, like letting someone else in the room as you move your laundry—and I’m proud of those accomplishments, because those things are honest. For me, for a long time, they were also very difficult. I’m not perfect at any of them now, but my Gatton family members were fundamental mentors and observers of my progress.

Looking back on them now, I cannot replicate the fear I felt in my first weeks. I do not feel any of the embarrassment or the anxiety. I feel only grateful, and so indescribably, unbelievably lucky that I was able to come into my own in the presence of such incredible people. I feel honored to have witnessed my classmates’ growth and thankful that they facilitated mine. I doubt I will meet a group with such passion and concentrated personality ever again, and so I’d like to close my senior reflection by simply appreciating my fellow seniors. To my class, know that I am always available by way of Facebook or a phone call to listen to your life triumphs or your Tuesday nights alike. Thank you for putting up with me, for hugging me, for helping me with Physics. Thank you for your support and for your listening ears. Thank you for being the beautiful, quick-witted characters that liven up all of my stories.

And, probably most of all, thank you for sharing the laundry room.