When my psychology teacher talked about what would hit us second semester seniors the hardest, she said something none of us expected. 

“The second semester of your senior year is full of lasts,” she said. “As someone who has taught seniors for the last 22 years, I can promise you that this semester is a lot more emotional than you would expect.” 

At the time, I remember thinking to myself that this sounded a little dramatic; I probably even glanced over at my friend and gave her a look of amusement. Throughout high school, I portrayed myself as someone who counted down the days to graduation. But now, sitting here with less than 10 days left of high school, I’ve started to cling onto my very own lasts.

From my last first day of school to my last time sitting on the senior deck, soaking in the sunny California weather surrounded by friends I’ve known for almost my entire life, things are ending, and this chapter of my life is closing. My time in high school is coming to an end, and it suddenly feels like life is moving way too fast. 

What I didn’t expect, though, is how many of those lasts I would experience at home. For most of high school, I was always physically home, but I was never really present. I often found myself staying in my room upstairs and studying during dinner time or skipping out on my family’s weekly Sunday farmer’s market runs in order to hang out with friends because I had thought it mattered more. Every time I did those things, I told myself that I would sit with my family next time. I would join them next time. Because, as I naively thought, there was always a next time.

As the older sibling, I’ve always felt a responsibility to maintain the image of a good role model. With a 10 year age gap between me and my younger brother, I grew up feeling watched, my brother’s friends’ parents analyzing my every move. What extracurriculars am I a part of? What colleges am I applying to? Growing up in Palo Alto, these sorts of questions have, naturally, followed me everywhere, and for most of high school, I’ve let them. I put pressure on myself to do well, to make the right choices and to show that I was on the right track. So that was where my focus went. 

A couple of evenings ago, I was sitting in my warmly-lit room by myself, finishing up the last of my economics homework, when my 8-year-old brother knocked on my door and asked me if I wanted to play a board game with him. For the first time in a long while, I said yes. Sitting there with him, moving pieces across the board and listening him talk about whatever 8-year-olds talk about, I realized that I had spent so much of high school chasing this narrow definition of success that in the midst of it all, I never really took the time to look in front of me and be his older sister. 

I’m sad that high school is almost over. I’ve spent almost my entire life living in Palo Alto, and I’m grateful for the friends and people I’ve met here. At the same time, it’s time for me to move on. But in doing so, I’m also leaving my family and my home, and I just wish that I had been more intentional about being present for the people I love most. 

People say all good things must come to an end, and maybe that’s the point. If they lasted forever, we wouldn’t appreciate them. The people in our lives matter, as does the effort we put into our relationships. And even though it’s hard in our busy lives, the amount of time you are able to spend with your loved ones is dependent on your willingness to make the time. 

Play that game with your little sibling, even if it’s only for a few minutes. Sit down with your family for a short meal and have a real conversation at the end of a long day. It doesn’t have to take that long. I learned that the hard way, and I hope you don’t have to.