The Gift of Reflection

I wasn’t quite sure how to start this speech. I was considering doing some slam poetry, but I could never top Jack’s at the senior retreat.

But as I look at everyone here today, I am reminded that there are countless things we take for granted in life, such as family, good Mexican food, and San Diego weather. However, one gift we often overlook is the gift of sight.

Yes, there have been days when we all wish we couldn’t see, like those days when that math test grade just hurts your eyes or when you helplessly watched the other team score a goal or win the race. But then there are the days when we see the people we care about succeed: when we watch the academic league almost, almost win, when we see a game-changing sack or watch a record-breaking long jump, or when we are graced with stunning dance routines performed by our classmates for the entire school. It is in moments like these that make up for all the bad.

Together, we’ve had the privilege of seeing each other grow up. We’ve gone from a rambunctious freshman class that had more than a few talking-tos from the administration to a group of 120 student leaders who have left their own, unique mark on the Country Day community. And now, we are all looking to the future, about to embark on our journeys after high school.

Looking ahead is something we, as seniors, have done all too often. We have spent the past five years looking ahead instead of seeing what was in front of us. At the end of eighth grade, we looked ahead to our daunting high school futures, filled with homework and, hopefully, not too much acne. At the end of ninth grade, we looked ahead to the greater challenge of tenth grade, with stories of Honors Chemistry or APUSH sending shivers down our spines. At the end of 10th grade, we looked ahead to our greatest challenge yet: junior year, a lethal combination of tough classes, athletic commitments, nerve-wracking prom proposals, extracurricular endeavors, and the inevitable start of the college process. And when we triumphantly emerged from the depths of 11th grade, we looked ahead to a brutal first semester of college applications, with too many essays that called for too few words, leaving us doubting whether we even knew anything about ourselves anymore. When college applications were finally over, we looked ahead to a semester of fun, freedom, and friends. And now, here we are, the end of 12th grade. 

But instead of looking forward, I’m asking everyone in this room to take the time to do something we do not do enough: look back. Take this time to reflect on the past four years we have spent together. Take this time to celebrate every single achievement and every obstacle that was overcome. Think back to every late night, whether it was spent huddled up studying for a pre-calc final that you still failed or spent falling asleep in a hot tub under the stars. Look back on the times we laughed until our stomachs hurt and smiled until our cheeks couldn’t take it anymore. 

And once you’ve looked back and reflected, take the time to look at all those who are right in front of you and all around you. To my fellow seniors, look at one another and see your classmates for who they are, and be proud of everything we have accomplished together. And to all friends and family in the audience, look at your seniors who, in just a few minutes, will walk across the stage. Know that they are not just stepping toward a bright future; they’re stepping into a world that they, themselves, will shape and transform. And I believe, with all my heart, that each one of us will make a lasting, positive impact on this world that we will all be able to see.

I will forever be proud and grateful to have been part of this class, which feels more like a family than anything else.

Go Torreys, and congratulations to the class of 2025!