High School Personal Growth

When I walked into freshman orientation, what grabbed my attention most weren’t the classes or the teachers—it was the glitzy dances: homecoming and prom. My parents had a rule: no dating until sixteen, which meant I couldn’t have a boyfriend until junior year anyway. Of course, prom wasn’t even available to me until then. What I didn’t know at the time was that, in the end, I would go on exactly two dates—with the same guy, have no boyfriend, and instead would spend all of high school falling in love with history, devouring books I adored, and learning some tough lessons about friendship.

While my peers swapped stories about crushes and celebrity obsessions, I dove head-first into every history course my high school offered. The only AP history class I missed was AP Human Geography—but I caught up on that in college, thanks to two geography courses with a former special forces geographer. If I missed anything, I’m sure I filled those gaps.

Freshman year’s history pickings were slim: just Honors World Geography, taught by a teacher who, looking back, may have been navigating new parenthood and its challenges. The real magic of that classroom wasn’t the subject or the two teenage boys who thought bragging about their bench press was more important than paying attention (the skinniest guy bragged most, and he stayed the skinniest all four years—if only bragging built muscle). The magic was the freedom to choose our next year’s classes. When I picked the double-whammy of AP European and World History, my teacher shrugged and signed the paper.

From sophomore year on, I loaded up: AP Government, U.S. and Comparative, philosophy, economics—I had a blast. I loved history and biology, enjoyed anatomy, but could have happily tossed my physics and chemistry books out the window. It didn’t make sense: how could I love life sciences and still loathe physical sciences? In the end, it didn’t matter. The hallmark of my four years was a joyful exploration of topics that made me feel like I’d attended a mini-college.

Not only did the social science courses I took provide a foundational understanding of the world around me, but they also gave me the tools to better understand current events. Comparative government helped me understand how governments around the world operated. Learning about the various political parties, ethnic groups, and election processes has been invaluable when discerning what’s going on on the world stage. Philosophy provided an excellent opportunity to practice the discomfort that comes when one’s beliefs are challenged. Taking anatomy and my honors biology course lit a spark in me and showed me that history wasn’t the only thing I loved to learn about.

I also read (and re-read) the books I loved, knowing high school was likely the last time I’d get to learn for free, without worrying about tuition. That’s why I loaded up on history classes. It confused me when my anatomy teacher told me to study history instead of exercise science. Four years later, I graduated college with a degree in exercise science, then earned a degree in business healthcare management, and now I’m planning to start my master’s in healthcare informatics. I never wanted to be a museum curator or a history teacher—even though I loved history. The job prospects didn’t appeal to me.

I wish I’d had my autism diagnosis back then, but looking back, my interests remain steady: history and biology are still passions, chemistry and physics still aren’t my thing, and I still love to read. Algebra? I love it. Geometry? Not so much.

Socially, I had a solid group of friends and learned the basics of socializing. I don’t see my lack of dating as a failure. If anything, my academic exploration was a rousing success. I want to share my high school experience because what counts as a “successful” four years looks different for everyone. For me, it was finding peace in academic exploration. For others, it might be sports, music, or social life. The real goal is to leave high school with a better sense of who you are and what you love than when you started—even if those interests change over time. And, just as importantly, to celebrate the successes you find along the way.