This was going to be our time. But we don’t have to let it end here.
By Will Aarons (’20)
Don’t it always seem to go
That you don’t know what you’ve got
Till it’s gone
They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot
(“Big Yellow Taxi” by Joni Mitchell)
Dear friends,
This was our time, but now our cars are parked. Indefinitely.
It was the time for Senior Prom, and off-campus lunches, and Senior Nights, and final concerts, and hanging out on weeknights, and making memories that would last a lifetime. I still remember at the end of freshman year, when a senior warned me, “You’ll have a hard time senior year. Until you get to T3. Then, you’ll have the time of your life.”
Over the past 3 years, I’ve seen each class move through the senior gauntlet: applying to college, stressing about classes, and then getting absolutely lit during their third trimester. Last spring, when junior year was at its most hectic, I remember watching a fleet of seniors zoom out of parking lot at 3:15 to get boba together without a worry in the world. I thought: “One more year, and that will be me.”
As we pulled into that same parking lot this August, the energy was new. I think we all felt it. While we adorned our cars and the rock with our graduation year, it started to sink in – it was finally happening to us! The row of parking spaces that had been empty for months was full again, and it was hard to believe that we were the ones to fill it. All the rituals, milestones, and rites of passage laid ahead, waiting to pass into our collective experiences and collective memories.
We’ve parked at many parking lots over the past two trimesters. As a class, as groups, and as individuals, we’ve parked at soccer games, auditions, rallies, movies, dinners, interviews, and Myrtle Beach. Each time we hopped out of the car or bus, we brought all of our unique energies, talents, and voices. So much of what defines our class – so much of what fills our lives – requires parking lots.
Parking lots are places of possibility: gates dividing the mundane from the main attraction. Places for pep talks and self-talks, anticipation, anxiety, and hope. I never noticed how amazing it feels to step out onto the asphalt with two feet and slam the car door shut. Until March 8th, I used to do it several times a day – going to school, leaving school, going to Chick-fil-a, going to my piano lessons. When you’re going so often, it’s easy to know where you’re going. But I think it’s difficult to realize that you’re going.
Last Thursday, I exited my house for the first time in a week (please don’t panic). I got in my car and drove 200 yards to the pharmacy on my street. I was so strangely aware of the way my car moved, came to a not-remotely-rolling stop at the four-way intersection, and, finally, turned into the building’s deserted parking lot. I paused for a second as my feet hit the concrete. It felt like I had just set foot on Mars. I jumped up and down, to confirm it was real, and the hard pavement jarred my feeble body (which had long since acclimated to strictly carpets and couches). My life has always been an assemblage of discrete locations, goals, and events all aligned in rapid-fire sequence. Last Thursday was the first time I’ve ever felt a parking lot – a pure moment of transition between the present and future. In this time of stagnation, I experienced journey fully.
Anyway, it’s been two weeks since a second pandemic devastated the Class of 2020 (we all tested presumptive positive for Senioritis-2020 in early August), and we’re all struggling in some way. We’re struggling with the possibility that everything we had anticipated in August, while we painted our cars, will probably be cancelled. We’re struggling to put up with our younger siblings, older siblings, parents, and/or pets. We’re struggling with the solitude in a time scheduled for unity.
When I think of what makes this time so difficult for us, I obviously think of missing out on all the stereotypical celebrations that define senior year. But it’s not as much the actual events that we’ve been robbed of – it’s the chance to cherish our final arrivals to, and departures from, our many parking lots. That concert we played in January, that history double block we attended in February, or that movie we slept through in March – we had no idea that those experiences may have been the last of their kind. We were so fixated on making it to T3 that we missed the point. How can we be present as we exit the car if we’re too busy pondering our next destination? And that’s why senior year is so special. It’s supposed to be a rare chance for closure, to fully immerse ourselves in our lives before they change completely. That’s why during T3, even something as commonplace as a parking lot can be sentimental. We savor every moment, both for its own sake and for the journey it contains, if we know it’s our last. But we didn’t.
This pandemic has changed us. I can’t say for the better. Everything just feels different. I think it’s easy to give up on the rest of our senior year, to sacrifice the next few months to save ourselves the emotional burden. After all, there doesn’t seem to be anything big to look forward to in the immediate future. On the other hand, we’re hearing back from colleges, picturing our amazing futures, and it just seems natural to devote our minds to the many new parking lots we’ll finally be reaching in the fall. But if “these uncertain times” have taught us anything, it’s that the smallest things mean so much to us. We miss lunch on the quad. We miss having each other by our sides. And I bet we all miss the parking lots, even the ones we could never have noticed three weeks ago.
So, Class of 2020, it’s time for us to be intentional. FaceTime and Zoom friends. Try to do it every day. Send TikToks (to me specifically). Go running and feel how real the air feels (WHILE MAINTAINING SOCIAL DISTANCING AND WASH YOUR HANDS!!!). Read the news (but not too much). Cardi B’s PSA’s about the coronavirus are probably sufficient. Spend time with your family; try to reconcile with them. We’ll be getting out soon anyway, so we might as well leave our parents on a good note. Listen to music. Learn a craft. Embrace spontaneity, but don’t rot in a sea of idleness. Limit how much you flex your DIY prowess on social media – it makes me feel really inept. Know that it is okay to be scared, lonely, sad, or not. It can be hard to reach out now, but we all need help. Complain about Zoom school, but also think about how amazing and rare it is to go to a high school where we are so supported by teachers and the community from day 1 of the crisis. Don’t pressure yourself to develop the theory of gravity (like Newton did during the plague lol). You are enough, and you’re doing amazing.
We might not meet again for a while, but Class of 2020, I’m proud of us. We’re really going through it, but we’re here for each other. This coronavirus is knocking us down, but we’re powering through the way we know best: with memes, love, and Microsoft Teams. And, if this isn’t a memorable senior year, I don’t know what is. In 20 years, you’re going to remember your senior year better than anyone who had a prom, graduation, or senior skip day. This corona season is just our fat class parking lot. We can callously rush into the building – to the future, taking for granted another journey we’ll wish we had treasured. Or we can take a few months to feel our feet on the rough asphalt – together.
With love,
Will