Dear Horizon,
Throughout my life, my identity as a writer has never been a question. For as long as I can remember, I’ve had countless journals stacked on my bedroom shelves and dated with painter’s tape, tracing back to different moments in my life. Writing has always been a creative outlet for me, and during my freshman year here at LHS, I was already involved in both the paper and the journalism course.
I was lucky enough to be praised for my writing. I received accolades and positive feedback, and this was particularly encouraging. It felt good to be unique, to receive external praise for my craft. But the more I relied on externalities, the harder it became to just write for myself. There was always someone to impress: a judge, an editor, a peer. There were things that many people around me expected me to do, and even when those voices weren’t around, the walls of my perception were strong, cemented by countless years of reinforcement. But the more I connected with others–the more I learned about their lives and what they truly valued–the more my values changed, too.
As I grew throughout high school, my priorities shifted; I became more focused on writing stories for their intrinsic importance rather than to receive external praise. I wrote fervently, only choosing the stories that really made my heart swell with wonder and excitement. This drew me to writing profiles in particular–a form of writing that often delves into one particular person and their life. I liked how much I could cull from one individual, merely through connecting with him or her. Through the art of an interview, you get to learn the hopes and dreams of your subjects, their worries and quirks and idiosyncrasies, and maybe they’ll even tell you something they insist should go off the record.
These were the moments I lived for in my journalism–when I could really dig deep into who a person was, when I could truly see his or her soul. The art of the interview helped me realize not only who I was, but who I wanted to be. I wanted to learn how to do things merely for their own sake. How to learn for learning’s sake and be kind for kindness’ sake. I wanted to engage with the world merely for the sake of it.
There are many people here to help you on your journey. School will probably be hard at times, but LHS offers a plethora of support to encourage you to keep moving forward. As the advisor of Horizon and a journalism and English teacher, Mrs. Sanders encourages you to really write whatever you want, however you want, and this is an amazing privilege that not all high schools and universities (and certainly not all professional) publications have. If you have the pleasure of having her as an English, Writing Workshop, or journalism teacher, your love for the art of writing will undoubtedly be strengthened.
There are many other faculty members here at LHS who are extremely encouraging, and, if you have a knack for writing, I deeply recommend that you take advanced English and social studies courses. Teachers like Mr. King (who always kept me humble) and Ms. Mitchell (whose ardent and introspective nature always warmed my heart) were excellent mentors whom I am deeply grateful for. If you can find people who encourage you, which is extremely easy to do at a school like LHS, it makes all the difference.
It’s very difficult to live in accordance with what you think is right, especially when you’ve had this idea of how you “should” be for a long time. But I think that’s what makes it worth it in a way. Often, the most difficult things we do tend to be the most important ones. My best advice, which can only really be learned by doing, is to figure out who you are when no one is around to tell you. Activities like Horizon, where your creative expression can really be encouraged–and you have the freedom to tell whatever stories you’d like–really help with that journey.
In the end, you will experience the beautiful process of becoming, and that will always undoubtedly be enough.
With love, your former print co-editor-in-chief,
Cassandra
