Friendship is underrated

Written by Leah Carrier

My best friend is an outgoing, smiley, life-of-the-party type of girl. She has this heartfelt, honest laugh that I could recognize anywhere. She’s super strong and resilient and ice skates like a pro—she’s on Team USA, not to flex or anything. We’ve been partners in crime since day one. As toddlers, we spoke gibberish together. And as teens, we have long, deep, late-night talks, and share clothes because we’re just that close. Oh, and she also happens to be my older sister. We’re connected, not only by our matching necklaces, but by our childhood. By our forgiveness. By our love. 

Dear Music, thank you 

Written by Madison Dias

Through all my battles in life, music has proved to be very therapeutic. The sound waves, coursing through my body, providing doses of dopamine to overcome the dejection. When my parents split, I was angry, sad, and empty. Music aided me in releasing these emotions. It has always been a steady support system for me, helping me heal from the hurt I faced from my father since I was young, while also being there recently when my mother had cancer. Music is my outlet, my muse, my therapy. Without it, I’d be lost. Thank you, Music, for providing me with constant relief, reinforcement, and warmth.

Homage to sunlit drives

Written by Sophia Hosford 

Light peeks through the forest as we breeze past grand estates and weave through the streets of Potomac, Maryland. I cry to my mother, I complain about school and boys and soccer and COVID-19. We confide in eachother, day after day. Our conversations vary from anxiety, school, work, and grades, to summer plans and hopes for the future. We laugh and cry and sing to whatever is on the radio, with the top down, carefree. We change our routes, we explore more, every day. In a time when nothing was certain, one of the few things I could always rely on were daily sunlit drives with my mother.

My appreciation of the times I’m starting to forget 

Written by Ellen Carrier

Remember those times when you would arrive early to school and then sit in the atrium for God knows how long until that monotonous sound of the bell was heard (at different intervals across Wilson, of course)? Being able to smile as I walked down the steps from the security line and awkwardly try to manage putting my belt back on while holding about four extra layers of clothing is something that I never thought I would appreciate. Times of isolation and self quarantine have brought out what I do really appreciate and value, and those little moments are memories that I’ll never be able to get back.