Hi, I'm Clara,

“Up the Hill”

 

I can’t pinpoint the first time we met. Still, I know she was there, looming over me as I started my third-grade writing project and couldn’t recreate the types of stories I read each night before bed; I know she was there, in the passenger seat, squeezing my hand as I attempted to parallel park during my driver’s test; and I know she was there, tapping on the glass, trying to get my attention as I flew across the country to go backpacking with girls I barely knew, and she was there every one of the following 15 mornings as we started our climb. 

 

As hard as I try to get away from her, my anxiety will always be two steps ahead of me — an ever-present shadow. It’s like we’re in a constant game of hide-and-seek, only she knows all my hiding spots. 

 

The summer before my sophomore year, I embarked on a two-week backpacking trip. Inspired by a "Survivor" contestant’s advice to embrace what scares you, I decided to apply. But still, she almost convinced me not to go. The trek started near the Grand Tetons, their silhouette taking up a vast majority of the horizon. With 64 miles ahead, we marched forward. 

 

At first, I found it easy to deem the mountains as an insurmountable challenge, impossible to summit. From the trailhead, I could see the peaks above, serving as inspiration. Once on the trail, the visual reminder of my end goal quickly disappeared as the seemingly endless uphill climb unfolded before me. 

 

One of the last mornings, I walked quietly in the back of the group, barely aware of the conversation, staring down the interminable climb ahead. It was our longest day, and the squish of my soggy socks beneath convinced me I couldn’t make it to the top. Each step echoed in my ears — a reminder that I wasn’t strong enough, that she would win. Yet, eight hours later, we stood atop the summit, taking in the view, most notably the Tetons in the distance. From here, they didn’t look nearly as daunting as they did on day one. 

 

This lesson of perseverance was re-learned through an overwhelming first semester of journalism class. Stress over interviews, bylines, page design, and photography danced through my head at all hours, eventually leading to a pipe-like bursting of emotion during an after-school production block. That night, a senior editor held my hand as we finalized my page. Afterward, we played with punctuation and rearranged sentences — we laughed. She made sure I felt comfortable and confident in my new skills. 

 

That confidence has stuck with me for the rest of my high school career. It encouraged me to run for student council president, field hockey captain, and apply for editor-in-chief. It continuously inspires me to push my limits and try new things, even when she lingers in the back of my mind. When the peak above disappears from my sightline and the only thing propelling me forward is faith that the end result will be worth the effort, I put trust in the process, the people around me, and my own abilities. 

 

As I near the summit of high school, I embody the warm energy and never-ending enthusiasm of the people who came before me when I get to lend a hand. I have the opportunity to make an impact on younger kids the same way that others have influenced me: to pay it forward by taking weight out of their pack and walking by their side. With one foot in front of the other, we can climb mountains together. 

 

From where I stand now, she isn’t as intimidating as she was in third grade or in the parking lot: more like a shrunken shadow in the distance. I stand atop the summit, taking in the view — most notably, the peaks ahead that are yet to be climbed.