As I turn the pages, I find photographs of a version of myself I remember well and barely recognize at the same time.

There is a picture of me emceeing some event. I honestly cannot remember what the event was. The caption next to my picture reads, "Are they out of their minds?" Looking at the expression on my face, I can see exactly why. I do not remember the event, but I remember the expression.

A few pages later, I find a photograph from junior prom. I am sitting with my date, surrounded by friends. Balloons in the background. I look serious. He looks happy. The picture makes me smile and, for a moment, wonder how he is doing these days.

Then there is a photo of me and two friends during lunch. Students were allowed to leave campus and trusted to return. We usually did. The smiles in that picture are enormous. We genuinely look happy. Looking at it now, I find myself wondering where life took each of us.

A few pages later, I come across a picture of my school counselor, Mrs. Suarez. During my senior year, I spent quite a bit of time in her office. I would help her with filing and whatever else she needed until it was time for work. Then I would meet my friend Eli, and we would wait for the city bus, not a school bus, but a regular city bus. We would stop at her house to change clothes and then head to Newport Centre Mall. She worked at a sunglass kiosk. I worked at The Limited. At the time, it all felt completely ordinary. Today, those afternoons are some of the memories I treasure most.

I come across a picture from Mock Trial and immediately laugh. I was the lawyer. The competition took place in a real courtroom, which made everything feel very real. When we lost, I cried. I was devastated. My teacher tried to convince me that I had done well, but all I could think about was the loss. Looking back now, I can appreciate the experience for what it was. At the time, all I could see was that I had not won. 

Then there is my PE teacher.

He was the only PE teacher I had throughout high school. Every year, he somehow convinced me to enter a physical fitness competition that involved running, sit-ups, push-ups, pull-ups, and a variety of other challenges. We would practice in the gym beforehand. I could do plenty of sit-ups, plenty of push-ups, only about five pull-ups, but man, I could run.

Looking back, I realize he often saw more in me than I saw in myself.

Then I find my senior page.

It lists my nickname (Jo), the clubs I belonged to, my favorite teachers, the friends I spent time with, and what I hoped to do in the future.

Education.

That answer makes me smile.

For all the things I could not have known at eighteen, somehow that part worked out exactly as planned.

As I continue turning the pages, I find myself wondering whether I am still that eighteen-year-old senior.

I think the answer is both yes and no.

My sense of fashion has certainly improved. At least I hope it has. I have learned to keep in touch with people better than I did back then, although that took some work. I have learned that not everything has to be perfect and that some of life's best moments happen when you stop trying so hard to make everything perfect.

But there are parts of that student that remain.

I still love school.

The truth is, I loved school back then, too. Not because I enjoyed getting up early every morning, but because I genuinely loved my teachers. They encouraged me, challenged me, and made me want to do well. They believed in me long before I understood how important that was.

When I look through this yearbook, those are some of the faces I find myself stopping on the longest.

Interestingly, two of the friendships from those pages never really went away.

I am still friends with Eli, the same Eli I waited for at the bus stop with after school and worked alongside at the mall. I am also still close friends with another friend from high school, whose family and mine now travel together. Decades later, we still find ourselves talking about high school, laughing at stories we have told countless times before.

Every now and then, we even pull out the yearbook.

No matter how many times we look through it, there is always something new to notice. Another memory. Another laugh. Another story that somehow had been forgotten.

Maybe that is the real gift of a yearbook.

It reminds us not only of who we were, but also of the people who helped us become who we are.

The teachers, counselors, friends, and family members who supported me helped shape my life in ways I probably did not appreciate at the time. I will never forget them.

Perhaps that is why I enjoy seeing our seniors create memories of their own.

When I see students laughing in the hallways, celebrating accomplishments, supporting one another, or simply having a good day, I cannot help but smile. One day, many years from now, they may find themselves flipping through an old yearbook and remembering moments they had long forgotten.

And just like I did, they may discover that while much has changed, some of the most important parts of who they are remain exactly the same.

So sign the yearbooks. Take the pictures. Spend time with your friends. Appreciate the teachers who care about you.

One day, those ordinary moments may become the memories you treasure most.

Trust me. The years go by faster than you think.