We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
—T.S. Eliot, “Little Gidding,” from “Four Quartets”
High school is an exploration—less like a straight path and more like a winding corridor of doors. When I look back, I realize that joining newspaper was one of the first doors I opened. I didn’t know it then, but that small decision—almost a whim—would shape the way I saw the world and myself.
In January of eighth grade, I sat at my desk with a brightly colored high school course selection sheet in front of me. The core classes were easy to pick. I chose PE, speech, and health to get the graduation requirements out of the way. But for the final elective, I hesitated—until I spotted it: Journalism. Newspaper.
I like writing, I thought. This might be cool. Check!
Newspaper turned out to be more than just “cool”—and more than just writing. It became a space where I learned to listen, to observe, to care about the stories that shape people—and ultimately, it shaped me more than anything else during high school.
Freshman year, I was quiet. Painfully shy. A speech impediment made interviews feel daunting, and I often wondered if I was cut out for journalism at all. Maybe someone else could do the interviews while I stuck to the writing. But I learned something important: my voice mattered, despite its imperfections, because journalism is about people—their stories, struggles, and triumphs. It’s a way to uplift, inform, and connect, and that purpose mattered far more than my fears.
But no, I didn’t come out of the newspaper program an extrovert. I’m still shy and reserved—anyone can testify to this! But journalism gave me something steady to hold onto: questions to ask, places to go, people to meet. I grew both as a writer and a person. I learned that curiosity is one of the greatest virtues; it opens doors and builds relationships. And listening is its own kind of strength.
I fell in love with stories. Not just the ones I wrote, but the ones I got to witness. So many things happen on a campus all at once: the way a teacher lights up when talking about their students, the way a student athlete pushes through pain and pressure, the way an election shifts the energy of campus. Journalism taught me to see those moments. And it taught me to care.
And again, journalism is about the people. I couldn’t have done it without my advisers: Jenny Burns from freshman year, Taylor Mersmann sophomore year, and Margie Raper for the past two years. They inspired me, pushed me, encouraged me—and helped me grow in something I love. And of course, my staff members—I’ve loved working with everyone this year. It’s been an honor to guide people in something I care deeply about as editor-in-chief. Thank you to Abigail, who made me go (happily) insane with all her rants, and to Anjana, whose support brought me back to sanity.
Now, I’m preparing to study English and computer science at Southern Methodist University. I’m stepping into another unknown—another beginning filled with curiosity, hesitation, and hope. It feels strangely like how high school once felt. That same nervous excitement. That same wondering: Who will I be?
Which brings me back to Eliot.
“And the end of all our exploring / Will be to arrive where we started / And know the place for the first time.”
I’ve come back to a familiar place—not physically, but emotionally. I feel like that same quiet student from freshman year again. But I know more now. I know how to tell stories. Through countless interviews, rewrites, and late nights wrestling with words, I know how to build something from nothing (a blank Google Doc). I know how to speak, even when it’s hard.
I’ve returned to where I started. But this time, I recognize the place.
And still, the exploration continues.
From one beginning to the next,
Tolu Oyesanya, Editor-in-Chief
