A large influence for “ClayFM” was my predecessor, Keenan Billings ’25, and his album review column, “Keenly Attuned.” He ended his final piece with a meta commentary on his “thoughts as they presented themselves to [him] during B free,” so I’d like to do the same.

 Growing up, I was dragged down by some sort of imposter syndrome: a feeling of inadequacy and jealousy toward my peers’ ability to effortlessly gel with any group. When I started freshman year at Marblehead High School, I wanted to connect with my brother, Tim, a senior. So I joined his all-male a cappella group (yes, the Grizzly Freakin’ Man Singers) to spend time with him before he graduated.

 After the hardest physical exertion of my life at the school’s hockey tryouts, I actually made varsity as a freshman. At Marblehead, almost everyone was sorted into either the dumb, brute athlete or the unathletic, smart kid stereotype. I was trying to do both — and was terrified the hockey guys would find out I was in an a cappella group.

 I was standing backstage with the Grizzlies before performing at that year’s senior show, with most of the student body in attendance, when I got a Snapchat notification from the hockey group chat. Watching the video of one of the hockey seniors being hypnotized in the act before our performance, I was hit with a full-out panic attack: Everyone was going to know I was secretly in this group. I freaked out to Tim, frantically texted my parents and hyperventilated in my dad’s purple blazer and my new jeans. There were only five minutes before we were set to go out.

“If you understand that every low, every mistake, is a part of a never-ending cycle of growth that we all (even the most tenured teachers here) are in the midst of, you can find good in everything that happens.”

 My brother was irked but told me I didn’t have to go out. But somehow, despite the certainty in my mind that a row of 20 hockey players would be waiting with their cameras to capture my opening rendition of a “My Singing Monsters” song, something within me forced me to go. I went out and sang my parts. We sucked as much as we usually sucked, but we were at least funny, and I was content.

 When I dreadfully checked my phone later that night, I realized no one cared. I got some comments about it at practice the next morning, but they were all positive. My fear of breaking some “norm” had just been in my own head.

 So I urge you to do whatever you enjoy, no matter what notion of social embarrassment you have in your head. Don’t do or not do anything because of what you think your friends will say. I write these columns knowing that, once the new Vanguard copy appears on the Commons table, I’ll get at least two comments from my friends about the goofy-looking caricature of me, and I’ll laugh it off. Sometimes, that’s embarrassing, but being able to write about a topic I want people to hear about, and see my name in print, is much more rewarding.

 Lately, I’ve struggled with feeling like I don’t have everything figured out. I’m 19, doing well on paper and involved in everything I care about, but I don’t always feel the confidence I expected at this age.

 I’ve realized that mindset ignores the steps I took to get here. It’s unfair to consider the last four years as futile because I don’t feel complete right now. Through journaling and conversations with my therapist and loved ones, I’ve started reshaping my perspective.

 My goal is no longer to have everything “figured out” because I’ve realized no one does. What’s the fun in having everything perfect? If I strive to be perfect and solve everything, the lows become inherently and indisputably bad. Whereas, if you understand that every low, every mistake, is a part of a never-ending cycle of growth that we all (even the most tenured teachers here) are in the midst of, you can find good in everything that happens.

 I’m grateful for every mistake I’ve made in the last four years. And I’m grateful for the people around me who stick with me through anything. I’m grateful that my late columns for almost every issue still get to run. Thank you to the select few who always read my column and bring it up to me because it’s made me happier than you could imagine. “ClayFM” helped me grow, and that’s all we’re here to do, right?