The Diving Board

into the dark waters of Lake Shawanni to pass the swim test but quickly retreat to the safety of the dock for the rest of the summer.

In a way, this is what being a second-semester senior has felt like. Pingry has been my “pool,” with clear and familiar waters. My friends and teachers have been lifeguards, guiding me through my high school experience as I take the plunge. With graduation on the horizon, I’m scared of what lies ahead and being unable to see the bottom.

I’m not exactly sure what I even want to study. I entered Pingry as a freshman, intent on pursuing medicine or research as a career. However, my mindset has drastically changed over the past four years. My interests have since expanded to include the humanities, economics, and public policy. There are so many different areas that appeal to me, but it’s difficult to do everything when there’s only a finite amount of time. It feels like everyone around me has figured out their path and narrowed their interests, while I’ve been left behind to grapple with the different directions every choice could lead me down. While there’s no clear resolution for my current fears besides giving myself time, I’ve been trying to channel my nervousness into excitement for trying new things. With my ISP, I decided to take a chance on a newfound interest and gain experience in a field outside of what I’ve been involved with. It will take some time to figure out who I am and where I am going, but I’m growing more fond of the prospect of diving into areas outside of my comfort zone. I’m looking forward to new experiences, meeting new people, and discovering who I am. As I step off the diving board, I am both scared and excited about what lies ahead. But I know I am ready to face the unknown, to embrace the uncertainty, and to find my own path. Whether it’s in the depths of a lake or in the twists and turns of my future, I am learning to embrace uncertainty and fear as opportunities for growth and discovery. I may not know what lies at the bottom of these murky waters, but I am willing to dive in and find out.

You Don’t Mess Around with “Jim”

ADAM ELAYAN (V)

Picture an old-fashioned tough guy: big-muscled, cigarette-smoking, womanizing, confident to the max, and never to be messed with. Jim Croce was a master at telling stories about these types of men, and “You Don’t Mess Around with Jim” stands as perhaps his most iconic example. His story of “Big Jim Walker” has since been mistaken for an anthem meant to empower and aggrandize the macho-man character. I was guilty of this interpretation too, and for a long time, I believed Jim Walker to be cut from the same cloth as the Hollywood gunslingers my dad used to tell me about. Not only that, but I also believed that because Croce chose his name to give the song’s protagonist, he aligned himself with the character. Continuing with this line of thinking, I again was presumptuous enough to go into his 1972 album, also called You Don’t Mess Around with Jim, thinking that the album would reflect the character he put forth in the title track.

I was taken aback, however, by the man Croce revealed himself to be when the album rolled past its titular first track. Seconds after the last notes of “You Don’t Mess Around with Jim,” Croce peels back his layers for the listener, and what emerges is a deeply sensitive, emotionally honest, and incredibly vulnerable man completely incompatible with the folk hero who we realized could only share Croce’s first name by coincidence. The singer’s decision to transition to the first person after “You Don’t Mess Around with Jim” leaves no room to question that he and the character have no relation.

Throughout the rest of the album, Croce attributes to himself every character trait incompatible with the heroes he is so adept at portraying. Instead of bragging about being a womanizer, Croce is tender and committed, and he sings of comforting his lovers and how he cherishes the time he spends with them in “Tomorrow’s Gonna Be a Brighter Day,” “A Long

Time Ago,” and “Time in a Bottle.” Rather than being emotionally closed off and quick to move on, Croce faces his heartbreak head-on in “Walkin’ Back to Georgia,” “Photographs & Memories,” and “Operator (That’s Not the Way it Feels),” divulging his regrets and mourning the loss of his relationships while leaving no question that he only has himself to blame. He grapples with insecurity and failure in “Hard Time Losin’ Man,” “New York’s Not My Home,” and “Box #10,” lamenting his failed dreams and poverty while admitting to loneliness and desperation in the final song, “Hey Tomorrow.” The through line in all of these songs—excluding “Rapid Roy (That Stock Car Boy),” which is another tale of a womanizing, cigarettesmoking, fast car-driving bad boy—is that of unfiltered honesty and intimacy. While “You Don’t Mess Around with Jim” may as well be a spaghetti western, most of the remainder of the album reads like Croce’s therapy session, each stroke of honesty further admitting that his initial portrayal of Jim is nothing more than a fable. It is certainly no coincidence that the album takes the song’s title and that the cover depicts Croce standing in a window sporting a cigar and a glare; the image serves as an entry into Croce’s psyche, presenting a stoic facade that is reinforced right as the album begins. The first two minutes of the album make us believe unequivocally that indeed, you don’t mess around with Jim, and that Jim must be Jim Croce. When Jim Walker is defeated in the song’s third verse by a man accusing him of stealing—a part of the song I chose to ignore until I realized the message of the rest of the album—all of our respect for him is lost, and we realize that what comes next cannot possibly be self-aggrandizement on the part of Croce. It is from there that Jim is no longer a name that brings intimidation with it. Croce then beckons over to us and lets us in through his window, smiling warmly and offering us a puff of his cigar.

Word in the Halls

What do you do when you are sad?

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“I like to

A long walk with music and really helps me decompress.”

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MILENKA MEN (VI)

How many 11:11 wishes does one get? The average life expectancy is around 76 years old. 76 years times 365 days times two 11:11 wishes per day arrives at 55,480 wishes total, and that includes wishes from when you were still an infant. So really, you’re getting less than 55,480 wishing opportunities at the end of the day.

You see, this morning I got to use one of my wishes— no, I can’t tell you or that would defeat the purpose (duh). In the middle of my Electric Charge and Field WebAssign, I just happened to look up, catching the clock right at that 60-second interval before the moment would pass all too soon. I suddenly felt stuck. I had who knows how many seconds left to decide wisely on one single wish that had the power to change my life forever. Did I want to choose something about my greatest hopes and dreams? Or did I want to choose the ability to understand the Kinetics Unit in AP Chemistry for the test tomorrow? As the clock counted down to 11:12, I wasted my seconds, crushed by the pressure of decision making in this limbo space. And so the one turned to a two, and I lost it. After a few sad moments of realization, I asked myself, “Hey, when was the last time this happened?” I couldn’t quite remember. 55,480 seems like a lot, but to coincidentally notice that line of ones, to catch those two 60-second chances isn’t easy. You get 120 seconds out of 86,400 seconds in a day to strike gold— a 0.1% chance. I suppose that’s the magic of these wishes; unanticipated, surprising, and smile-inducing every time.

The statistically impossibility doesn’t even touch upon a myriad

Lunar New Year in the In-Between

CAROLYN ZHOU (IV)

Every year, nearly 2.5 million Chinese Americans gather across the country to celebrate the fifteen-day festival known as the Lunar New Year. While this is not an experience exclusive to just Chinese culture, every family has unique customs and traditions. My family used to get together over heaps of food and watch the CCTV New Year’s Gala (Chunwan)— an entertainment program usually branded as government propaganda or youthful nostalgia, depending on what type of Chinese diaspora you talk to. However, unsurprisingly, as I grew older, these childhood traditions faded in favor of the present-day hustle.

This year, I spent the Lunar New Year the same way I spend most days; hunched over at my desk, sifting through mountains of homework, and anxiously contemplating my academic future. My sister and mom were getting pizza after a soccer game, and my dad was reclining on the couch, watching the NFL Divisional Playoffs. A truly AllAmerican experience. It is hard to get in the collective festive spirit when your nearest relatives live 7,000+ miles and 13 time zones away. Holding a conversation with my grandparents is nearly only possible with having to consult Google Translate frequently. I could never convey the exact picture of my emotions as I would in English, as some things need to be clarified in translation. After nine years of Chinese school, Mandarin was and never will be a fluent language for me, even though it was my long-forgotten first.

My lack of celebrative spirit on the single most important Chinese holiday painfully exposed the perpetual cultural disconnect that I and many immigrants, first-generation, and minority groups grapple with. How does one reconcile a completely different language, culture, and customs of a previous life with the new one their parents worked so hard to forge for them? Being a first-generation immigrant is a bizarre and hard-to-describe experience. It is like grieving the possibility of a life you did not even know you could have while still wanting to fit into the one you do. Squeezing yourself between two wildly different cultures but never fitting into either. Does that sound ungrateful? Sure. But my Mandarin would be better if I had grown up in China. Perhaps I wouldn’t be so self-conscious of my appearance, habits, or even the food I enjoy if I had grown up surrounded by people who look and practice the same customs. Maybe I wouldn’t feel so isolated all the time if I had relatives nearby, ready to shower me with their affection. And maybe I would not find myself constantly questioning my ethnic and cultural identities. Except, I know deep down that that’s not true. As much as I’m constantly reminded of my Chinese heritage, I still identify more as American. I grew up here, and English is my preferred language. I feel the most comfortable in the same 2-story house I’ve lived in for 12 years. But I also like Starbucks as much as I like bubble tea. I eat pasta and pizza as often as I do dumplings and rice cake (but I still refuse to endorse ranch dressing).

I love a good American sitcom as much as I love Chinese animation (donghua). If I want to forge my of other reasons for why catching the clock at 11:11 is so difficult. I thought about it. How often do we look up from the work we do? With the clock constantly ticking, deadlines approaching, and assignments piling on top of each other, we barely have enough time to think about breathing. Besides that buzz of Google Calendar to remind us where we are in the great whirligig of time, it’s all too easy to get lost. But that one time you happen to come across 11:11, it’s like a blessing. A short respite from the outside world where you’re allowed to marvel in that 0.1% chance. So take it. own in-between cultural identity, I will have to find a space for myself.

Take every unanticipated and surprising chance. Even if its for 60 seconds. I’ve got too many wishes to count, and the next time, I’ll embrace it. It’s not some guarantee, but at least it gives me something I need most—a break. I’ll wish for the first thing that pops into my head. Even if its just to breathe. Every 11:11 wish is one in a thousand. And that’s pretty incredible. Like a little reminder from the universe telling you to live. Don’t waste your 11:11 wishes.

This year, for example, I started a family tradition of wrapping dumplings on New Year’s via a mix of Instagram tutorials and my grandmother’s guidance over the phone. Sure, they might not have been perfect or authentic, but they were my expression of my complex cultural identity in delicious bite-sized food form.

So, in this wildly inconclusive week-long identity journey, I have yet to find an answer to my disconnect dilemma. I may never be fully Chinese or fully American, but is that really a bad thing? Living in the in-between can be a unique and thrilling experience when I’m not so caught up worrying about checking off boxes or pitting one culture against another. After all, do any high schoolers know who they are? My cultural identity is constantly changing and evolving, and that’s all right. And while I am still figuring all of this out, there is one thing I can say for sure.

Happy Lunar New Year, 新年快乐!

SRIYA TALLAPRAGADA (IV)

George Santos. Sam BankmanFried. Elizabeth Holmes. Even Pingry’s own Billy McFarland. Chances are you’ve heard these names in the news recently, often along with unflattering titles like “American Fraudster” or “Congressional Con Man.”

Over the past few months I’ve been following these stories pretty closely, mainly because I’ve been struggling to see how these executives were able to justify their series of bad decisions that drove some of the biggest empires in the world straight into the ground. I originally believed that these individuals decided to cheat because they lack moral compasses or simply out of a desire to expand.

While these all likely contributed, their motives go far beyond that. What I found was that, in all of these cases, it was an extreme fear of failure that drove them to make those unethical decisions. Let’s look at Pingry’s most notorious alumnus, Billy McFarland. Last year I watched the Fyre Festival

CAYDEN BARRISON (VI)

As the clock struck 12:00 a.m. on January 1 this year, I, like many others, hoped that this new year would bring positive change and unity to our country. Unfortunately, this dream was pretty much destroyed in less than a week. That is, it took a historic 15 rounds of voting just for the House of Representatives to elect Kevin McCarthy as Speaker of the House. This does not inspire much confidence in me; how are Democrats and Republicans possibly supposed to work together to lead the country? It is inevitable that these two parties will disagree on many issues, but it seems like each party is becoming increasingly polarized with every passing month. The disastrous speaker vote, as well as discussions in my AP Government class, have made me wonder if the American population and political parties have ever been this divided.

It would definitely be shortsighted to consider 2023 as the most contentious time in American history. A quick jump back in time sees the United States literally breaking apart