I've never been much of a morning person. Living in Wilton, however, has made this mind-set rather difficult. Almost every morning in my recent memory, I have been the first person to pull into the senior lot at Wilton High School and one of the last to finally go home, my days often spanning 7 a.m. to 10 p.m. I've always been a staunch advocate for there not being enough time during the day. All throughout high school, I've said yes to almost any opportunity that interested me. While the plethora of activities that I'm involved in has definitely made me a more dynamic person, I never seem to have quite enough time to finish everything, ranging from tutoring or club meetings in the morning, to work after school, to theater at night. My morning usually begins by setting a disturbingly early alarm for 6 a.m., hitting the 10-minute snooze button until it's about 6:30 and I'm on track to be running late. However, my absolute animosity for being late, combined with its inevitability, makes mornings in my home quite "passionate." Yet every morning, despite the ridiculously early time I leave the house, my parents make sure I take something, anything, with me to eat for breakfast. While it can be difficult to get up before the sun itself has risen, there's something magical about driving early in the morning. Everything moves a little slower, the soft light of the rising sun bouncing timidly off of every individual leaf. I'm usually in a panicked rush to get to school, my fear of lateness sitting in the passenger seat, yelling at every slow driver and missed yellow light. Yet this small window of time is something that I look forward to every morning, where I'm able to sing Bob Dylan and Fiona Apple while I peacefully eat my bagel, my mind blank of the upcoming agendas of the day. However, I have never enjoyed the long, arduous trek between the student parking lots and the front door of Wilton High School; I'm either too cold or running late for something important. Yet within the last few weeks, as my final days as a high school student come to an end, I've begun to relish these walks. Walking through the senior lot alone and up along the school sidewalk, all of the memories from the past four years play out in front of me. I see my old friends walking beside me who have already graduated. Outside the field house, I remember all of the years spent perched on the railing, sweaty and dejected after tryouts or practices for field hockey or lacrosse. I see the rows of trees that I spent many photography classes taking pictures of. I walk by the Clune Center, vignettes of Oklahoma! and Camelot playing out in my head. As I approach the front door, I remember sitting outside along the brick walls with my friends during our lunch period when we were allowed outside, sitting on the hot concrete with our bagged lunches recapping our toils of the day. Maybe I'm just starting to feel excessively nostalgic about my time at Wilton High School, putting on my rose-colored lenses as I prepare to depart the senior lot for the final time. Although Wilton is small and notoriously desolate of excessive excitement, I know that every extracurricular and friendship that I cherish, I owe to this town. To my friends about to graduate: take a deep breath and learn to walk a little slower. Skyler Addison is a senior at Wilton High School. She shares this column with four classmates.