My journey in Swarthmore looks a lot like my walk to school. It’s a brisk Monday morning in the fall, and I’m on the way to SRS [Swarthmore-Rutledge School]. Completely oblivious of potential judgment, I walk backward so that the wind is to my back. Simultaneously, I count how many steps I take in each sidewalk square, peeking over my right shoulder when necessary, even though I know the route by heart.

As I depart, I marvel at the pile of leaves my dad and I amassed over the weekend. I wonder whether I’ll be able to see the huge vacuum machine come suck them up, consolidating our hard work. I know that our yellowish-green, weedy, beautiful lawn will be covered again by the time I get home, but that means we get to take the rakes back out.

First, I pass Putty’s place, and despite rarely seeing her outside, I try not to trample her slightly greener clover-filled grass. Even as a known pillar of the Swarthmore community, she was always a mysterious figure to me, but I now recognize the unique opportunity I had to interact with her as she watched me grow up through her open window.

Then I see the Clements’ house. Each Clements kid served as a distinct role model to me, and they’ve always represented the “older kids” who would chart their course before me. I wave to their dog, Scout, to whom I often drag the biggest sticks I can find to chew up—to his dad’s dismay. There’s Scout’s wife, Cassie! Yes, the neighboring dogs were formally wed, providing them with the freedom to wander together in their shared territory.

After temporarily turning around to look ahead while crossing the street, I come upon the house with the huge aloe plant in the window. Unfortunately, I never got to know the resident. Recently, at his estate sale, I learned that he was a clock expert and owned thousands of trinkets with backstories that I would like to hear.

I pass the trickling creek and finally reach the crafty man’s house (his name is George) who always says hello to me when he’s working outside. His family seems to be altruistic, thoughtful, and determined; they give out bags of deliciously fresh figs from their tree every time it bears fruit, they often display political advocacy signs. and later installed solar panels, and they have the distinction of owning the coolest Halloween destination in Swarthmore. Some years, I could watch as George’s impressive, time consuming attraction expanded each day, and the result was always terrifying for my fellow trick-or-treaters and me.

If I’m lucky, I spot my friend Seth at the crosswalk ahead, who screams, “You’re in first!!,” urging me to sprint to the finish line of an imaginary race, despite inevitably deeming that I finished in “second place.” This joke, which got under my skin at first, has become an endearing tradition of the commute. We pass what would later be my bus stop, prescribing that I continue to walk this route daily and enabling me to meet one of my current best friends, Zach. Now, in high school, we carpool, since we became so accustomed to catching up, messing around, and talking about life together.

I look up at SRS and am not sure what’s waiting for me at school— perhaps confusion, wonder, boredom, frustration, laughter—but I know that I feel safe pondering it on the way there and back. I’ve been lucky to have the opportunity to walk backward through my childhood in a place where I only need to look around in order to learn, surrounded by sometimes strange, fascinating people whom I feel rooting for each other. If growing up in Swarthmore was like walking to school, I think I’ll be able to handle the uncertainties to come.