At Lowell, we are the master of our ship, the captain of our soul. Whatever we desire, if we set our sails, there are no impediments — no limitations. Only sacrifices.

In these last four years, it has been my willingness to sacrifice immediate gratification for long-term success that has helped me achieve my high school goals: to reach athletic prowess, persevere through academic struggles and obtain notable recognition in both. But I learned over time that there was a trade-off with pursuing my goals — a limited social life.

Freshman year I was able to balance everything so well — friends, grades and volleyball all in seemingly perfect harmony. I remained close with amigos, even those from middle school and summer programs who hadn’t gone to Lowell. But sophomore year, as I took on more academic honors, I would be with friends inside the library trudging through assignments, only to find that they chatted instead of studying, preferring to finish work in the comfort at home. But I had no choice; every moment was needed to check off tasks in my homework planner, when I should have been enjoying their company.

Even after 3:30, I was busy with activities, always finishing journalism articles or perfecting my passing platform at volleyball practice. I had hoped to use volleyball as a place where I could socialize and laugh with friends, and I thought simply enjoying their company was enough to feel “social,” despite not necessarily hanging out with them off the court. I devoted less and less time and energy to see them or any other Lowellites. Even on the weekends, I was busy with schoolwork and club volleyball, and the sound of my cell phone ringing from friends making plans was soon forgotten. I told myself to be fine with these limits, prioritizing my long-term goals. But I was not fine, as I would begin to resent the cliques I saw in the halls exchanging gossip and jokes while I was in the midst of my suffering.

In junior year, I gave up my lunch period completely to continual work, though now as a wiser senior, I see I might have managed a different work schedule. Some days I would come across the courtyard and see all the “cool” kids in the courtyard laughing about an inside joke, those days I would consider the possibility of changing my priorities. I would wonder, “Is it still possible for me to be friends with them? Nah, maybe next year. After all, junior year is important, especially with all these APs.” I maintained this mentality, again devoting almost no time to socializing. But I hoped that my life would finally change — next year.

Entering senior year, I was relieved. Relieved to have been done with the junior year stressors. Now was the time for my pre-planned freedom, the year to relax, have fun during lunch, truly bond with some peers and enjoy some senioritis. But it didn’t happen.

First semester was full of college applications and AP courses. This was another semester full of work, work, work. I looked bleakly ahead — every year would always be filled with work: high school, university, summer job, career.

I sit now at home typing this. It’s senior night at Ghirardelli Square when I of course, according to my plan for senior year, should have gone and bonded with my classmates over delicious vanilla ice cream. But I feel now that to go would be pointless. I hadn’t been called to go, made plans with anyone, so why would I have gone by myself? But more importantly, why didn’t I call?

In my room, I tend to lay out on my desk or tape up on the wall my greatest accomplishments and memories. I love to admire my medals from volleyball and Honor Roll certificates. They are all mementos of the days full of perseverance and a strong belief in my abilities. I see a team photo of the 2010 USA Men’s National Volleyball team that I got after watching them crush the Chinese Men’s Team, and current and past volleyball and SAT goals and the processes of how I would achieve them. Off to the side, a few Winterball and Junior Prom photos lend a bit of life. My life had seemed in order and compartmentalized, just as I had wanted — initially. Yet that isn’t what I need — a small 10% compartment for friends. I wonder if there was a way I could have balanced it better. I know that I believed I was always just too busy, but I realize that this isn’t true. There was always room for friends. I just never made the time.

But on this life journey, now as a second semester senior when I feel academics aren’t important as they once seemed, and I have all the time in the world, what now? Was what I gained worth the sacrifices?

This is not meant to be a depressing story or advice to the high-strung freshman. But in some ways, yes. Yes, it was worth a lot. These tangible accomplishments were achieved because I remained focused and learned of my strengths, developing a better sense of who I am — academically, athletically, intellectually. Just know that there are no limitations here. There may be annoying teachers or “smarter” kids but you can forge any path and make what you want of your Lowell career. I chose to focus my life on grades and sports, and I know with the strongest conviction that I did everything in my power to do my best and it paid off. And yet I remain ambivalent. Could I have balanced earning that A in PreCalculus Honors with Mr. Li, and still have gone to that Skrillex concert with friends?

With a less relentless lifestyle, I honestly think that I wouldn’t have been as academically proficient or skilled at volleyball as I am today. But knowing that I had the emotional support of friends who liked me for me may have made a failed AP U.S. History test on the Reconstruction Era easier to handle. Now I enter the spring of senior year, where days are supposed to be relaxing and nights full of partying (heavens no, no alcohol, of course).

But it starts with me. Me, making the effort to open myself up to others and forge a path of friendship. Dreams that I once had may not be what I really want to be left with in the end. I cannot change the past but can use it as an astrolabe as I head towards expanded horizons in college. I still believe my dreams are right in front of me, and I can grab them with a strong will. On my new journey next year, I’m sure the friend-ship will set sail.

A version of this article first appeared in the Jan. 27, 2012 print edition of The Lowell.

Illustration by Grace Sun