Last Friday, I was bouncing around Las Vegas with my three best friends getting literally showered in champagne in a private cabana pool at Encore Beach Club where an over-served lawyer/amateur golfer picked up our exorbitant bar tab. This Friday, I’m sitting on my couch in my pajamas nursing a lingering sty on my eye and a gnarly breakout on my chin, sipping rosé while eating single-serve chocolate cake out of a holiday mug that boasts “Let It Snow!” #stayhumble.

One could argue that my champagne and Grey Goose consumption last weekend was not the best way to treat this body I inhabit, but neither is eating chocolate mug cake. Or the chocolate chip bagel with cream cheese I had for breakfast. Or the three tacos and two sugar cookies I ate at lunch. My body and brain are begging for a break, and if I’ve learned anything dealing with an anxiety disorder for most of my life – it’s time to for me to slow down and reign it in or I’m headed for one hell of a spiral. It’ll be smoothies, sleeping in, water, reading, and sensible gym time for the rest of the weekend.

Today, my seniors rolled into my classroom looking exactly like I felt – puffy, sluggish, mildly disillusioned with the state of the world, and vaguely but uncharacteristically disappointed in their lives. This wouldn’t necessarily be that unusual, except tonight is their senior prom. “What’s wrong with you guys?” I asked. “You all look like someone stole your puppy! Aren’t you excited?” I couldn’t believe they weren’t more obviously pumped. These kids have been talking about prom for months. I had to ban the word “prom” from my classroom. “We’re just tired,” one girl said “Honestly, I’m already over it,” a boy answered, “have you heard the stories I’ve been telling in here about my date? I don’t even care anymore.”

I looked into their eyes – pillowy and heavy-lidded behind thick glasses they rarely wear, their hair, freshly washed, cut, or styled – pulled into ponytails or protected under bonnets or do-rags, the girls’ nails meticulously manicured to match their dresses, their bodies slumped beneath the weighty expectations of a night they have been anticipating for months. “Guys. Listen,” I said. “It’s time for a pep talk.” They sat up – a little. “Do you want to know what I remember about my prom?” I asked. They really sat up.

I told them that I remember my dress which I loved, my hair which I didn’t, and my date who was just a friend. I don’t remember the food I ate, what anyone else wore, or even the music that was played. But I do remember who was there – I remember laughing, taking pictures, and dancing. I remember changing into jeans and t-shirts to go to post-prom where we stayed up until all hours roller-skating, playing games, or just talking. I don’t remember about what. I told them that I am still good friends with exactly one person from high school, but that doesn’t mean I am not connected to others – in fact just the other day I reconnected with a man who had been in my prom group. His Instagram post had cracked me up, and it led to an exchange that covered his nostalgia for high school and my congratulations on his new baby girl.

I told them that this will not be the best or most important night of their lives. Not by a longshot. But they will remember it, and the last thing they want to do is worry away the day and night wishing it were different – their hair prettier, their date funnier, their flowers more extravagant, or the music better. I told them they were all going to look like movie stars, and they better be safe and have fun. Most of all, they should enjoy each moment.

I know they heard me, but I’ll never know if they listened, and that’s ok. We only read through a single scene in Hamlet today, and that’s ok too – because, even if we didn’t make serious headway in Shakespeare, hopefully, I got them thinking. Because they got me thinking.

Just as my seniors had been anticipating their prom for months, my friends and I had been anticipating our trip to Vegas for just as long. The four of us are only able to be together three or four times a year, and the older we get, the more precious and fleeting those trips feel. The second we are all together, I start dreading the “goodbye.” I live with a creeping nostalgia for the immediate moment, and despite my incessant pursuit of mindfulness, I struggle to remain present.

I spent this week in a hazy funk – disappointed my trip was over, weighed down by pressures at work, irritated by the sty that took over my right eyelid, and plagued by raging hormonal mood swings that left me jumping out of my skin and cracking the whip of my sharp Irish tongue. All this led to poor sleep, overconsumption of sugary carbs, and a growing discontent as the days slipped through my fingers. Thank you to my students for forcing me to remind myself, in reminding them, that it is important to live the moments of our lives and okay to reminisce about the good ones.

I hope my students have a gloriously fun, safe prom night, and I hope they reminisce about it – next week, next year, and twenty years from now. I hope that in their lives they find friends so perfect that even when they are thirty-five, they’ll have weekends that feel just like prom weekend. Weekends they anticipate for months that leave them breathless in the moment and aching in their absence. I hope their lives are full of people and experiences that make them feel like the movie stars I am quite sure they resemble tonight. Because that’s what they deserve. It’s what we all deserve.

Until next time….