One senior cut day later, nothing strikes me as really “different.” I am still me, at Palo Alto High School, in my 6th period class, doing what I usually do during 6th period, typing away at an article or, in this case, a reflection.

Senior cut day, a tradition during which the seniors ditch a day of school in order to celebrate the end of AP testing, most tests and assignments in general and the overall “freedom” of their scant time left at Paly, turned out to be, like many anticipated events, much overrated.

I guess with all the hype about the day, I expected something incredibly life-changing that would mark some symbolic change in me. One of my friends had called senior cut day a “symbol of our independence,” for which we seniors could not lean or depend on our parents or guardians in any way. When the sun came up that Monday morning, I just imagined something (although I’m not sure exactly what) would hit me and I’d feel transformed in some way. But the day passed just like a birthday. You’re “different,” but not noticeably.

That is not to say I didn’t enjoy senior cut day.

I woke up with excited flutters (and dark eye circles) from the pre-senior cut day sleepover for the picnic at Montara Beach we’d planned weeks ago. Like any normal teenagers, we basically emptied the fridge of its contents packing our lunches and were left on the sunny but windy beach for the majority of the day to do as we will.

And what did we do with that freedom?

Well, we talked.

We drew on the beach, took pictures, enjoyed chewing on our turkey and cheese and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and grapes and chocolate peanut butter cups (didn’t I say we raided the fridge?) and ran around in the freezing cold waves that destroyed our masterpiece artworks in the sand canvas. We sang and hummed, stacked weird kelp remnants, shell fragments and pebbles on our backs and lay in the warm sun to even out our tans (or in my case, fry like a tomato).

The day was as picturesque as could be. Dogs trotted in the sand, birds flew overhead in flocks, circling around the bright blue waves that lapped at the warm, crumbly expansion of sand. And honestly, we got to miss school. What wasn’t to enjoy? Why would I choose to go to school when the things we’d get done would be minimal? When I could relax from the four plus years of stress about colleges, tests, grades and extracurricular activities that plagued me?

But, one day later, the honest truth is, nothing’s really different. I am not suddenly 100 percent independent from my parents, who I still depend on for rides (yes, I don’t have my license yet) and to pay for my meals. I don’t have my diploma yet, touting my high school achievements, and the next day, just one day later, life seems to be processing as normal.

That’s what they mean when they call life a journey or a process. We can’t expect something to just go “boom!” and our lives are completely different, although I guess college may feel like that.

The changes, I suppose, build up. Just like birthdays. You don’t notice the aging at one-year differences, but as time passes, they add up. That’s why it’s important to take part in events like senior cut day, so that you feel those changes coming. So that you don’t miss out on anything in this “process” we call life.

As the changes accrue, we seniors will notice. As our days at Paly become increasingly numbered and events such as Baccalaureate and senior picnic and eventually Graduation draws nearer and nearer, our bittersweet farewells will start to impact us. We cross the threshold with each stimulus, propelling us to our respective futures post-Paly.

But today, I enjoy being a senior at Paly, still a dependent, still a “kid,” dreading the number of projects and lab reports due at the end of the week. I enjoy the constancy while I can, reveling in my soon-to-change identity that remains — well — me, besides the two tomato-red, blistery sunburned legs as souvenirs from my senior cut day on the beach.