I frantically attempted to balance a stack of books and binders in my right hand while casually pulling down the skirt of my Poms uniform. It didn’t work. The books fell, the skirt went up. I was a freshman—lost, nervous and embarrassed.

But my uniform acted like a shield against these emotions, almost like it held some special magical powers. The symbolism of the uniform, to me, stood for so much more than just a member of the Poms squad. It represented the achievement of a goal I had been working towards throughout 13 years of dancing. And after making the Orchesis dance team a few months into the year, I began to let these uniforms completely define me.

It wasn’t until these uniforms were taken away from me that I truly discovered myself.

After not making the Poms squad my junior year, I was absolutely devastated. My identity was snatched away and feelings of confusion and anger overwhelmed me. Watching the uniforms pass me in the hallways while I looked down at my ripped jeans was uncomfortable. Almost unbearable. So I began writing about it.

Since Mrs. Viviano’s creative writing time in my 2nd grade class, I had always loved writing. But when did I get to sit down and write unless it was for a school paper? Well, never. Now I was able to take advantage of my practice-free weeks.

Before I knew it, writing transformed into my new identity. I began writing opinion columns for an online newspaper about past experiences and applied for the Torch staff. As Poms shut their door, Torch took me in. Writing became an outlet.

And so when I tried out for Poms again the following year, and once again did not make it, although I had a good cry or two, I turned to writing. I applied for a five-week summer program at Northwestern University referred to as “Cherubs.” I was accepted, and went on to have the most incredible summer of my life. The instructors, guests and 84 new friends that I packed my bags beside were nothing I could have even dreamed of and nothing I could have achieved without my Poms rejection.

Now, as I continue as a student reporter for the Chicago Tribune and head off to college in a few months to study journalism and communications, I am grateful every day for not making the Poms squad my junior and senior year. If it weren’t for that identity crisis, I would not be who I am today.

Sometimes, we go into high school with a plan. We know what we want to be a part of, what we want to do, our goals, everything. That was me. I thought I had it all set in stone. But throughout this journey, doors will swing both ways and I learned to explore each room. Don’t dwell in the past, take hold of your future. You never know where it will lead you.