Ridgefield High School 2026 Valedictorian's Speech

"I’d like to share a story about 'memory.' The other day, my computer completely ran out of storage. It—impressively—said 'zero bytes free.' And that’s because it’s all used up by memories that I can’t delete. See, my computer has a button I can press to record the last thirty seconds of the screen. I press it so often when I’m playing games with my friends that it’s become a habit, and I’ve begun hitting it without consciously thinking. And these videos, they just sit there on my drive, collecting dust, and I rarely look at them. But each one represents a memory, a brief moment when I was happy, scared, excited, or just enjoying spending time with my friends. Which is exactly why I can’t delete them.

"I bring up this story because I’ve realized how little of the last thirteen years I remember. Recently, I was looking back at some old text conversations, and as I read my own messages, even from just earlier this year, it felt like I was looking at dialogue from a play that someone else wrote. Now—my memory is particularly bad, as my friends and family would enthusiastically attest to, but all of us—all of you—have experiences that you don’t or won’t remember. Our brains can only hold so much information, only so many memories. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if science figures out that school takes up most of our available storage—because I can tell you that Lincoln delivered the Gettysburg Address in 1863, and I can tell you that A squared plus B squared equals C squared.

"A famous Picasso quote goes, 'Every act of creation is first an act of destruction.' This speech was originally going to focus on that, on how our lives have been destroyed by academia such that now we’re ready to create ourselves anew. But I think there’s a better application of Picasso’s principle: when we’re being lectured to about particle motion or when we’re cramming our heads with the teachings of Strunk and White, we might be destroying some embarrassing or insignificant memories from freshman year to make room. Conversely, when we’re hanging out with friends, having fun, we’re completely forgetting the plot to 'Of Mice and Men.' It’s a balancing act.

"And thus has been our academic journey. For the last thirteen years, we’ve been deciding which moments to remember, which to throw away; what to create, and what to get rid of. From elementary school, we’ve remembered kindness, sympathy, problem solving, and active listening; and we also remember our closest friends, our first field day, and our critical lunches and recesses. From middle school: well, we try to forget most of middle school. But we remember basic algebra, the scientific method, and how to break down difficult texts. Now, from high school, we’ll remember our favorite teachers, our best friends, our worst nights, and if we’re lucky, the quadratic formula.

"Except: there’s a small flaw in that logic. Our brains are not computers; we never really choose to throw a memory in the recycling bin in favor of keeping a new one. I (maybe obviously?) have never taken a psych class, so forgive me, but we never truly 'forget' an experience—we internalize it, extract its emotions, learn its lessons, and continue, changed and better for it. So even if you do forget that embarrassing freshman-year situation, you won’t make the same mistake twice. And even though you’ve forgotten the plot of 'Flowers for Algernon,' you'll remember to stay humble and human. In a decade from now, when the quadratic formula is completely wiped from your recollection, you’ll still remember how to solve complex problems. Just because you can’t recall a memory does not mean it’s gone.

"So, in these new, upcoming and maybe frightening stages in our lives, we should remember that there’s always room to keep making new memories. Wherever we end up, we’ll have to keep learning, keep studying, and keep making lifelong friends. No matter how many new experiences we undergo, the lessons from our thirteen-year journey through Ridgefield will always be with us. While Picasso’s words are true—in the sense that to create a painting, you need to first destroy the pureness of a canvas—they seem to fall a little short when it comes to our memories. When we learn, when we study, when we socialize, laugh, bond, cry, and jest, as we’ve all done so many times, we only create. And for the rest of our lives, we’ll be creating twice as many works of art as canvases we destroy.

"Thank you and congratulations to the Class of 2026. Go create, and go destroy. Keep changing the world; we’ll remember."