As co-editor-in-chief of The Pitch, I’m entitled to a few things: prime mailbox placement in the Pitch office, a press badge that nobody respect and the loss of my social life, among other things.

I’m also entitled to this: my final column. I’ve waited all year to write this, the opportunity to brag about the crazy accomplishments and elite social status that I’ve established over my four years at WJ. Then it dawned on me: I’m pretty normal. I’m not in APEX, I’m not a star athlete, and my eight-pack is still in the works. (Don’t worry ladies; it’ll be ready by Beach Week.) Still, I wouldn’t change anything about my “normal” high school career. And for all you other normal kids out there, neither should you.

Coming into high school, I wanted to be the superstar jock that got all the girls and was invited to all the parties. Instead, I found out that I was a JV athlete that couldn’t cut it on the varsity. Girls lead me on more than college tour guides. The only person that invites me to parties is some guy named Raul who friended me on Facebook. (I’m either creeped out or flattered, I haven’t decided yet.)

Those weren’t the only rude awakenings I was subject to. On the first day of freshman year, I was looking at the first step along my path to Harvard. After two weeks of honors geometry, I set my sights on UDI (University of David’s Imagination).

The fact that I still can’t prove that angles B and D are perpendicular coupled with the social awkwardness that is the life of a high school underclassman made cool-kid life all the more desirable.

So what did I do as a junior? I started writing for The Pitch, where WJ’s finest nerds assemble to make a newspaper. (This may not have helped my social status, but my self-esteem skyrocketed after hanging out with the news section.) By the end of the year, I had found something that I was legitimately passionate about, and was selected as leader of the nerds (editor-in-chief). The point is, I found my niche in The Pitch (I like to think that I found it in rapping, too). After that, it didn’t matter that I couldn’t dunk a basketball or that I listened to Jessica Simpson or that I farted in Spanish class once.

Whether you like it or not, most of you reading this have had a similar, if not identical, high school experience. I can safely say that the embarrassing, demoralizing experiences that I’ve gone through with my friends have undoubtedly brought us closer. Sure, it’d be cool to run for SMOB and be a “lax bro,” but I like the balance I’ve struck as a normal kid, and I think I’ve done okay for myself. After all, I have 22 phone numbers in my contact list that start with the letter “M,” and four of them aren’t members of my family!

If you decide to take anything away from this column, let me leave you with this: go with the flow and chill out if Coach K. hasn’t called to offer you a full ride to be his point guard or if Obama hasn’t asked you to be his Vice Vice President yet. Once you find something that you at least somewhat care about, everything else will fall into place. And even if you’re still looking for that certain something, there’s plenty of time.

And until then, there’s always room for you at UDI.