What makes me sad about school is that the people who are unhappy

Hear the compassionate words of Alice Englert, spoken as if to comfort the weary soul of youth: “What makes me sad about school is that the people who are unhappy are unhappy because they don’t believe it will change. And I just want to say: ‘It does! High school ends and it’s over.’ I will tell anyone that it’s OK to be unhappy at school, make lots of mistakes and then it will be over.” In this reflection, she unveils both the sorrow and the hope of a universal trial—that the struggles of youth, though heavy, are not eternal.

The sadness she names is the despair of those who believe their suffering will last forever. In the halls of school, where the judgment of peers cuts sharper than blades, where mistakes seem unbearable, and where loneliness feels like exile, many believe they are condemned to remain there forever. Yet Englert speaks as one who has seen beyond the walls, who knows the truth: time does not stand still. High school ends. Its dramas, its humiliations, its fleeting victories—all vanish like mist at dawn.

The ancients understood this rhythm of trial and passing. Consider the Spartan youths, who were taken from their homes to endure the agoge, a brutal training of hardship and humiliation. Many must have believed their suffering would consume them. Yet those who endured discovered that it was but a season, a crucible shaping them for the life to come. In the same way, Englert comforts the young with this wisdom: the suffering of school is not forever—it is a crucible, not a sentence.

History, too, reminds us of this truth. Think of Abraham Lincoln, mocked in his youth for his rough manners, awkward speech, and poor clothing. In his days of schooling, he was no one’s idea of greatness. Had he believed those years defined him, despair might have broken him. Yet he endured, and beyond those halls rose to become one of the most revered leaders in history. So too with the countless who suffered in their youth, only to rise when time carried them forward.

Englert’s words also carry another lesson: it is OK to be unhappy in youth, and it is OK to make mistakes. Too often the young believe that every misstep is a permanent mark upon their soul. But life is longer than the narrow span of adolescence. What feels like the end of the world within those walls is, in truth, a passing storm. To stumble in youth is not failure—it is learning. To be unhappy is not shameful—it is part of growth.

The lesson for us all is clear: when sorrow feels endless, remember that change is the one certainty of life. Seasons end, doors close, and new paths open. High school ends, and so too do other trials that may feel eternal—heartbreak, poverty, grief, rejection. Each is a chapter, not the whole story. To despair is to forget the turning of the page; to hope is to know that tomorrow will not be today forever.

So let Alice Englert’s words be carried as wisdom for all who suffer under the weight of the present: do not believe that your unhappiness will last forever. Time is a river, always moving. Be patient with yourself, forgive your mistakes, endure your sadness—for the storm will pass, and the sun will rise on a new chapter. In this truth lies freedom, and in freedom lies the courage to keep walking forward.