The Red & White

Recently, I’ve become obsessed with the word “dull”. “Lacking interest or excitement,” the dictionary tells us not in the catastrophic sense, but in small, ordinary ways. Sometimes I believe my life is dull. Routines stack on routines, and days fold into one another with little to mark their passing, while the extraordinary hides itself in plain sight. The word seems to encapsulate so much with an unsettling convenience. A day without any pleasant surprises, a piece of homework that feels rather effortless, an uneventful dinner, or sometimes, writing. 

But there is danger in convenience. A one-word definition seduces us to simplicity, offering an alluring shortcut to understanding that erases certain richness underneath. I’ve wondered myself, in those sentimental, late-night moments of contemplating: Is my life really dull? Or is it the name I give to a rhythm too subtle, and too unimportant to hear? To surrender to dullness is easy, but it also absolves the harder work. The times when life feels unremarkable are often the times charged with the most possibilities: the weather, the laughter, the stories, the people themselves.

Can writing be dull? I’m almost certain to say the answer is yes, it can. When it settles for the obvious, when it repeats the formulas, when we regard the process of writing more as a mandatory task than creation itself. It’s easy to fall into that temptation when we try to define people, or even communities, in writing. A person can be quiet or loud, athletic or artistic, careful or sloppy. But none can truly determine who they really are. Our school is sometimes described in sweeping terms: spirited, rigorous, competitive. Each of these terms contains a piece of truth, but none captures the fullness of what this place really is. When we settle for these shortcuts, we miss the messy contradictions that truly make the community beautiful. In reality, it is all these and more, often at once, sometimes in conflict, always in motion. 

That is when this newspaper enters. This year, we wish to celebrate the obvious triumphs: victories on fields, spectacles onstage, and excellence in classrooms. But we will also search for the less visible narratives: the countless practices that led to a single win, the two-hour rehearsals for Lessons and Carols, the moments of kindness and reflection, as well as conflicts and disagreements. So, as you flip through the newspaper, I invite you to see yourself in these pages. Perhaps in an article, a photograph, or in a quotable quote we all love. 

“Mad, fantastic, wonderful.” That’s also a definition of “dull”, which comes from the German root “toll”. What seems unremarkable can, in fact, be wild and alive. That paradox will be the mission for us as writers: to take what is dull and show the world its madness and brilliance.