For the past four years, one thing has stayed consistent: every time I’ve listened to a Chapel Talk, I have run through my head every way I would open my own talk. My sophomore year talk opened with a disclaimer about how I, and I quote, “May or may not cry.” But now, I’ve evolved, so I want to open with this: What I am about to talk about is not something I claim to know the answer to; it’s simply my experience and struggles. Before I start, you will need some background first.

I am the fifth person in my family to go to St. Andrew’s. Among the people on that list are my dad, both sisters, my dad’s great-uncle, and if I wanted, I could add my uncle, who didn’t last longer than a year for … disciplinary reasons. The reason I’m telling you all this is because today I want to talk about legacy. Legacy has defined my St. Andrew’s experience. For me, St. Andrew’s was this mythical place, out in Nowhere, Delaware, where everyone is social and you are always with someone. As I grew up, I heard stories of escapades and antics that my dad told. And as I finished elementary school, my oldest sister, Josie, started going here, and suddenly the dinner table was nothing but eccentric stories as my sister started sneaking out and bonding with teammates. Finally, my second sister, Parker, who some of you know, came here, and she was a little quieter, but she had a close group of friends and seemed to fit right in. And last but not least, I came here. 

My first year here was interesting, to say the least. When I got here, I arrived on a campus where, for the last hundred-something visits, I was simply an observer. But it was finally time for me to be here, and lucky for me, my sister was still here. While this had its pluses, it also led me to introduce myself as “Parker’s brother, Grayson,” for at least the first week. This introduction of myself showed how I defined myself at St. Andrew’s. As my St. Andrew’s experience started, I learned a lot about myself. One thing in particular is that I am on the quieter side of people here.  

After my freshman year came the biggest change in my life. My dad, Class of ’87, died suddenly on Father’s Day. As I came back to school the next year, everything felt different; every activity and location brought me back to one of my dad’s numerous stories from his time here. Being here was a blessing and a curse because it forced me to face my emotions and deal with my grief, whether or not I wanted to. One thing I learned after my dad died was that he was a troublemaker. As an example—and please, no one try this today—during his memorial service, I found out from one of my dad’s classmates that my dad had a car hidden down the road, and he would regularly take people for beer runs. Another of the antics included being in charge of Chapel Check-in, but gaming the system so it was impossible for people to get missed Chapel marks. And one of the stories that has been unearthed most recently is that within the span of weeks, my dad dated roommates, giving them both the same mixtape. And when I say the same mixtape, I mean the exact copy of it.

“I am the fifth person in my family to go to St. Andrew’s and struggled with comparing my experience to theirs. ... The reason I share this is because I want others to realize ... not everybody has to fit a mold. The expectations we have for ourselves are almost always impossible; no one lives up to every expectation, and maybe we’re not supposed to.” Grayson Friedli ’25 

Now, you are all probably wondering why I am telling you this, and that’s because I am nothing like this. While yes, I’ve been told countless times how I have the same dry humor or the same cadence as my dad, I am not this mischievous social creature. And I don’t think I will ever be the person who launches my siblings off the roofs of cars like him (true story), and this was a big challenge for me: living in this place that screamed “legacy” while also being so different from my family. I quickly found myself comparing who I am versus who my family members were. I started having expectations for how I should act and how I should be socially. 

My dad is not the only person I have started comparing myself to. My siblings both had vibrant social lives while here, regularly bringing friends home and reporting on all the drama. So as my time went on here, my fears developed. As I went through my junior and senior years, these fears expanded. I was the only family member not to be an RL, and despite getting to know my classmates better, I still felt lackluster. And as I kept feeling more and more subpar, I finally, after years, told a friend. I told this friend that I was feeling like I couldn’t socialize and that I was almost jealous of how they just had the ability to go and join conversations. But then, the response I got amazed me. My friend told me that they had the same thought about me, that I was the social one, and that they were almost jealous of me. 

This response completely shifted my perspective on everything. Like I told you at the start, I don’t have all the answers. In fact, I still feel those expectations that I have for myself. When I go to dinner or walk out on to the Front Lawn, I still feel like I could be more. The reason I share this is because I want others to realize a few things. One, make sure when you tell yourself you have to do this or that, you ask “Why.” Are you doing it because it will make you happy, or because it’s something someone else would’ve done? Two, not everybody has to fit a mold. The expectations we have for ourselves are almost always impossible; no one lives up to every expectation, and maybe we’re not supposed to. Thank you.