Seniors #2 journal--In a Good Place
Online posting due BEFORE THANKSGIVING DAY. As with all journals, this should be printed and handed in at the end of the quarter in its BEST form.
I'm not always up to date on the most novel vernacular, teen or otherwise. By the time I start using some "new" expression, it's bottomed out to the level of drab cliche. So if you get a "you go, girl" or an "atta boy" from me, try not to gawk in amazement at me like I'm some ancient mariner.
Within the last year, people my age and in my small circle of very cool friends have begun to use the phrase "in a good place," as in "his boss gave him a raise today, so he's in a good place," or "her Yankees won the World Series, so she's in a good place."
Where's your "good place?"
You should answer very literally and specifically, sparing no expense. If so, then take me to some sunny exotic island in the Bahamas, send me schussing down the Rockies, or lead me to traverse your favorite hiking spot on the Appalachian Trail. Place me in the front row of a Taylor Swift or a Phish concert. I promise not to wear ear plugs.
Maybe you're the more "stay at home" type, who like Henry David Thoreau, could make a full day out of bird watching, sitting in his cabin doorway. Then stay closer to home. Take me on an easy five mile jog with your eyes ( and other senses) wide open. Walk me along your favorite local wooded trail.
I want you to be descriptive, to use the elements of setting that you recently studied and analyzed in The Portable Phonograph.
For review, what are these "elements of setting" used by authors of fiction?
They are (with examples from The Portable Phonograph that follow):
1. vivid, concrete, "real" details (in The Portable Phonograph, the "dead matted grass," the "smoldering peat," the "gnarled cheekbones" of the men---these are "real" descriptive details)
2. figures of speech ("black cloud strips like threats" "mute darkness" "scars of gigantic bombs" in TPP)
3. richly connotative words, especially ones that are mimetic (the sound of the word suggests its meaning or whether the word is negative or positive in meaning, as in "blithe," which sounds positive and "droll," which sounds negative) or onomatopoetic (the word is created from a sound---"bang"). Words in TPP like "rakish" and "wuthering" and "doddering" and "plaintive" add another layer of meaning within their contexts in the story.
4. sensory images that appeal to taste, touch, smell, sight, feel, hearing ("smoke smarting eyes" "wet blue-green notes" "moisture in his nostrils stiffened" in TPP)
This journal entry is somewhat similar to a creative writing assignment that you MAY be given soon (I say MAY because I don't know how much reading I'm going to be able to do in the near future). If I do assign a creative description, then you can use this assignment to develop your "descriptive" writing muscles before writing the real paper. If not, then at least you've practiced the art of being descriptive.
One requirement of your post at Schoolsville is that your "good place" MUST be a "good place." Please, I want no glimpses into any personal mansions of doom and gloom. As I might have said once or twice in the 70s, "Don't be such a downer, man."
For the men in The Portable Phonograph, DeBussy's music provided a soothing balm for their hurt. If you've seen The Shawshank Redemption, Andy Dufresne listened to the operatic singing of the "two Italian ladies" to take his soul to heights that not even two weeks of solitary lockup could destroy.
Can our "good places" do the same?
posted by JTF @ 11:49 AM
60 comments
60 Comments:
Gazing up at the sky, lying on my beach chair, I soaked in the heat of the blazing Cancun sun. Relaxation washed over me, filling my veins with a sense of peace. I had never experienced such a feeling of tranquility until that moment. Grabbing my book off the small, hand carved table next to me, I gazed out at the crashing waves. I sat there, captivated by the beauty of my surroundings. I set my book down, realizing this was too perfect of a moment to waste it with my face glued to a paperback. I sat up, put my feet down on the inviting sand, and stood up. I sauntered to the whispering water, stopping occasionally to look at the various forms of wildlife around me. As I reached the water, I knew that I was in a good place.
My good place would be a warm dusk on the beaches of North Carolina. Laying on a hammock nestled between two trees watching the orange-red sunset crash into the ocean. I would lay contemplating good memories of past experiences while sipping a cool drink. I enjoy alone time such as this because it gives me opportunities to think about things I would not otherwise have the time to think about. In this ideal place of mine I would also have my guitar. Like The Portable Phonograph, music is a great pleasure to me. I would strum softly sending a sweet serenade soaring into the air to flood my ears with another form of stimulation besides the ocean. As the night passed on I would drift slowly to sleep as the cool ocean breeze caressed my face. When I wake I will be facing the sun rise to greet it in all of its glory. The next day would be passed just as the one before and every other day after. This would be my ideal place to be.
My absolute favorite place to be is the town of Parksley, VA, located on the Eastern Shore of Virginia. My excitement is at a high when we travel to this place of peace and relaxation. Once we reach our destination and get our hunting gear unpacked, it is time to unwind and plan for the early morning hunt from the comfort of our 80x20 single wide trailer. It 4:30 a.m when we wake up. I am at first too tired to role out of my LL Bean sleeping bag. Once I consume my wheat bagel and tip my cousin's bed over, I am ready to go. My 3 uncles, my dad, cousin Eric and I gathered in the light of the full moon. We go over our mission, say a pray, and head out for a promising day. It is almost eerie walking in total darkness and silence. The rummaging squirrels and birds are getting me anxious. It really makes can't wait to climd into my antique tree stand. I sit in my tree and wait for it to get light. Once its light, the game of stealth and sense is on.
The ancient lights spark loudly as I flip the switch. We are cast into the darkness of creativity. The audience murmurs quietly as characters are formed in the darkness. Slowly the house lights dim and the audience is silenced. I walk on the stage and the warmth fills my soul. This is home. I can be myself but, I can also be anything I want to be. Each character has their own mold and each actor searches their mind like a cave to find that mold. It is not only a place to make friends and learn about acting but, you can find yourself and create something. A football team has teamwork; a class learns together. But, a cast has a bond that no other group can captivate. A bond that allows us to have teamwork even though we are completely different people. A bond that allows us to learn from each other and grow. A bond that we share in the theater. The stage is a good place to be.
Sitting on the ice covered lake on my Yamaha Phazer FX snowmobile for what I knew would be the last time is when I knew for a fact that I was in a good place. Sitting on the blue and black streaked machine I absorbed the beautiful white open space in front of me. Slapping down the visor of my helmet and hitting the throttle in one fluid motion I took off. Watching as the picturesque landscape around me formed itself into a sort of blur it somehow became even more beautiful. Glancing down at my speed and seeing how much of the lake I had left I calculated that I need to come to a stop soon. I squeezed the brake handle and tilting the steering column ever so slightly so that I would come to a nice controlled sliding halt. Now at the opposite side of the lake, I unbuckled my blue and black streaked helmet and laid it to rest beside me. Looking out at the heavenly site before me I came to the conclusion that I was in a good place.
The smell of the ocean water fills the air. The cool breeze blowing off the water makes the suns heat warming not overbearing. As I lay there on the boat, swaying back and forth with the current, I hear my brother surface and come aboard. His journey is over and now it is my turn. I take the snorkel and begin to look down into the crystal clear blue water. I see my target, take a breath, and dive down to the bottom. There is a struggle at first; the beast does not want to give up the fight. I use my tickle stick and get him to submit. I start towards the surface and come back up with my prize, a Florida Key lobster. I could continue the hunt all day but it is getting dark so we return home and prepare the feast. The entire family is grateful for our excursion to the depths so we sit down at the table and begin. I am in a good place.
My “good place” would have to be Bethany Beach. Laying on my pink palm tree towel over the soft, warm sand. I soak up the dancing rays of the sun and bask in the sunshine. I bury my feet in the sand, with the hope that crabs don’t find my toes a nice toy to swipe at. I feel the cool ocean mist spray across my face, making the summer heat bearable. I close my eyes and listen to the noises of the beach: the squawking of the pestering seagulls as they swoop dangerously low over unsuspecting targets, the playful cries of children reveling in their majestic castles of sand, the blow of the lifeguard’s whistle as he protects swimmers from danger, the noisy chatter of adults as they talk about whatever crosses their carefree minds. I enjoy the relaxed atmosphere of the beach and settle into my good place. My eyes drift closed as I am lulled to sleep by the assiduous sound of crashing waves on the shore. There are no worries, nothing to agonize over, and not a negative thought that crosses my mind. I blend into the serene surroundings and let the relaxation wash over me.
My "good place" is in the small town of Hayward, Wisconsin. The clean air brushes against my skin as I open walk toward the cabin. The cabin has the delightful scent of pine, oak, and all the other trees used to construct it. The clear dark blue lake reflects and equally dark blue sky that may have never seen a cloud before. It teems with life as the little kids play and the fish swim around them. Just sitting on the dock and soaking in the sunlight of a brisk Wisconsin summer day is truly magnificent. Having nothing to do but sit in a chair as boats drive by slowly and delicately as if not to disturb me. The birds sing and the chimes chime like a band trying to serenade my ears. I become overwhelmed with peace when I am there. This town has a way of transforming you when you are there. High maintenance is no longer an issue as the busy people become relaxed and the spoiled become simple. These simple people, including myself, all gather together for two weeks out of every year to do nothing else but enjoy each other's company and the beauty the town. There are no malls or cable television, but only the things that one should appreciate and find important in life are present.
I Open my eyes, stretch my arms , and try to relieve my floppy limbs as I get out of the car from a 18 hour strenuous and long car ride. The air is humid with the blazing hot sun shining down on me in the driveway. We have arrived to my Grandmas. My Grandma is a sweet, rosy cheeked, round lovable person. As I open the rickety old door it creaks. As I walk in the sweet aroma of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies brushes past my nose. I walk over to the oven take a cookie out and break it apart as the chocolate oozes with delightful gooeyness. Just then my grandma emerges from her bedroom with a grin from ear to ear. She rushes towards my family like a teddy bear with open arms. We say hello and then go to our rooms where we will be staying. As I saunter into the room with my purple overstuffed rolling suitcase. I toss it on the floor and suddenly begin to look at pictures hanging on the wall. I gaze from one picture to another; which brings old memories to rush through my head. Just then my grandma comes into the room with old vintage furniture and sits down on the bed. She begins to tell me old stories that I could listen to for hours. We suddenly decide to go to the community pool because the weather was so hot it could melt and ice cream cone. As we enter the pool the loud commotion of children screaming, parents gossiping, and teenagers listening to music while tanning surface the atmosphere. Cooling off from the baking sun becomes refreshing. We spend hours upon hours at the pool catching up talking, and swimming. But finally the sky grows to dusk and it is time to skedaddle and return to my grandmas house. After we get ready to go to bed my grandma quietly comes into the room and sits on the side of my bed . She brushes her hand against my flustered cheek and then kisses me goodnight. The week flows by because time flies when you are having fun. Its time to depart and tears flow from my eyes and great sorrow envelops my stomach. We say our goodbyes and get back into the car for the long ride. I look back as we drive off through the back window and stare at her until we leave the neighborhood. Then I turn on my ipod and listen to songs and think about how I can’t wait to come back and visit which won’t be for long.
Turn left on the main road, walk amongst the trees on the gravel filled alleyway for about fifteen minutes, and you will find my “good place.” Take in the canal, but ignore the dilapidated dock that houses the occasional unattended fishing rod and the murky, polluted canal water, and just listen. Sure, the occasional bird can be heard playing its inborn instrument and several boats at a time will threaten to puncture the peace that fills your body, but it will go back to normal. Contentment will consume you, and the sloshing water will invite you to think the deepest, most inspirational thoughts – how ever outlandish they may be. It is here, on this imperfect stretch of land that I come to think. The wind brushes my face, the sun’s warm fingers automatically force me into leaning my head back and I think about everything. Occasionally, I will bring someone to my haven, and it will turn into nothing more than a playful fit of joke telling, boat watching and occasional races—that I always seem to loose—down the outstretched and makeshift road. It is my place to frolic and my place to think, and I am grateful for it ☺
I look into the darkness of the sky, little sparks standing in attention as if frozen by the cold night air. You can feel the soft wispy fog dancing through the air and around your body, and over the white crystal-like sand slowly, yet whimsically floating towards the royal blue ocean. The smell of the saltwater stinging the air looms in the wind swirling around the beach. The waves in a violent fight to the death over which was the strongest of all. You can feel the icy burn of the water as it smoothly glides over the skin, exciting areas in the skin where the mosquitoes have made their feast. As you look up again you can see the army of lights surrounding what appears to be the white part of an abnormally large black and white cookie. The more deeply you gaze into the cookie you feel a slight enticing pull that slowly hypnotizes you into a sleepy state of relaxation. Although the surrounding seems small and hidden, I look around and there is an immense stretch of land flowing around me in both directions. Now the waves are getting softer and creating a living cloud of foam on the surface of the horizon where the water meets the sandy crystal-lined beach. The white foam reflects the little bit of moonlight that is able to maneuver its way through the layers of fog. My “good place” is a little beach in Ocho Rios, Jamaica. It looks best when it’s late at night when it is pitch dark and there aren’t any tourist or a lot of noise outside.
The sudden ringing of my alarm clock jerks me out of bed. It’s still black outside and the sun wont be up for another good hour or so. I sneak down the stairs like a burglar robbing a house, so as to not wake anyone up. The basement steps creek as I go down to get my equipment ready for the long morning ahead of me. I’m still in zombie mode when I pull out of the drive and I leave my radio off listening to the sound of my jeep. The roads are deserted; I mean who in their right mind is out at 4:30 in the morning. Coasting up to the field I turn off all my lights, so as to not startle anything that could be around. The air stings my lungs and the frosted ground cracks under my heavy boots as I climb out of my jeep. Reaching into the back I struggle to remove my gun from the confined space of my back seat. My body cries to me for warmth as the cold air begins to penetrate my clothes and I slip into the warmth of my camouflage suit. The treacherous walk out to my stand is quiet. Only the sound of the crumbling leaves under my feet can be heard for not even the animals are up and moving. I manage to climb up the ladder into my stand easy enough and get settled down. My head bobs as I try to keep myself alert, even though I know nothing will be moving for about thirty minutes. I just want to be ready for anything to happen at any given time. Hugging my gun a try to keep myself warm for I know I wont get any sort of break from the freezing cold until the sun peaks out from the horizon.
I take my seat upon the wooden bench as it makes that familiar creaking sound that i've grown to love. I russell through the pages of sheet music until I find the one that I'm looking for. My fingers softly glide across the cool keys, serene notes flowing from the grand instrument. The music builds louder and my fingers begin lashing out angrily at the black and white keys, creating bold, staccato notes. A final fortissimo chord is struck and then I return to the quiet melody. When I'm playing the piano, I am in a good place.
The rhythmic sound of crashing waves comes beating to my ears as I slowly open my eyes to a cloudless, crystal blue sky. I glance behind and see the bright sun slowly descending down to the horizon as this sunny summer afternoon progresses onwards. Sinking deeper into my warm beach chair, I hear a seagull in the distance. Directing my view back towards the ocean, I see my three best friends calmly relaxing in the chairs beside me. The ocean looks like a paradise. Just thinking about the feeling of the cool summer water upon my skin gravitates me to my feet. The sand burns my feet, but this does not hurt, only reassures me that the ocean will feel that much more refreshing. As I walk towards the water, I see a brother and sister laughing together. This sight brings a warm comforting feeling to me as I am reminded of home after being away with friends all summer. Eyes still set upon the clear blue paradise, my left foot first senses the water. I keep walking then dive into the water, and finally reach my good place with the crisp refreshing feeling of the summer ocean surrounding me.
Slowly opening my eyes to the suns glaring rays, I look around to see white sandy grains surrounding me beneath my feet. To the left I see several palm tree's swaying in the wind coming off the ocean on this breezy day. All around me is nothing but peace and tranquility. The closest form of life are the schools of fish underneath the teal blue ripples of the ocean, there are no bothersome people for miles. I stare out at the horizon where the ocean meets the partly cloudy sky which is blocking some of the intense heat of the sun so the temperature is just right. I'm reclined in a soft beach chair, which feels a lot like the big comfy couch in my living room. I'm sipping on a refreshing glass of tropical fruit punch with just the right amount of ice. I sit and recap everything that has happened thus far in my life, good or bad. I slowly start to daze off again, into my dreams where anything is possible.
I had to crane my neck to see those skyscrapers, but it was worth the brief moment of discomfort. This city is unlike any place I have ever been, it speaks for itself, its New York. Its grungy side streets, bumper to bumper traffic, the sea of people, this is a different type of beauty. Some people may not see New York the way I do, but for me it’s a bit of eye candy. I look out to the Hudson River, and see the ripples of water scuttling towards the edge. There is the beautiful park with its winding paths and emerald trees. The cement jungle as it is known is greater than all others. Daytime brings busy businessman, tourists, and residents; these varieties of people fill the streets and add more life and color to the city. If it wasn’t for the sun, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between night and day here. It is called the city that never sleeps for a reason. It’s just as busy at two o’clock in the morning as it was at two o’clock in the afternoon. When I am here I just gawk at my surroundings. My mind fills with dreams of a future in the city. When I am privileged enough to be there “I’m in a good place.”
A good place is somewhere to which we can escape everything; our family, our friends, our stresses, our surroundings and even our own thoughts. It’s a place where we can put aside our issues and focus on being ourselves. I imagine myself sitting in the wet sand that has just been hit by low tide gazing out upon the calm water and to what appears to be a colorful explosion in the sky. I dig my feet into the sand feeling each tiny grain between my toes. I run my fingers through my hair as I let the salty ocean water seep through. Achill raises the hair on my body as the sun begins to set. Searching through the forest, I pick up sticks to build a fire. The colorful explosion in the sky turns to darkness as the light from my fire reflects in the ocean. I sit around the fire reflecting on my thoughts, but instead of cluttering them up in my head I do what comes natural to me. I put my thoughts in song. The rhythm and rhymes calms me. It allows me to be creative while expressing my opinion no matter my emotion. It makes me feel unique and original. My “good place” in itself provides its own music, which inspires me to create mine. The sound of sand between my toes, water pounding on the beach, the calm wave sounds in the sea shells, and the sound of fire sparks in the air all contribute to my music. My “good place” maybe imaginary in a sense, but it defines me as an individual.
Plunging into the bright blue water, I become engulfed in a whole new world underneath the surface of the crystal Caribbean Ocean. Equipped with a pair of rubber flippers, goggles, and a breathing apparatus, I am ready to swim away from all the stress and fall into a state of total bliss. The ocean seemed more like an exquisite painting with colors so vivid that it looked unreal. I take a mental snapshot in my mind so as to not forget the vast expanse of not only the bright blue water but the perfectly pink coral and exotic multicolored fish. I am sent into a state of shock as I witness a colossal murky green colored sea turtle skulk slowly along the floor of the ocean. After what seemed like only a few minutes, I finally come in touch with reality and reach the surface again realizing that the time has just slipped past me. I spend the remainder of this beautiful day sitting on the beach in the white as snow sand. I gaze up at the cloudless sky while listening to the whimsical tunes of a Jack Johnson song. My brother comes running up the sandy beach to show my mom and me a beautiful conch shell that he found while snorkeling. As the day comes to an end I send my taste buds flying as I munch on lightly crusted coconut shrimp. The trip to St. John’s in the Virgin Islands is like my own little slice of heaven. I am thankful that my brother took home that soft pink conch shell so whenever I glance at it I am reminded of my idea of paradise and my “good place”.
My good place would have to be Long Beach Island in the fall. The fall is my favorite season to begin with, because I love the weather. When we go down to our beach house on Long Beach Island I can’t help but smile the whole way. As we drive down the deserted boulevard I like to roll down my window and let the cool breeze run through my hair. Also you can smell the ocean, that sea salt smell that relaxes you until you sleep like a baby. Once we arrive at our house I quickly unpack before taking a walk down our abandoned street to the beach. Walking down the street you get a sense of loneliness, but it fills you with warmth. This warmth makes me feel at one with myself and the world. As I approach the beach I kick up my feet and quickly take off my flip flops. The cold sand against my bare feet sends shivers up my spine and I just stand there for a moment and let the cold warm up my feet. I then make my way down to the ocean hearing the gentle crash of the waves on the shore that just seem to be begging me to jump in. If the surf is good I would run back, grab my surf board and wetsuit, and come enjoy the ocean at its best. Usually I will just sit in the sand and watch the earth move. You can hear the deep chirping of the hungry seagulls on the jetties and see the tiny pipers move quickly away from the waves searching a snack. The sound of the waves crashing along with the sweet smell of the salt water can cure any of my problems. This place makes me feel always at my best.
My good place would be on a beach in the Outer Banks, North Carolina. It's hot enough out to get tan and go for a swim in the clear ocean, which is much warmer than the water in Delaware, but not so hot that I am sweating as I lay on a towel on the burning white sand. As I am soaking up the sun I reading either a good book or a magazine, and listening to my favorite songs on my Ipod. There is other people on the beach enjoying themselves, but none are close enough to hear what the other group of people is saying. When it gets too hot to sit in the sun anymore my friends and I would run into the water to cool off. The water is so clear that you can see all the way to the bottom. As you keep walking out the water gets deeper until you reach the sandbar. After we have had enough of the ocean, we can dry off and walk leisurely back to the house thats only 500 feet away. This is a good place.
The smell of fresh dirt always hits my nostrils when I jumped over the black, metal fence. I can feel the rough texture of the dirt pinching my calloused feet as I tiptoe past long stalks of thorny plants. When I come across the small alcove a plant has provided from its growth, I crawl in and pull my knees up to my chest. Feeling the damp, cool air surrounding my body was something I had missed since the weather became hot and humid. Little critters crawl around me and as I dig my toes into the dirt, small worms flop on top of my toes. Normally, people would become disgusted and disturbed, but since I was in my hideout, everything was perfect. If bugs and worms weren’t an issue, then nothing else was. Humming a tune under my breath would definitely give me away if my neighbors were cutting their grass, but Chopin’s Nocturne in C sharp minor would play in my mind as I took in the beauty of my hideout. The haunting melody somehow fit with the peaceful atmosphere. When the sun would go down, I would crawl out of my space and past the small area of flowers we had planted in remembrance of my aunt. No matter how rough the weather was they would always look as beautiful as the day we first planted them. Forgetting time as I hid in my backyard had never seemed possible until I made it a possibility.
I could convey the images of Old New Castle's notorious Battery Park, or even the calming waters of the Chesapeake. Maybe even describe laying in my father's old decrepit hammock with the sun blatantly shining through the crevices of the trees. But, for me, my " good place" is amongst the mountains in the Poconos. A big red shabby home that is rather askew and disproportionate lies near the most beauteous scenery in all of Pennsylvania. My Great Aunt Fran lives in this dwelling. Every winter, we go up to the Poconos to visit her. After a couple hours of driving, or in my situation,sleeping, we step out into the cold crisp winter air. The snow is too deep to produce that great crunching sound with our boots. Before giving a good thorough knock on Aunt Fran's door, my dad and I brush off the white snow that lay on the old bench nearby. We sit down and credit the scenery like it were a picture in one of the most finest museums. The sun plays peek-a-boo with mountains that are excessively covered with the heavenly snow that once fell from the sky. The mixture of pink and orange fade in the distance of the horizon. You can hear the chirping of one lonely blue jay that might have lost his flock on the way to the South. I couldn't ask for more than this; It's the only place I can take my mind off the troubles and anxieties that envade atleast a few times a month. My own little place that removes me from the society in which I live; my "good place".
Many times, I find myself becoming worn out from the daily pressures of school and work. When I get this way, there are a number of “good places” that I like to go. One of my favorite good places is my family’s lake house in northern New Jersey on Cranberry Lake. As soon as I arrive, it seems as though the colors of nature brighten, and all of my tension subsides, and I can relax. The first thing I do when I get there is walk down the steps to the dock. Walking down the concrete steps that my dad laid down over twenty years ago gives me a sense of being close to my family, and reminds me of all the memories that I have made there. I can remember canoe races with my cousin, setting off fireworks from the dock, waking up to my dad’s country music and the salty smell of bacon coming from the kitchen in the morning. Being at my lake house brings back somea of the best memories from my childhood that I wouldn’t give up for the world. It truly puts me in a good place.
Another thing that brings me to a good place is going to hard rock concerts. I think that there is nothing better than being in the front row watching your favorite band, feeling the rhythm of the instruments pulse with your body, the lights from the stage shinning on your face, seeing each individual bead of sweat drip from the singer. One particular concert that I can remember is going to see one of my favorite bands, Mudvayne, in the middle of December at the Electric Factory in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. It was my first hard rock concert, and I was very excited. My friend Tim and I got there an hour early to get a good spot. It couldn’t have been over thirty degrees and wearing nothing but a tee-shirt and a pair of jeans, we were anxious to get inside. After standing in the frigid air for over an hour, the doors opened and we ran to the front and against the fence separating the crowd from the stage. We were positioned directly in front of the bass amp, which made our bodies tremble with every beat the musicians played. After the concert ended, we could barely move from being so sore. We found our way to the car, our feet heavy in our shoes. As soon as we shut the door, it was like the whole world went silent. That night I learned how important music really was to me, and how free it can make you feel. Going to hard rock concerts truly puts me in my good place.
I sail through the Gulf Coast of Mexico on a Titanic-size Carnival Cruise Ship. Without a care in the world, I lay back, relaxing on a chair sitting next to the pool. The sunlight is glistening brilliantly off the calm surface of the water. People from all over the country roam around the deck of the cruise ship, looking for a buffet to quiet their hunger or some sun rays to crisp their skin. I stand up and gaze out over the railing that separates me from the roaring waters of the ocean. The waters offer a calming sensation, helping me feel isolated on an island, away from any troubles I have ever encountered. A few men and women fly by me on the track that circles the upper deck of the ship. I wonder how, in such a beautiful place with so many opportunities to have an amazing experience, people find time to exercise. The most miraculous time on the ship is once the sun is about set. In the distance, it appears as if the ocean is swallowing the sun, waiting to spit it back up in several hours. This is my “good place,” my utopia, and If I could spend the rest of my life here, I would do it in a heartbeat.
Ironically, "a good place" comes when I'm in "a bad place." My good place, though, would have to be Thankgiving at my grandmother's house. We walk through her squeaky garage door, and our dog runs in before us, signalling our approach. With some sort of hot sidedish or pie dessert in our hands, we stumble through the narrow hallway to greet the women standing at the kitchen counter straight ahead behind the kitchen table. The men are in the next room watching the Eagles play on a 50in flatscreen sitting in the right corner that my parents bought my grandparents for Christmas one year. Back in the kitchen, my aunts help my grandma cook the turkey and mash the potatoes on her flattop stove and oven against the back wall. When dinner is ready, we all migrate to the elliptical wooden table in the middle of the room, adding metal, designed porch chairs for the excess people to sit in. Everything is in glass dishes or slopped onto everyday glass plates. After we all stuff our faces, we bring our dishes and scraps to the sink on the north wall next to the oven. Then we sit back at the table, while some go back to watch the game, and one or two go fall asleep on the old decrepit couch against the left wall of the den. A half hour passes, and dessert is ready to be served. My aunts go to the refrigerator across the kitchen from the oven and pull out their cakes and pies. Whoever was in the den lazily make their way back to the table and have a slice of one or two pastry treats. Whoever is still asleep on the couch remains sleeping, for no one wants to bother him/her. At around 7:00, people start departing. Everyone is tired from all their turkey and wine. They pass through the narrow hallway, through the bare garage where Grandpa’s workbench sits, and head out to their cars in the concrete driveway back to their own lives, as do we.
In Bermuda where the waters clear blue, so clear that you can see sea turles and fish from the deck of a huge cruise ship. The clean smelling air, the bright sun and all of the exotic plants and ways of life. The feeling of new surroundings. The people riding mopeds all over the island. Snorkling through the waters looking at the exotic coral reefs around the island and seeing fish that are as big as me, Bermuda a vacation of a life time where its beauty could intice the biggest of men. The feeling of relaxation all over the island its the place to be and a place i love.
Snapping what seems to be the five hundredth picture, I continue to gaze around and take it all in. The beauty of Paris, France is more than I expected. It is one of the few places that looks exactly as it is pictured in the movies. There are people bustling here and there, friends and couples chatting and munching on croissants at one of the many outdoor cafes, fountains sparkling here and there, and birds swooping and swirling in the spring air. The Eiffel Tower ascends over the entire city with majesty. When evening beings, the lights in the tower come to life, creating a luminous pillar of light that sparkled into the wee hours of the night, and being marveled at by all who saw it. The tight and sometimes winding streets add character to the city with already a lot of charisma. Smart Cars weave in and out of each other hoping to beat the next light and make their dates. Fashionable women in stilettos gently sip their coffee and hold their blank stare that says “I’ve got somewhere I have to be.” Aside from the hustle and bustle, Paris has an old-fashioned, but beautiful look to it. Long boats glide up and down Seine River and Notre Dame with its ancient, gothic architecture can be seen in the distance. Looking around, I smile feeling lucky that I get to marvel at one of the most beautiful cities in the world.
A vacation to the Outer Banks in North Carolina has always made me feel at peace with everything. Everything about the experience, the perfect weather, the unforgettable memories made, even the exhausting drive down are all a part of what puts me in a good place. Being able to discover every nook and cranny of the humongous house we will call our home for the next week with my cousins and being surrounded by every member of my family brings warmth over me. There is a carefree feeling that comes from lying in the tiring sun until you fall into a deep sleep or you become hot enough to take a quick dip in the refreshing waves. You stay on the beach until the sun forces you to leave by going down. You only go home so that you’ll have the energy to do it all over again the next day. You sit around eating, playing cards, and sitting in the hot tub. The croak of the bull frogs, the feel of the warm air, and even the smell of the air lets you know you are in another place. You go to some of the small shops around the corner to pick up some outer banks souvenirs or delectable fudge from The Fudgery. You visit the sand dunes and feel so small compared to the mounds upon mounds of sand you are standing on. There is something so peaceful about having nothing to do. You feel like you have all the time in the world to relax and actually take in every sight you see. Everything is perfect about the getaway and leaves the magical memories etched in your mind forever. This is how I know that the Outer Banks is my good place.
As I walk in the doors of what almost seems like a second home, I pass the pink walls in the lobby filled with dance pictures. I get into the empty room, with the floor polished and the mirrors shined. I turn on the bright lights, reflecting across the room. Although I am by myself, I get a feeling inside that room that no person could ever replace. With my dance shoes on and the stereo blasting, I feel a sense of tranquility, a feeling that I can only get in this room. It is a place where expressing yourself is a necessity. It is where I work, where I take classes, where I am almost every day of the week. When I take a class, I am surrounded by individuals who love dance as much as I do. It fills the room with passion, a feeling that only can happen in this room. I've grown up here, I've taken classes since I have been three. It is my favorite place to be. I can express myself, move to the music, and let go of everything inside of me in this room. My "Good Place" is Delaware Dance Center.
As I lock my gaze on the horizon line, the orange-pink clashing with the almost black earth makes me feel incredibly small, but at ease. I take a deep breath in and enjoy the scent of dried leaves and pine. I look up, neck bent, at the massive trees that tower over me. I can smell the sweet sap, which now reminds me of pancakes. I keep walking and eventually come to a wooden bridge- noticing the change of sound that my feet made from "crunch, crunch" to "thud, thud." I look up at a hill and see at least ten people with their dogs throwing chew toys. Every figure looks black against the orange sky. At that moment I feel like I am looking at a painting, but its moving. I stare at the dogs as I walk by. Australian Shepherd, Golden Retriever, Pitbull. It amazes me how everyday things like the sky, some trees and some dogs can make me feel so...whole. Earthly, maybe? My "Good Place" is just taking a hike at Carousel Park.
DF Red
Like many people, I enjoy tall buildings and flashing lights with loud noises and people everywhere. But my special place is the exact opposite. The place I would go to escape all troubles. Some beach in south Florida would be where you could find me. I love the feeling of the hot sun shining down on my skin. Almost so hot that after only a few moments I must run and get in the crystal clear ocean to cool off. I love the feeling of the hot sand under my towel, the sound of the seagulls swarming over a family eating lunch. Small children playing in the sand making sandcastles. I enjoy the feeling of complete relaxation and peace. The feeling where nothing can make you angry or upset. The weather is perfect. The smell of clean air. The sun is shining extra bright. The water is perfectly clear and at just the right temperature to make you want to dive in and catch a wave. This is the place that makes me feel great.
My good place is a beach on the east side of Florida. Where the tides roll in smoothly over the sands like a blanket over an infant, gently sliding up over it. With a tiny house on the beach, that has one or two rooms, and two hammocks, one by the beach and one tied to two palm trees swing back and forth with the wind. Around the house would be plants building up a fortress of fruit over the outside. I would always have apples, mangoes, kiwi, and bananas ready for the picking. In the mornings I would be awoken by the sun creeping over the horizon like a cat on the prowl sneaking around the corner, and the shimmers of light reflecting over the water, like floating snowflakes. In the evenings I would fall asleep watching the moon playing around with the fun house mirrors in the water and the stars dancing above. Each day would be relaxing and in the moment. All I’d need is my boat, my diving gear, my camera, and the dolphins by my side. Every now and then I would surf the waves with the fish at my sides as I gently slid down the waves. Once in a while I’d pack up and go out to sea for a few days, exploring the deep blue, letting the tide take me wherever it pleases. I'd literally let life take me away to shores unknown, and live peacefully on my beach side enjoying life for the beautiful experience that it is.
As I was sitting on Bondi Beach in Australia watching the dolphins jumping in the waves and the surfers riding those waves, I thought to myself how much better could life get? The beach is so nice and the waves are just calling me to come out and ride a couple. I get up out of my chair, grab my body board, and run towards the ocean. As I dive in, I can feel the cool feeling of the lukewarm water all over my body. This water feels nothing the like the harsh cold feeling of the beaches that I am used to. As I’m swimming out to the waves I look down at my feet and can see schools of little fish zooming by me. I jump on my body board and start to paddle out towards the larger waves. On my way out towards the waves I have to dive under a couple of waves so I don’t get demolished. Once I reach the point at where all the waves are breaking I lay on my board and wait. I see a wave coming, I start to kick and paddle furiously so I don’t miss the wave. Once I start riding the wave I can feel the wind and water blowing into my face as I fly across the ocean.
Early morning I get on a chilly bus for a long ride up north. I try and catch up on my sleep for I know a long day is ahead. I plug myself in, and zone out to my ipod. Finally we arrive to the mountain and I take a big whiff of fresh air. I gear up and am anxious to go. The ride up the mountain is always the best part. I am nervous and excited. It is a good feeling none the less. I am able to admire all the beautiful scenery around me. The sun reflects off the freshly laid snow and shine onto my goggles. As I ascend closer to the top I take a minute to turn around to see the landscape. It is so beautiful I just want to snap a picture of it. After I arrive at the top, I just look down. My heart starts jumping, but there is no turning back now. I look around and see many people with a look of guilt. Young kids cling to the legs of their parents out of fright. All I can do is smile. The fresh air relaxes me and puts me into a state of peace. I zone out everything around me in such a meditative way. While I sit to buckle my straps, I admire all mother- nature has to offer. Trees dressed with light powdered snow. Birds hop from one tree to the next. Then, a snowball thrown at me interrupts me. My friend gestures; signaling she is ready to go. We start to head down the mountain. I cannot hear anything besides the board hitting the snow. That sounds forms a rhythm; like a pulse. I manage to stay in control all the way down the mountain. What a thrill to have. I receive a sense of accomplishment that is rewarding. My friends and I call it a break and we go into a lodge for some hot chocolate and a quick bite to eat. That is only to discuss our next path down the mountain. The mountain is a great place to be, one of my favorites.
My "good place" would have to be on the white sandy beaches of the Bahamas located on the one and only Paradise Island. There's a reason why they call it paradise, the sand is warm and the light blue water is clear as glass. The waves of the ocean roll gently along the coast with a calming "swush". The sun makes my skin feel warm and I love the sounds I listen to while tanning in my chair. The sound of the palm tree leaves rustling in the wind, soft squawks of seagulls passing by and the motion of the ocean. I love the feeling of a light breeze on the beach and the smell of salt from the ocean. I become so relaxed I hear nothing else and my mind becomes blank. I sip on a cold diet coke with ice to keep my mouth from becoming dry. I can stay on the beach all day, until the sand begins to get cold and the stars of the night light up the sky. The beach at night is almost romantic. The moon is the only thing in sight, no street lights or buildings to take away from its luster. The ocean is no longer inviting but dark and mysterious. The sand isn't crowded with people but with foot prints, until the sun rises again. I love the smells, beauty and sound of the beach, when I am there I have never felt more relaxed.
One of the most memorable places I went to was, Solomon Islands. My friends and I rented a beach house there for one weekend. It was about 3 years ago in July before sophomore year began.
I sat down on the grainy sand and just stared out into the coral waters at the end of a Saturday afternoon. I ran my fingers through the sand and embedded them underneath the warm plush of the earth’s brown ashes. The night was about to break and my five friends and I were about to crumble as well. We were all so tired from the eventful day we accomplished. They all sat right next to me each in their own unique position but our eyes gazed on the same timid red sun. Some lied on stomach and plummet themselves toward the sand. One looked so restless that her flimsy leg stretched out while she crouch her back like a frightened cat. Another one just stood up and stared as he put up his robust built arms behind his head; while stretching himself out as the orange sky turned purple. The day was almost over and we were about to head inside our beach house; but instead I had a great idea. I whispered to two of my friends and they hiked up towards the beach house with me. As we arrived back to the beach to our exhausted friends, they were still in the same position. It looked like their limbs were melting and just about ready to snap off. We each dropped 2 logs on the sand and started setting up. We built what looked like to be a mini volcano created out of wood.
The sky was shifting to our energy. The sun bellowed out burning red as the sky chanted a deep purple. It was like a feud of pigments that raced out of the horizon line. We watched as the sun bombarded its vibrant red across the heavenly atmosphere. Then the azure colors would fight by consuming the colors of the sun. Second by second, the sky showed more blue hoards and surely enough the sun would get defeated. The sun is weak; turning from a vibrant red into a rotten maroon. It slowly started descending and would die into the ground of the horizon line. And as the sun would die we would light our volcano and celebrate that the night sky has won. We watched as the sun struggled but eventually, it fell back into the dark abyss. All that was left were the purple and blue survivors that were the new rulers of the sky. Then we lit up our volcano and celebrated the new empire of our world. The night sky celebrated to. As we looked up we see millions of bright specks of light signifying their celebration of the large defeated sun. It was a memorable day of how something so simple brought so much peace into one’s heart.
My “good place” is skiing atop a luscious, snow covered mountain where the air is thin and the sun is tangible. The pure white snow promptly plunges to the ground in an unorganized fashion covering everything visible for miles, like a white silk sheet is gently being placed upon the rugged earth. The snow splashes into my protective goggles, turning into hundreds of tiny water droplets that slowly creep down the lens, forming a reservoir on the brim. The brusque wind parades around the innocent snow and attacks my defenseless, rosy pink nose. It forces me to readjust my scarf, the blood rushes back to my scared nose providing instantaneous warmth and powerful tingling sensation. Off in the distance there is small shack that serves the most enticing chocolate in all of Colorado. On top there is a floating mountain of whip cream with vivid red and green sprinkles promiscuously sprinkled about. The liquid contains a rich aroma of milk chocolate with a powerful hint of sweet peppermint. The smell trickles into my nose, arousing every last hair follicle, foreshadowing what my taste buds are to expect. I take a sip. I let the decadent drink rest in my mouth, so I can fully embrace the overpowering flavor. The chocolate creeps down the back of my throat and into my stomach. The heat radiates from my core and my limbs become full of life.
I run upstairs like a sprinter going for the gold. I reach my destination and immediately I kick my shoes off and toss my book bag on my bed. I have just thrown away the stresses of my day. I reach for that small, smooth, black instrument of magic. It can take me to anywhere I want to go in the world with just the push of a button. The cold medal excites me as my fingers graze over the buttons contemplating on which song I should to listen to. My smile lights up simultaneously with the screen as it is turned on. I press play an instantly I am taken away from reality and into a world of fantasy. This world of musical notes combined with beautifully powerful lyrics sends adrenaline through my veins and my heart smiles. The music flows from the headphones into my ears and travels through my body. The chatter from the television and the humming of my vibrating phone becomes irrelevant and the problems of the cold world melt away. The weight of my troubles is lifted off my shoulders and I become thousands of pounds lighter. I am light enough to fly. My body floats around the room in rhythm to the melody like an angel who has just received her wings and I belt out the lyrics at the top of my lungs. I use my music as a escape to my world, my “good place”.
I step out side and feel the wind pushing against my skin, like soft kisses. It's almost pushing me toward the beach, my safe place. I climb the wooden stairs that creak under me, not in protest, but in approval. They too are pushing me toward the beach. I see the sun straight ahead, reaching its rays of warmth around me, beckoning me down to the shore. My first step onto the soft, cold grainy sand is satisfying. The touch is everything I knew it would be, but also more than that. It’s my refuge, my place away from reality. I inhale the air and taste the salt. The smell of this place, one like no other, brings memories from the passing years that I have been here. North Carolina.
My happy place is Long Boat Key, Florida. I love going to this special place every spring break for vacation. There is nothing better to do then sit on my balcony and listen to the waves crashing every moment. As I lay in the shaise, it makes me feel relaxed and I have nothing to worry about. My favorite thing to do there is to lie out there at night listening to the ocean and looking up at the bright stars in the sky. The ocean water is crystal blue and you are able to see everything swimming beneath you such as, the quick little fish that swarm around you feet. The water is also as warm as can be. It makes for a nice quick dip to cool yourself off from the Florida heat. The beach is beautiful with smooth yet hot sand. I tend to always be running to get off the hot sand when I am without shoes. The beach is full of all kinds of sea shells. They come in all shapes and sizes. They are washed up and washed away throughout the whole day. The palm trees that surround the beach sway back and forth all day. The beach is the happiest place to be.
I paddle forward in a slow, rhythmic motion on the placid bay. No reason to hurry, no reason to worry. I take the paddle out of the green-blue water and watch the small swirling tornado that it creates. I stop everything, I look towards the horizon at the setting red sun, I breathe in the salty air. I’m alone on the bay, a temporary disconnection from civilization, technology, everything. I begin paddling again in the direction the current persuades me to go. I feel the warm, gentle caress of the bay breeze. The deep purple sky invites nighttime. Slowly the moon appears, then the stars. The air’s embrace is cooler now, but I don’t mind. I continue paddling as if I had a destination. I stop again, breathe again, I watch the reflection of the stars dance in the subtle ripples of the water. I extend my arm out of the small boat and brush the water with my fingers. I take the time to listen and hear nothing, nothing besides the shallow melody of the wind and the soft movement of the water. At this moment nothing matters, my only thoughts are about the present. I’m completely unruffled, completely at peace, completely in a good place.
When I force my eyes up off of the blue spring floor beneath my angel-white sneakers, sometimes I see a high school gymnasium filled with eyes looking back at me. Other times I feel as though I am in the center of the Coliseum in ancient Rome. Thousands of people cheer and clap from rows of seats that tower so high above, they seem to reach the heavens. My eyes then travel to the judges table. Some of them are still frantically scoring the previous team while others just watch as our purple and lime green uniforms overtake the royal blue floor. I can feel their eyes examining each one of us, forming opinions before we make a single move. Then I see my coaches who take their usual place at the left corner of the floor. Once in place, all thirty-six of us are statues, hands tight by our sides, anticipating the start of the music. A firecracker of thoughts shoots off in my head and with each thump of my heart I can feel the adrenaline being pushed through my veins. My nerves are at their breaking point when all of the sudden the music starts. With the first striking note, a switch is flipped that turns off my apprehension and turns on the confident cheerleader I must be when I perform. I hear the familiar pattern of “hands, feet, hands, feet, hands, feet” pounding against the floor like an explosion of thunder beneath my feet as we back-flip across the mat. The routine continues on and with each crisp motion I can feel my chest contracting tighter and tighter making it harder and harder to breathe. There is a fire in my knees but I must keep pushing through. When I find a second to breathe, I look to the left corner of the floor and see my coaches jumping and flailing their arms wildly as if performing a tribal dance. This must mean we are doing well. As we strike our final pose, the fans fly to their feet and the entire arena erupts with booming cheers. This is my “good place”, performing in front of hundreds of people and feeling the cycle of terror, adrenaline, excitement, and then accomplishment. There is no place I would rather be than on the competition floor and there is no greater feeling than performing a routine to perfection.
My good place is Christmas time. Most people love Christmas just for the presents but I love everything about Christmas. I love the decorations, the buying and receiving presents, the snow, the decorating Christmas cookies, the Christmas candy, and everything else that goes along with it. For me, Christmas time starts at the beginning of November, that's when I start decorating my house. By Thanksgiving Day all of my Christmas decorations are already up, including my tree. The past 6 or so years I have had a fake Christmas tree because my dad would break his ribs several times and couldn't go to pick one up with me. Other times my parents didn't care if any decorations went up, so I would just put the fake tree up. This year we are getting a real tree, seeing as it's my last year here. I am just overjoyed and filled with excitement. Another thing I love about Christmas is all the Christmas movies. I especially look forward to ABC Family's 25 days of Christmas. I could spend hours upon hours just watching Christmas movie and listening to Christmas music. All of those things take all of my problems away and take me to this calm, peaceful, "good place".
I open the gate and start my usual, long hike through the field. Like every time, Sabotaz picks his head up when I’m about halfway to him. I know he knows that it’s me and I’m coming to get him, but he just stares as I keep walking in his direction. Once I’m about ten feet from him, if I’m lucky, he’ll walk the rest of the way, saving me the trouble. As we walk back he slows his four, long legs to match my pace. I tell him how much I’ve missed him and what a good and handsome boy he is. He truly is the most beautiful horse I’ve ever seen. He’s a little guy; a couple inches shorter and he would be considered a pony. He has the thickest mane and a tail that drags on the ground. In the spring when his winter coat is completely gone, his coat is as smooth as silk and shines like a bright, copper penny. Taji - as I like to call him - stands there patiently as I groom him and pull at his knotty mane. I lug my heavy, western saddle over to where he waits and throw it on top of the turquoise saddle pad on his back. As I fasten the girth around his tummy, he turns and gives me a look that says it’s getting a little too tight. Before I take off the halter to put on his bridle, I put my reins over his head so I have some control over him if he were to run off, but I know he never would. Taji puts his head down for me and I slide the bit into his mouth with ease. I put my helmet on, climb up into the saddle and head off to the trails. There is nothing like the feeling of the wind throughout my hair as I push my horse into a full gallop. When I'm on my horse I don't have to worry about anything. Absolutely everything goes away and I don't have a care in the world. I can be myself because I know my horse will never judge me. When I'm on my horse, I am in a good place.
There really is no place like Nana's house. As soon as you step through the door you get bombarded with that pink lipstick and endure all the smooches and smacks imaginable. After that wonderful experience you realize the thermostat is up to about a hundred degrees. Everyone except Nana has beads of sweat rolling down their faces. She on the other hand has two sweaters and a blanket on and is absolutely freezing. But once you get passed all of that, you realize why you love coming to Nana's house. The chocolate chip cookie bars, moon cookies, and a various assortment of pies! Nana's house always smells of freshly baked desserts. After every dinner she expects you to eat as many desserts as it takes to make you feel nauseous, and of course wash it down with a glass of milk. After a long day and a huge meal we all can enjoy a nice family friendly competition. We watch Millionaire and Jeopardy and everyone can lay around on the floor in the family room with wooden walls, yes I said wooden walls, and fight over the right answers. It's our way of ending each day. There's no place like Nana's house and I couldn't think of a better place to stay.
My good place would be at Jamaica. My family and I took a trip there a few years ago. It was my favorite vacation we took. I remember being so happy being there. Laying in the sand under the warm sun. The crystal blue ocean in front of you. The Jamaican music in the back round mixed in with laughs and childs' screams as they splash in the pool. The smell of a fruity mix and smoke from grills. I could lay there for hours and let relaxation take over. I would cool off in the pool and swim with my sisters and parents. We would spend the day in and out of the pool. We would then go into the ocean and go canoeing and look at the colorful fish. After our day in our sun we would go to a dinner and share laughs. The Jamaican drums would play as we enjoyed our fruity dinner meal. After dinner, my family and I would go for a walk on the beach and get cooled off by the ocean breeze. I would go to sleep very relax and look forward for the next day to continue my vacation.
My favorite place in the world is Binghamton, NY. To me there is no place more beautiful. As we drive into the luscious green valley from the PA Mountains I immediately start to feel at home. It's raining to the right of me but the sun is shining to my left. I can almost smell the crisp cool air before I even get out of the car. I look around my neighborhood before walking into the house and I see all the neighborhood kids playing together, neighbors chatting over the railings of their porches, a runaway dog fleeing from its owner down the street. Every house is completely different. None of them match but I like it that way. I know everyone that lives on my block and it seems to me that everyone's house reflects their personalities. As I finally walk into the house I grew up in, it's like nothing has ever changed, like I haven't been away for months. It still has that same sturdy feeling, it still holds that smell of wood, and the floors boards still sing as I walk over them. I finally open my door that still gets jammed every time I close it and I plop down on my bed. As I sit I think to myself, this is home. No matter how long I'm gone, I can always come back and call this home.
My “good place” would be nowhere else but wonderful, boring old, Hockessin, Delaware. There’s something special about the place you call home. A lot of people may feel the need to escape from their home to get away from everything. Not me though. In this wonderful town filled with winding back roads, small local businesses, and the energy of life, I feel safe and at peace. A lot has changed since I first moved her. There have been more enormous houses, soccer fields and lavish health clubs built, but for me Hockessin still has the spirit it always had. Hockessin is a small quiet town with not a whole lot of action going on. There’s the center of the town where the Wawa and local pizza joints are where, if you’re a native of Hockessin-er, you’re almost guaranteed to see a familiar face. And if you need to say get away for a little while, well nothings better than to take a trip down Yorklyn Road and across DE Route 82. You can drive around the windy curves appreciating the beauty of the woods, open fields, rail road tracks, and all the other scenic beauties these roads have to offer.
My "good place" would have to be Camden, Maine. It's known as the town "where the mountains meet the sea." This is a completly true statement. From my bedroom window of my big red house I looked out to the vast mountains where we would ski. In the winter as the snow was falling I loved to sit at my bedroom window and look out to the slopes at night time. With the lights lining the trails and clean bright white snow laying many feet high on the ground it could almost be lit like Vegas. Also in the fall people would come from all over just to see the leaves changing from green to the beautiful browns and yellows. Then you have the harbor. I loved nothing more than when I went sailing to sit in the harbor and watch the sun set in the evening on those cool summer nights. To see the bright sun over the horizon, going down in the purple sky to meet the dark blue ocean. It's a sight I will never forget in my life, along with the time I spent in this "good place" of mine.
My absolute favorite place in the entire world is upstate New York. I have been going there every summer since I was born. I love waking up to the fresh mountain air of the Adirondacks and being able to hear the soothing plish plash of the lake waves just outside my bedroom window. The days are packed with everything from relaxation to cliff diving. The trees around the calm, hidden cove where I spend my time break with splotches of sunlight that seem to dance the breeze swiftly swaying the leaves from left to right. The warming sun fills you with excitement and makes taking a dip in the chilled water something along the lines of perfection. The fishing rod in my hand gently bobs with the rolls of water that trickle up the beach against my feet. The combination of the adventurous landscape, the peaceful wilderness, and the familiar feeling of home allows Lake George to set itself permanently in my memory.
My good place would be relaxing in Dewey beach during a cloudless sunny day. As I sit on my beach chair on the sparkling sand, I begin to daze off from the recurring sounds of the rolling ocean waves striking the shore. The voices from a nearby family playing football on the beach awake me momentarily as I remark the gleaming, bright blue ocean and how refreshing it appears. I start to get hot from the constant feeling of the warmth from the sun and decide to take a swim. I am instantly refreshed the second I dive in to the crisp blue water, coming up to take a breath feeling energized and rejuvenated. As I swim out further to avoid the breaking waves, I float on my back and let the rolling water gently rock me back and forth. The cool feeling from the water does not go away due to the smoldering heat from the sun. I end up staying in the water for almost two hours, relaxing there just as I did in my beach chair. The instant I leave the ocean, I feel the sun beating down on my back, warming it back slowly and comfortably from being in the cold water. I step on the dry sand that has been absorbing the heat from the sun all morning. Instead of a scorching heat that would burn my feet, again I feel a soothing warmth that is at just the right temperature. As I lay back in my small beach chair, I start to doze off again before I realize this constant cycle is once again restarting.
The leaves are turning colorful and crisp. The wind is kicking up and you can catch the faint smell of a bonfire. The sun seems warm instead of blazing hot. Fall is my favorite time of year. I love the switch to sweaters, jeans, and boots from tank tops, shorts, and flips. There is something peaceful in the air. Everything seems to be winding down and resting. Pumpkins and mums crowd the entrance to the ACME. Hay bales and dry corn stalks pop up as decorations. People are wearing browns, reds, greens, and oranges. Excitement for the start of fall sports emerges and kids are eager to run around at practice. I drive by vibrant colored trees on my way home from school. At work, the little kids are talking about Halloween and pilgrims. I finally get home around dusk and I take the dog for a walk. We walk through piles of leaves and down tree-lined paths. The sky is brilliant orange and yellow. It smells like fall, a combination of crisp, dry leaves and fire burning somewhere in the distance. I take it all in and revel in the feeling I have. Fall is my good place. Whether it is walking my dog, making s'mores in the fire pit in the backyard, or attending my sister's soccer game, fall is my favorite time of year and my favorite place to be.
My good place would have to be my family basement. This place serves as a retreat for me as well as a place where my friends and I can hang out and watch movies. Once you have walked down the L-shaped stairs you arrive in a very spacious room with bookshelves to your left and a television to your right. The walls are painted a perfect tan not too dark not too light. They provide warmth and the large wraparound couch provides comfort. My basement is not only a room it’s a symbol of my childhood memories. It allowed me to expand my imagination and turn such a simple place into something great. For me it’s been a baseball field, concert hall, a jungle, hiding place etc… I’ve shared so many laughs and pure joy with others in this place. Every holiday after dinner my cousins and I would run downstairs, fling open the closet and pull out any game we could. We would sit down on the multi-colored carpet, and play board games, kickball, and karaoke for hours. This is truly a place where the fun never seems to stop. Now, I use the basement as a quiet room, a room to step back from reality and just relax by reading a magazine, a book, or watching my favorite TV show. As I’ve gotten older I have been able to observe my younger cousins using this room as I once did. Watching them allows me to relive my own childhood memories.
I feel that my "good place" would have to the be the gym. It is practically my second home, i would actually rather live there! Right when I walk into the gym i have a feeling i can not describe, its overwhelming, but calming at the same time. The smell, the heat, and the adrenaline pumping through your body is something that can not be replaced by anything else in the world for me. The work ethic and focus is something you can even imagine, it is more than just fun sometimes. Sometimes it is more like a job, but a job you are extremely excited for! The feeling of moving weights and throwing them around is the best feeling in the world for me. It is like being on top of the world for me, it could never be replaced at all. Also the hard work and the feeling of accomplishment is almost addicting, as soon as you feel it, you want more and more. But all in all the sweat dripping and the pain you feel is the feeling of accomplishment and know your doing something right.
My "good place" is on the edge of the steepest ski trail I can find high up in the Vermont mountains. With the light snow lazily falling from the heavens I can look out for miles. The quaint mountain cottages with their small chimney's puffing out steady streams of smoke stand out against the distant mountain ranges. This calm feeling of serenity is the beginning of the rush of being alive that soon awaits. As soon as my long orange and black ski slides over the edge to the unknown of the trail below, the calm will cease and the adrenaline rush will begin. This calm before the storm is what I live for.
My good place would have to be sunny San Juan, Puerto Rico. Back on the island where I was born and where I reunite with family members I only get to see once or twice a year. The hot air can sometimes be unbearable for those who aren’t accustomed to the beautiful weather, but that is what the beaches and the pools are for. I could just lie on the beach all day and think back on how my life would have been if I had never moved. I find the little things in life more enjoyable by just watching the never-ending cycle of the calm ocean tide and the blue water clear as glass. I like to let the intense sun beat down on me worse then a big mean bully fresh from detention. During the night in San Juan is where the nightlife begins and the party starts. Life buzzes like a bee and I feel alive. When I don’t feel like going out I can just relax at my grand parents house and swim in the pool or just sit outside and read a book. It’s a very quiet and peaceful place and the beautiful weather just adds on to scene.
My "good place" would have to be Ocean City, Maryland. As long as I can remember I have been vacationing to Ocean City with my family. I enjoy our cozey beach house, and the smell of the ocean coming in through the windows. Simply sitting on the balcony and gazing down at the beautiful sandy beach brings me so much joy. Also being there with my family makes me very happy. Fouth of July is always a great memory with my family, being at the beach every summer. Walking down the sidewalk to a huge park and eating a picnic dinner together, waiting for the fireworks to begin. Shopping together, enjoying the sunshine together and having many family dinners together at the beach, enjoying eachother's company. Ocean City is definitely my good place.
my "good place" is my bedroom. in my bedroom there are no notes to take. there is no one to impress. no 10-4 shift to worry about. my bed room is not judgmental and is always there for me when i need to clear my head. it always comforts me: my soft flannel sheets. blinds closed. a little music playing in the background (most likely Colbie Caillet).
it always has an open ear when i have had a bad day. it helps me get better when i'm sick. its my haven. there is nothing i look more forward to then jumping into my plush bed at the end of the day. and resting my head against my plush pillows. and wrapping my cold self into my plush comforter. at that moment all my problems go away. grades don't matter. boys don't matter. problems in the group of friends does not matter. because when i get into bed i know for the next eight hours of my life it's sweet dreaming and smooth sailing.
My "good place" would have definitely to be my bedroom. My room has smelled the same for as long as I can remember. It is like a cerebral sauna at the end of the day, regardless of the days events. By the time I can settle down there, with fall coming to a close, the amber light of the sunset has just cast it's beams onto my floorboards catching in it the dancing dust snowflakes hovering about the stacks of happily aging records and books strewn across the floor. Whether it's watching said sunset from the roof right outside the window, putting on a record of big band hits from the 20's or of electronic soundscapes or just laying on the floor to read a Vollmann masterpiece, there is something in my room that is "just what I need". With the door closed and the record player hissing between blossoming beats, any doldrums of days dissolve within seconds. Take it all in, step back out the door, and I am refreshed.
My good place is on the beach of the resort I went to near Cancun, Mexico. It must be a hundred degrees out, because my body feels like it is on fire. I extinguish the fire with my pina colada and the cool sensation of sunscreen on my skin. I look over at my best friend, Taylor, who is laying on the lounge chair beside me. She’s soaking up the scorching sun and holding her strawberry daquari in her right hand. Taking advantage of the complimentary beverages from the bar on the beach, we both already had multiple drinks. I gaze out through my sunglasses and past my feet at the never-ending clear blue water. In the cloudless sky people are parasailing high above the water, and I remember the same adrenalin rush we had experienced the day before. My eyes retract back to the beach, which is crowded with dark blue umbrellas and bleach white lounge chairs. Other vacationers are surrounding me on all sides. Some people are swimming and playing in the ocean, and others are enjoying themselves on the beach. There is so much going on around me, but yet I am totally relaxed because I am thousands of miles away from home, and I don’t have a worry in the world.
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