Seniors Creative Writing: Your Good Place (due Tuesday, December 1)
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 as if I'm some ancient mariner.
A few years ago, 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 he was able to watch football all Sunday afternoon, so he was "in his good place." Getting a raise might put you in a "figurative good place," but watching football all Sunday afternoon and evening on your couch in your Mancave is a literal "good place."
Which leads me to this blog's question: Where's your "good place?"
You SHOULD answer VERY literally and specifically, sparing no expense of travel and writing descriptively as you can. The place must exist.
Maybe 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. Send me on a trip to a Delaware beach, or for youse Jersey girlzs and guyzs, the "shore." Plop me in the middle of the Christiana Mall (no... please don't) on Black Friday or maybe at Granny's house for a home-cooked meal. Take me on an Owl Prowl through Brandywine Creek State Park (look it up, it's a real thing--it's on my "bucket list"), a nice walk around Valley Garden Park in late spring, or an easy five mile jog in White Clay Creek Park with your IPod at full blast and with your eyes (and other senses) wide open.
Or perhaps you're the more "stay at home" type, who like Henry David Thoreau or Emily Dickinson, could make a full day out of bird watching, sitting in his cabin doorway or "going to church" in her family orchard. Then stay at home. Describe what it's like to be playing the guitar, getting big in the weight room, or just "chewing the fat" with your friends.
This journal constitutes your attempt to write description, using concrete nouns, figures of speech, sensory images, and connotative words to set a certain mood.
However, one requirement of your post at Schoolsville is that your "good place" MUST be a "good place." Please, for this assignment 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 Andy Dufresne in The Shawshank Redemption, listening to the music of the "two Italian ladies" took his soul to heights that not even two weeks of prison lockup could destroy.
Can your "good place" do the same?
Minimum of 250 words. If you've had trouble posting at Schoolsville, then e-mail me your response. Read the descriptions written by last year's seniors as inspiration at this link. When the link opens, then go to the top of the page.
posted by JTF @ 10:59 PM
11 comments
11 Comments:
My "good place" is the beach. The beach in general is a peaceful and relaxing place to be. Listening to the waves crash, the wind blow, and bathing in the sun are the three things that truly make the beach my good place. Every summer I am able to enjoy time with my family and bond over past experiences. My family becomes my friends and our bond becomes stronger because of that. At the beach I am able to soak up the sun and float in the salty sea. Listening to country music calming the air and waves cooling my feet puts me in a complete zen mood. Laughing with my cousins in the curls of the waves and wiping out makes the beach my favorite place. We make our own homemade crusts for delicious, mouthwatering pizza on the grill and pull up on the sand in our bronze, boxy jeep. Opening the trunk with the yeti filled with coke never ceases to put a smile on my face. We spend hours tenuously reeling in a skate that will be released in minutes. Crowds run to see the sharks we catch on the coast and look at awe when my 9 year old cousin wrestles the antsy shark. On the 4th of July we pull up on the hot sand and watch endless fireworks explode in the night sky like eliminators of the sky. This and many other reasons are why the beach is by far my good place.
After a four-hour plane ride with a screaming infant, I am finally in Jamaica. As I walk into the resort, the smell of suntan lotion reminds me that I am in heaven, if for only a week. A staff member immediately greets me with a much needed, ice-cold piña colada. When we get to our oceanfront room, the view is breathtaking. As I open the balcony door, the sound of the crashing waves calls me towards the beach. I apply orange creamsicle scented suntan lotion, to protect my skin from the scorching tropical sun. Making my way to the fine-grained sandy beach, I hear the sound of people jumping into the cool, crisp, refreshing water. When I get to the beach, I immediately kick off my bright pink flip-flops to feel the silky smooth sand between my toes. With each step that I take, the view of the bright green palm trees swaying in the warm breeze appears closer. Another look reveals that every tree is filled with fresh and delicious unripe coconuts. I find myself a straw hut umbrella to shade myself from the blistering hot sun. Once I get into the hut, I immediately feel twenty degrees cooler from the shade. After relaxing for a while, I go into water where I can see my own feet because the water is so crystal clear. As I look off into the distance, the picturesque view of the ocean is represented by three shades of blue: aqua, deep blue, and blue-green. Once I come out of the ocean, I sit in the extremely hot sun to dry off. As the day goes on, I enjoy sitting in the tropical heat, while sipping on fresh coconut water. When the bright yellow sun begins to set, the sky becomes streaked with orange, pink, and purple. After the sun has fully set, the island becomes a whole new place. The cool refreshing wind blows in and the steel drums begin to play. Thankfully, I have six more days to enjoy this amazing vacation.
When I get into my car and start driving I always have the tendency to show up to my "Happy Place." A trailer park on the Elk River, in the middle of nowhere. This place is called Buttonwood. This place is my home away from home. It gives me a feeling of comfort and safety. I know there are a pair of eyes on me at all times and there is not a time where I see someone I don't know. We ride around on golf carts waving and fooling around. We wave to everyone we pass and scream and holler at people that we are close to. At boat ramp there is a huge traffic jam of boats, trucks, golf carts and people trying to get by. We put our boats into the murky, green, seaweed filled water and go for long rides. As we sit on the beach we all feel the warm sun beating down on us while all the speedboats, big and little, blow by letting our ears know they are here. Buttonwood has many trailers starting from trailer 1 to 553. I am trailer number 93. We have a blue metal roof that’s almost as blue as the sky. The outside of the trailer is a faint yellow like the ending of a sunset. Our deck is dark brown with pearly white fencing. There is a little side yard with dead grass from all the vehicles driving through it, and a little shed no bigger than the size of a little toy playhouse. Buttonwood is my happy place.
Two hours and eight minutes. This is how long it takes for me to get to my “happy place” in Fenwick Island. I have been pulling up on the tiny, sharp rocks, my father calls a driveway to my beach house, since I was five. My house on the pillars towers over me like a skyscraper in New York City. Walking up the tracks worn down rocks pulling under the house immediately makes me feel at home. The cool breeze and salty air is so calming. I quickly run inside and put on my favorite bikini and grab my brightly striped towel to head over to the wonderful shore waiting for me just across the road. Over the years, I have quickly learned to run across the buzzing lanes of traffic like an old frogger game. Nothing gives me a greater relief than throwing off my worn-in, squishy flip-flops and sinking into the billions grains of sand. I can feel the hot sun beating down on me through my sheer flowy coverup as I make my way up and across the mountainous dune separating me from paradise. I quickly spray on my sun tan lotion which smells of bananas and coconuts. The cloud of sunscreen suffocates me like an aerosol can of hairspray does to a pageant girl. After recovering from the attack of banana and coconut fumes, I make my way down to the glistening, endless sea of blues and greens. A satisfying chill runs up my spine as soon as my toes touch the rollings waves. After hours go by of relaxing and swimming, the sun sets over the ocean forming an array of pinks, yellows, and oranges on the immense body of water. This signals my time to go back over to my second home and enjoy a satisfying outside shower with a surprising random, cool breeze from underneath the door. I end my night calmly swinging back and forth on one of the decks listening to the spring holding the chair squeak with every move. To anyone else who drives through this little 1 mile long beach, Fenwick Island is an irrelevant town. To me, this place is a whole new world, like a fairytale is to a child. I count down the days till I can travel those two hours and eight minutes to feel a weight lift off my shoulders as I arrive to my “happy place”.
New York City may not seem like the ideal “good place” but all of the lights and sights are what make it especially exciting for me. The loud horns of the taxis resemble a high pitched shriek of a newborn baby. The hustle of each individual person mirrors bumper cars in an amusement park. The lights overpower the constant beaming sunlight. The traffic moves in disoriented confusion aimlessly moving as fast as time itself. Without the huge crowd of people Times Square would be nothing. All of the different people that I see exemplify the “melting pot” of what America is supposed to be. The polluted air is somehow refreshing when I realize the amount of opportunity that surrounds me. Taking in every sight the skyscrapers steal my attention. Massive in size and sturdy in stature, all I see is a field of steel. Somehow the fast-paced, overwhelming lifestyle seems to make the city thrive. It is fascinating to see the city transform with every season. During the winter season the snow covered streets are quickly cleaned by the massive snow plows, making the streets harder to maneuver. The spring brings rainy days and an array of colorful umbrellas. In the summer the sun shines in the faces of everyone walking by. Fall brings occasional dark skies with crisp, dry air. There is never a dull moment, always something to see, hear and smell and that's what makes Times Square such a good place.
Although I haven’t visited this happy place more than twice in my life, it still brings me great pleasure from just thinking about it. The happy place I am envisioning would be longwood garden. I visited once in first grade, I remember roaming with my friends and looking in amazement at all the beautiful flowers I have never seen before. The other time was last year, it was christmas time and seeing all of the decorations filled me with joy. I never expected being blown away by the beauty and childlike fun it seemed to have opened in my eyes. It made me feel as if, I was in awe the entire time. I loved seeing the flowers at night lightened up, the treehouse that they made me want to never want to leave, how they have lit snowflakes hang in the trees, brightening your path to the next showcase of flowers, and of course inside when you go through all the different exhibits. Also, right when you came in they an entire tree lightened up with multi- colored bulbs, that just made my eyes light up with excitement. This is my happy place, even though I haven’t been there as often as I wish, it still makes me feel like I can see the beauty and details in the little things. Plus, what those people can accomplish and how they bring nature to life is breath taking. Being there is an experience I will never forget and I cannot wait to go back, life seems simpler there and makes me forget my worries.
My happy place is a warehouse. A cold, brightly spotlighted warehouse. Although massive, never empty, and although always new, all too familiar. It could be in the middle-of-nowhere Virginia, or in the center of the city of Washington, D.C. My happy place warehouse has hundreds of 60x30 rectangles sectioned off by netting. These courts are made up of red and blue tiles, and splitting the court in half are two 7 foot, 4 inch poles with a net hanging tied to each pole. My happy place is at a volleyball tournament. Between the numerous hours of driving, Dunkin' Donuts and country music, the early and late house of playing, and the restless hours of roaming the hotel with my teammates, I have made new friends every year and have made some of the best memories i have. Playing, which is actually more like showcasing you skills like a show monkey for countless recruiters, is nerve-racking, but nevertheless exhilarating. You have one chance to prove that you are better then the girl on the other side of the net than you. One chance to give everything you have, and not to falter under the gleaming lights raining down pressure. Through the frustration, through the losses, through anything diminishing, everything good outweighs all of that. Volleyball and going to these tournaments has been a breakthrough, it has instilled a sense of security within me; a type of humble confidence that oozes out of every pore of my body. there's no other place I feel so safe, so at home even though I could be hundreds of miles away from my actual home. Every warehouse in the boondocks, in the city, in the suburbs becomes my home; it becomes my happy place.
In the boondocks of Maryland, in the center of the city in Washington, D.C, or in the suburbs of Boston, I have found my happy place. It is a convention center, it is a warehouse, it is anywhere I have a volleyball tournament. There's nothing like the massive, cold, spotlighted warehouses that screams volleyball season. divided throughout the entire place are 60x30 rectangles made of red and blue tiles that form a volleyball court. Dividing them in half are two 7foot 4 inch poles bonded together by a net, a net that I will be staring down my opponent on the opposite side for a whole weekend. Every snow storming winter I look forward to traveling to God knows where to pass, set, and hit our way to the gold. Between the numerous hours driving there, and the countless hours of playing, combined with the restless nights of roaming around the hotel reeving havoc, I have found my happy place. Although sometimes it feels as if we are show monkeys performing for countless recruiters, it instills a sense of humble confidence within me. I know that what I do I am good at, and it makes me happy. Even through the failure and the disappointment, I still know I did my best, and that I have my team. You have one chance, one weekend to show everyone what you have, to lay it all out (sometimes literally), and to not falter under the gleaming lights raining pressure down upon you. I have learned to block all of that out; the screaming and yelping parents, the chanting teammates, and the coach demanding success. I find my zone, and I become happy. The confidence oozes out of every pore in my body and just do what's natural to me now. Every warehouse, and every convention center has become my happy place, and my home.
I am very lucky to have a place I can go to where I can forget about all the negatives and focus on the beauties in my life. This place is about an eight-minute drive from my dry and cracked driveway. Not many people go to this place, which completes my sense of serenity and escape from reality. The drive there is a winding road with no stop signs or traffic lights. There are only a few houses on the way there that overlook the bay and the masts of the sailboats that cruise by at the same relaxed pace I am driving. I’m in no rush, just like the sailors. The road winds until it narrows into a small wooden bridge that creates a melody of harmonic thuds as I drive across onto the island. I look to the right and see the placid bay with the sun glimmering off the water. I’m here, but I’m not at my favorite spot yet. Eventually I turn right on to a dirt road with cornfields on either side. I keep my head on a swivel looking for wildlife. I see a heard of deer up ahead that realize I am not a native and immediately bounce into the corn. At last I reach the end of the dirt road and stop my car as the dust that has been trailing my car catches up to me and surrounds my car until it drifts past and I see the open field and the small path that takes me to my spot. I get out of my car and put my cameras strap around my neck and begin to walk. The path is very familiar. It only changes with the seasons as the plants change colors and certain wildlife come and go. However, today it is nothing but blue skies as I trek to the entrance to my place. A rusted sign that barely reads, “no trespassing”, guards the entrance with bushes that back it up. However, the path is clearly in view. Those over the years who have found this spot, including me, have formed the path. I duck and dodge my way through the bushes and finally get to the clearing. I take a deep breath and take in the smell of the bay and hear the small waves crashing on the rocky shoreline. Then almost instinctively I raise my camera and begin to shoot. The shore across from me is distant and I begin to focus and shoot around me with my device that helps feed my distraction from all other things in life. I’ve only taken a few people to this spot; those who can appreciate it like me. Every time I leave there and begin my winding drive home past the handful of houses that keep watch over the sailors, I can only think of the people who have experienced what I experience there and wonder if they feel the same.
*********I am very lucky to have a place I can go to where I can forget about all the negatives and focus on the beauties in my life. This place is about an eight-minute drive from my dry and cracked driveway. Not many people go to this place, which completes my sense of serenity and escape from reality. The drive there is a winding road with no stop signs or traffic lights. There are only a few houses on the way there that overlook the bay and the masts of the sailboats that cruise by at the same relaxed pace I am driving. I’m in no rush, just like the sailors. The road winds until it narrows into a small wooden bridge that creates a melody of harmonic thuds as I drive across onto the island. I look to the right and see the placid bay with the sun glimmering off the water. I’m here, but I’m not at my favorite spot yet. Eventually I turn right on to a dirt road with cornfields on either side. I keep my head on a swivel looking for wildlife. I see a herd of deer up ahead that realize I am not a native and immediately bounce into the corn. At last I reach the end of the dirt road and stop my car as the dust that has been trailing catches up to me and surrounds me until it drifts past and I see the open field and the small path that takes me to my spot. I get out of my car and put my camera’s strap around my neck and begin to walk. The path is very familiar. It only varies with the seasons as the plants change colors and certain wildlife come and go. However, today it is nothing but blue skies as I trek to the entrance to my place. A rusted sign that barely reads, “no trespassing,” guards the entrance with bushes that back up to it. However, the path is clearly in view. Those who over the years have found this spot, including me, have formed the path. I duck and dodge my way through the bushes and finally get to the clearing. With a deep breath, I take in the smell of the bay and hear the small waves crashing on the rocky shoreline. Then almost instinctively I raise my camera and begin to shoot. The shore across from me is distant and I begin to focus and shoot around me with my device that helps feed my distraction from all other things in life. I’ve only taken a few people to this spot--those who can appreciate it like me. Every time I leave there and begin my winding drive home past the handful of houses that keep watch over the sailors, I can only think of the people who have experienced what I experience there and wonder if they feel the same way.
My “good place” is ski field. Skiing is my favorite sport in winter. It is a great feeling when I stand on top of the mountain. The world is full of peace with all the white snow surrounds me. When the sun is out, the ice crystals shine like diamonds. Standing on the top of the mountain, I find the world becomes quiet and all you can hear is the sound of wind. It is a great way for me to find inner peace. I could have a short period of time for my mind to rest. I do not need to think about my life such as school or relationship with others. All I need to do is listen to the sound of nature and rush down the mountain. The speed gives me a feeling of relief. My blood is boiling when everything just passes through my eyes so quickly. It is the call from my wild nature. All the bad things and pressure in my life are forgotten. It feels like that I am the only thing left in the whole world and nothing really matters. When the sun goes down, the sky becomes really dark. The flood lights are on. My surrounding turns into darkness. The wind blows with snow flying. The feeling of loneliness starts to rush into my heart. I start to miss my family and friends, especially my warm home. Then, my period of “escaping from the real world” ends. I stop skiing and come back to the civilization.
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