Introduction: The goal of my essay was for me to write about what I remember and reflect on my family and capturing the perfect moment. I wrote about how I hated that my parents took a bunch of pictures and now I appreciate the pictures they took. The area that I am most proud of is my last paragraph because I sum up everything with my reflection about taking the perfect photo. The area that I need improvement on is the connecting more scenes to my essay.

I had never looked forward to trips when I was younger. That all changed when my annual family trip was planned, and this year it was Mexico. This happened because the stars aligned and Drexel’s summer break lined up with my summer break. The morning of the trip, my brain was scattered everywhere trying to make sure we had everything together for the adventure we had waiting for us. While I am packing the suitcase, my sister Ellen was packing all of the cameras and equipment -  Polaroid, a tripod, and a DSLR. Going on a vacation with my family, you have to make sure you bring enough Polaroid refills. We almost used a pack in one day! Ten films would not work for this family, it wouldn't even last a day.

By the time we finished packing, it was 6:30 in the morning and our flight with American Airlines was at 10 am. As time went by, my stress level had gone down and my excitement had risen up. I couldn't wait to start the journey that I knew that I would have. We finally got to the airport, through TSA, and onto the plane. As soon as I sat down, I fell asleep and woke up in beautiful Mexico.

On the second day of the trip, my mom didn’t really want to go into the beautiful clear water of the Gulf of Mexico. Instead, she took so many of the same pictures and videos non- stop until the very last day of the trip. Which at the time, I thought it was pointless because she was just taking a lot of the same pictures. Once my parents learned how to take pictures or videos on their own, they stopped us when they saw something breath taking or beautiful, just to take one picture. Soon enough, we had to limit their pictures to  just enjoy our trip without being stopped every second. I told my mom no more pictures for now and to enjoy our time here because we don't see this is Philly. I knew that my parent’s just wanted something to remember these moments. On the other hand, I like to live in the moment and take pictures with my memory instead.  

During our third to last day in Isla Mujeres, my dad and I decided that both of us would go to the Selvatica Adventure Park, while my sister and my mom went to an outdoor museum. It took two fine fours to get to the place of adventure. When we finally got there, the photographer took numerous pictures of us holding two colorful birds before we started on our activity. The instructors took us really high up in the jungle. It looked similar to a jungle gym for grown-ups. Once the instructors hooked me into a harness, my heart started to racing unusually fast. My dad and I both waited for our turn together. I was on the right and my dad was on the left. The instructors told us to lay on something, similar to a bed, so he could hook us up to the wires. I shed tears of fear just at the thought of falling from 100 feet down to the jungle in mid-air. I was not ready and I wanted to back out, but my dad said it was too late to back out. My biggest fear was doing the Superman zip line, which is where we were in our stomach and the table from under us would drop. Afterward, it felt like I was flying and turned out to be the best thing I did in the whole trip. Sadly, the photographers took some embarrassing pictures of us. The photographers were moving the cameras around to get the perfect shoots. They end up taking about 125 pictures of my dad and I - so that number did not compare to the amount that my mom and dad took.

The next day, as a whole family, we wanted to go see the outdoor art sculptures. Before we got there, we took many stops here and there. My parents couldn’t get enough of the perfect view and took fifteen pictures of my sister and I at each stop, and my sister doing the same for my parents. We also had to ask strangers to take pictures for us as a family. I feel uncomfortable having to pose for a really long time. We finally get there and my mom wants us to take more pictures with most of all the art sculptures. She mom kept moving her phone around, spamming the camera button on her smartphone. Meanwhile, I just wanted to look around and take pictures here and there of the beautiful art. My parents never understood how taking a lot of pictures and staying in one spot is not my thing.

“No more pictures! This is the last picture,” I exhaustedly said.

“Take a picture, this is going to be the last picture,” said my mom.

Throughout this whole trip, it was all about taking pictures and making new memories with my family. It felt like the pictures were going on a never-ending loop. With my family, we can never just take one photo. There will always be someone looking the opposite direction of the camera. At the end of the day, there is always one perfect picture with all of us looking. And even though I didn't like taking so many pictures, I just appreciated that I can go to these places with my family.

For this paper I really wanted the reader to understand and get a sense for my struggle with patience. I wanted to use scene that helped me to convey my struggle so that readers could relate to my problem. I am really proud of my scenes and the fact that they do help me to convey my struggle, although I should note that my reflection and main idea isn’t the strongest. I don’t know what I could do to improve it now, but that is definitely an area for improvement.

I sit down at the dining room table, with my brother across from me, to start a game of monopoly. I always suck at this game. I can never get enough properties to win and I always make the wrong trades. Just a week before I traded away my railroads for a monopoly while I playing with my mom. She won on that trade alone. Live and learn, you know?

But this time will be different. I just know it. It’s like when you walk out the door to school and part of you just knows that the day ahead won’t be enjoyable. I just knew that something was gonna happen, and I wouldn’t have to go bankrupt again.

I shake with excitement as the first dice rolls happen.

“You sure you want to do that,” I say as my brother tries to roll doubles to get out of jail instead of paying.
“Sure thing bro,” he responds as he roll doubles.

“What? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

This is how the beginning of the game goes. I manage to get more properties than he does, but his excessive landing on free parking and go give him two or even three times the amount I have. Even though properties are better to have in the early game than money, his stock of two less properties doesn’t make a difference.

“Welp, this is bad,” I murmur to myself. I need a plan, and I need one fast.

I look around the room as my brother rolls. The nice chandelier hanging from the middle of the room. The cabinet at the far end of the room. I look toward a painting hanging over my brother’s head. A gray boat sits on a peaceful lake. The women on the boat wait patiently for the fish to bite on their fishing poles.

If I am just as patient as them, and not rush, I will be fine. If those women get anxious, they won’t catch any fish. In the same way, if I get excited and anxious, I’ll make a mistake and lose the game.

Soon after, I make a well thought about trade to secure one side of the board. I now own that whole side, the most lethal side.

For the next couple of times around the board, my brother seems to only land on those properties. With my money growing and my brother’s shrinking, I know that this could be the turning point.

“Oh boy, here we go,” I think to myself as I crack a smile.

Throughout my entire life, I have struggled with patience. It is not one of my natural abilities. For example, I really wanted to win that monopoly game. I always get so excited when I play those type of games that my lack of patience often comes back to kill me.

When I was a lot younger, it was worse. I couldn’t wait for anything. When I was done shopping, I was done and I let my parents know it, often throwing fits until they agreed with me. These examples of my impatience are evident throughout my toddler and preteen years.

My grandparents loved to take me fishing. They had a campsite on a lake and I would go and stay with them for a week during the summer. My grandpa introduced me to fishing when I was eight. At first I loved it. The idea of catching a fish sounded amazing to my young, inexperienced mind. But I learned otherwise. I couldn’t stand fishing, and catching a fish didn’t help to improve my mood. I just didn’t have the patience to sit around all day waiting for some dumb fish to take the bait. I stopped fishing soon after.

My attempt at fishing helped me to recognize that I wasn’t as patience as I thought I was. It rocked my world. But after I thought about it some more, I realized something. For my entire life I have been athletic. I’ve been on championship soccer and baseball teams for most of my childhood. My parents have often said that I’m just naturally athletic. But I’m not naturally patient.

It suddenly hit me that I wanted to be someone that I wasn’t. I wanted to be better than myself. Like me and my struggle for patience, everyone is not born perfect. Everyone has the desire to be better than themselves, to grow and mature in many different areas. For me, that was patience. I really would love to be patience, and I’m sure there are many other people who want to grow, just like me. We all have our certain struggle, it’s human. But we have to at least try. Because if none of us try, the world wouldn’t be like it is today.

Introduction:

The goal of this paper was to attempt to analyze the causes of fear and how different people experience it. Fear is a big part of my life and I wanted the reader to really consider how they deal with their own fears. I'm most proud of my descriptive language. It provides a nice cover up for the actual writing and analysis, which I feel needs a great deal of improvement.

Art and Approval

When I was in elementary school my favorite subject was art. I’m not sure what drew me to it. Maybe it was the ability to brush my feelings onto paper or perhaps I enjoyed the feeling of pastels smudged onto my fingers after working on a piece. Pastel crayons were one of my favorite mediums to work with. The crayons were soft and velvety, making strikes and swirls across the page almost effortless. Pastels not being stiff like other mediums allowed for more unrestrictive expression.  

Every year my school had a grade by grade art contest and show. Each grade got assigned a medium to work with for the contest and my grade at the time was assigned pastels. My mouth found itself turned into a grin at the news. This would be an opportunity to beat Reagan, one of my classmates who not only won this competition every year but the yearbook cover contest as well. Winning the competition this year would not only prove how serious I was about art to my teachers and classmates, it would also show my family that this was passion they needed to support.

I decided to not plan my art and to make it up as I go. I turned a light blue pastel onto its side and rolled it onto my paper causing splotches of blue on the paper. The patches of blue with the off-white paper peeking through reminded me of the sky minutes before a downpour. I then knew I wanted my drawing to be scenery of nature. Using different shades of brown pastels I made a smooth mound in the bottom corner of the page that represented the ground. On the bottom of the page, I created a lake that was a slightly darker blue than the sky and had gentle ripples on its surface. I finished by creating long strokes of different shades of green onto the ground, forming blades of grass.

Weeks later after I submitted my work I found myself at the art show with my parents. My grade’s art was posted on a hallway wall. In the center of the wall was a piece with the winner’s name under it in bold letters: Reagan. Disappointment uncoiled inside of me. My dad noticed my enthusiasm turn sour and put his hand on my head while looking down at me.

“Well… yours was my favorite.”  My heart beamed at his words. Although I lost the art competition I always won my family’s support and I knew I could count on them for approving my life choices.

My family always knew I liked art. They never blinked an eye at me taking art camp over the summer or me continuing art as an elective in middle school. They didn’t even flinch when I said I wanted to be an artist when asked what did I want to be when I grow up. When I put my words into action, that’s when they got nervous.

I was in the backseat of my dad’s car. The road was clear for the most part with the exception of a stray car here and there. My dad, deciding he could give some of the attention he was putting towards the road to me, turned down the radio and looked up into his rear view mirror.

“Have you given any thought as to what you want to be when you’re older?” My eyebrows furrowed in thought, although I already knew the answer.

“An animator.” I said it with no hint of a doubt slithering into my words.

“Oh, so you want to work on Disney movies?” My dad was taken aback. This was the first time my answer to this common question changed from “artist” to “animator”. It was becoming clear that I was becoming more determined about pursuing an art career. The more it became transparent that my passion wasn’t just a hobby the more worried my family got for my future.

“Uh, well I wasn’t thinking working for Disney exactly.” I ran my hands over the grooves of the car door in thought. “I really want to make a cartoon one day and maybe work at Cartoon Network.”

“And how will you do that?”

“There’s a college called CalArts that I’m interested in.”

“CalArts? Where’s that?”

“California” There was a pause before he spoke.

“That’s so far away… are you sure about this?” I hesitated before my answer. This was the first time I was unsure about my art.

“Yes.” That was the end of the conversation and my dad’s attention returned back to the road. I knew he was only worried for me, but I was not yet familiar with my plans for the future being met with doubt. From there on I questioned my love for art and how far I was willing to go to so I could pursue it. I proved to my family how serious I was about art but in exchange, I received uncertainty in my life choices.