Personal Narrative: The Day I Went Back To The Center

The summer of 2012 took me for a whirlpool of a surprise. My parents introduced me to the thought of moving from my little town of Woolwich in New Jersey, all the way to southern New Hampshire. My family owns a little cabin on a lake on the Maine- New Hampshire border and it became unsafe for my mother to drive eight hours up to the lake after working those long hours at her job. So, my family decided it was either time to sell our little cabin or to move, and my parents did not want to part with that 14 by 30 structure on a lake. Within the next few weeks, our house was on the market and we already had our realtor up in New Hampshire finding dozens of houses to go look at, in the hopes of finding my house today.

Starting over. Those two simple words pretty much sum up where I am at in my life at the moment. I am a 34 year old mother of three. I have never been to college. My husband just recently left me. It has been a whirlwind summer to say the least, but before I get into what brought me back to school, I'll start at the beginning. I was born in FL., and quite literally spent all my time either at the beach or running bare foot on my grandparents farm. I loved every second. Shortly after I turned 8 my mom met my step-dad, and we were quickly headed on our first big adventure, moving to Texas! While I missed my family in FL., I can not tell you enough how happy I was that my mom married my dad. He has been a rock and solid foundation for me my whole

There I was on the block next to the High Bar. It was about 5:00 at night when my coach told me to do a Kip. As I got up on the bar my nose filled with the smell of chalk. I started to swing, and as I came out of my half turn I looked good. Everything seemed fine but as I came to the part of the Kip where I have to pull my legs up to the bar, I slammed my shins into the bar. My momentum was stopped and I dropped on to the mat, missing the Kip. I felt like I had let down my coach and I had let down myself too. That day I experienced failure. That failure made me want my Kip even more so I worked harder and had support from my teammates.

Something I will be reflecting on from my 8th grade year ,and how this will change myself for freshmen year. I did study a lot through the whole year of 8th grade,and i should have.I feel 8th grade could have gone better for me if i did things differently like preparing myself for hard tests, I never studied till the end of the year when i found out it really helped me out.

I’m an only child that has moved a decent amount in her lifetime. I was born in a small city near the Polish-Ukrainian border called Przemysl. After a few years, my family moved to Krakow, and I later spent a while with my grandmother in her village, Narol. In the middle of kindergarten, I moved from Poland to Northbrook, Illinois, and attended school there for two years. I later moved to Chicago Ridge, and just last year in August, I moved to Hickory Hills. Last year was my first year at Stagg, and I enjoyed it a great deal. For my freshman year I attended Richards. Moving after just becoming familiarized with Richards put me out of my comfort zone sophomore year and I had to talk to a lot of people to try to make friends. For this reason,

As I lay awake in my comfy cot, I start having these nauseating pains. I scatter to the washroom and chunks fly everywhere. When awake I feel the cold stone floor underneath me. I reach beneath myself to hoist myself up, but all I felt was a puddle of slimy vomit.

Moving on, again westward, I was looking for a panel that I'd wanted to find for several years. I had written down clues I found in blog posts and forum trip reports, looked at maps for likely places and spent far too much time on Google Earth. I was pretty confident this time. The dogs and I started off up the steep slope to where I thought it was, this asthmatic flatlander and her flatlander dogs sucking wind as we went. After a bit of searching, I decided I was thwarted again, which was fine - the view was pretty fantastic and it gave me another reason to visit the area and explore more next

"She had a solid reputation as a crisp, vivid writer of short stories set in Louisiana, where she had lived for 14 years" ("A Look Back"). I wrote many of my stories about experiences in my life. I always loved to read and learn new things as a child. As I grew older, there were many hard times and that helped me to be the lady I was. Some of my stories were very well known, and others not so much. My rough childhood, mother, and family friends influenced me to write; the short stories and novels I wrote were influenced by my favorite authors which caused me to write about controversial topics.

Back at home, if she was doing this much physical activity, at this point she would be exhausted. The good news is that she feels as if she has enough stamina to keep going and that the training center had its benefits after all. The bad news is that she is starting to realize that many people are going to die, and if she is to survive, she will kill at least one other individual. Her fear from going into the arena seems to have shifted into her mindset becoming indifferent and attacking in order to survive. “I’m sorry.” Is all she says before attacking again.

There comes a time in everyone’s life when your perspective changes. Regardless on the topic, the event causes you to rethink your previous actions and set yourself straight. In my situation, the big event that caused me to change my perspective was a fight I had with my older sister. Growing up we never got along, mostly because we are complete opposites. Looking back majority of our fights are a blur, because they were so insignificant. However, the fight I am referencing is one I will never forget.

CRASH! My head throbbed from the sudden collision between the stairwell and my noggin. Family members began to pour into the accident scene with concern bluntly written over each of their faces. My mother immediately started inspected the wounds given to me once she spotted the damage. In that moment, I could not focus on anything other that the burning sensation near my chin; I was incapable of forming words as responses to my crews constant questioning; after a short consideration between my family, my mother placed a damp paper towel over the cut and put me into the car, where we were then going to drive to the hospital as if it was a race; except, it was a competition. It was a race against the clock,

On a weekly basis, I am pushed beyond my comfort zone. Each week brings two new clinical days with new people, situations, and diagnosis. I never know if I will know how to react and do the right thing. Every clinical day I feel a little nervousness because I feel out of my comfort zone. I handle this by recognizing that I do have the tools that I need to succeed. It also comforts me to know that there is a team around me for support. Some days are always better than others, but I have found ease in this by accepting that each day is a learning opportunity. Knowing that my presence that day affects someone's life allows me to appreciate going beyond my comfort zone. From past experience, stepping out of my comfort zone has always benefitted

We had to a drill big and strong enough to get to the center of Earth. Also, suit that would keep me cool. Then I was off to the center of earth. I saw basalt and granite in the crust. It was very hot in the crust. When i hit the mantle, it cooled off a little bit. It felt like it took about a year but it only took about a month or two to get out of the lithosphere. Then i hit the asthenosphere and it took about two to three months to get out of the asthenosphere.Then i got to the outer core which is liquid. So i cut of my engine so it wouldn’t waste the gas and started to sink. It was getting a little colder the lower i got. It only took about five hours playing the xbox i put in the drill and then when i reached the inner core, i turned it

The main thing I notice is the mind-boggling smell of cleanser. My eyes flew open and gradually changed in accordance with the brilliant light coordinated towards my face. "Where am I?" I ponder internally.

It was a dusky, cold evening in early December. The sky looked almost as if it might snow that night because the sky was a charcoal gray, not a dark black. The lights and buildings sprinkled the sky, like tiny little stars. The Center Stage’s sign shone a bright green light that created a cast over everyone who was waiting to get into the venue. Despite it being extremely cold outside, everyone was just chatting away and laughter was heard from everywhere; it sounded like a nest of honey bees. The air was sharp and chilly, but was filled with the scents of alcohol and cigarette smoke. The group of people were waiting to see the band, Catfish and the Bottle men. All of the people here were fairly young and dressed like hipsters. My group of