My Life Ten Years from Now Essay

In his poem “On Turning Ten”, Billy Collins uses the voice of a young boy to show the moment when a child loses his innocence and is faced with the inevitability of growing up and, eventually, death. This young man, barely ten years old, is suddenly bereft of the magic of his youth, and realizes that he is not immortal, as he previously felt. He describes growing up as a sickness, and yearns for the days when he could become anything he wanted to, just by imagining it. With the increase of age, the

provide financial support and personal fulfillment over the course of my professional life. To make this transition from school to a professional career, I am going to plan a plan that will help me stay focused and motivated in meeting my goals and objectives. In the next paragraphs, I will explain my ten-year plan for my professional career and incorporate some of Mr. Bolles ideas in how to do this process. At the end of my career, I want to be recognized as a positive team leader who can bring

it to be about a man deeply in love with a women and he wanted nothing more to let her know of his love before he died. Now after reading A Handbook of Critical Approaches to Literature, by Wilfred Guerin, Earle Labor, Lee Morgan, Jeanne C. Reesman, and John R. Willingham, I now see two different meanings of the poem. As I still believe my first impressions to be true in my way, I have also come to understand a different meaning in the poem as well. Had we but world enough, and time, This coyness

will be in the next ten years. Choice of

be defined in many different ways. For example a four year old might say that a friend is the other boy that gave him a cookie. While an adult says someone to talk and relate to when they need it. They are also formed in a plethora of ways. For instance, the two four year olds could grow up staying friends, or you meet some random person in the supermarket and start talking, or even through another friend. Friends are part of what makes life fun, being able to enjoy the joyous times with another

I remember the fall of 2007. On that specific autumn morning it was “take your child to work” day at my dad’s workplace in a retirement home. My father walked my younger sister and me around the gargantuan, sterile white building, introducing us to the elderly residents and workers, holding our hands as we shyly waved with a meek “Hi,”. I distinctly remember meeting one lady that stood out among the others: one of the laundry maids, Caroline. Caroline was, in a word, great. In several words, she

unsure about what my purpose is. With each job, I find myself getting bored and moving on to the next hospital. My thought is that eventually I will discover the missing piece that will keep me motivated and excited. I have been at the VA Black Hills Health Care System for more than 5 years and that is the longest I have worked at any place. Unfortunately, I have stayed here this long because of the long term retirement benefits. I have been a Respiratory Therapist for 13 years and have truly loved

take time, even our whole life to find out what that is. I was never great at anything. I was good at a myriad of things, but never anything noteworthy. I’ve been told that I am “great” at doing peoples nails and that I am “great” at speaking fast. While, yes, those are two things that I am well skilled at, I still wasn’t great. I have been a camp counselor for the past three years. My first year, in my evaluation, I was told that I was “great” at my job. The following year, I had significantly improved

“Something smells incredible,” he called out before walking past my daughter. He walked over to me and laid several yards of cerulean coloured fabric over the carpet. “For your new burqa,” he said then smiled curtly, “you like blue, right?” Actually, I like yellow, but who was I to argue. Growing up in my family we didn’t wear burqas but my in-laws didn’t care for women to be seen in public. I don’t like wearing them. I get headaches and can never see where I’m going. Of course, this gesture was

and that’s exactly what I did. As a kid my parents put me in every sport possible to see which ones I liked best. It wasn’t long before I decided I had a love for softball, and I was good at it too. Ten years have passed since I made that decision, and I still love the sport. Although, this love didn’t come easy; I had to fight my way through the last ten years to get to where I am now. As an athlete, I got hurt a lot. I had to play through many injuries; my knees, ankles, foot, wrist, fingers, and