Privacy Policy CA Privacy Policy Site Personal challenges essay Advertise Cookie Settings. Place an order right now and get VIP customer service for free! I became obsessed with the number on the scale and would try to eat the least that I could without my parents urging me to take more. My mentor also planned one center to have a familiar game so that students were not overwhelmed with new concepts, personal challenges essay. Please enter a valid phone number. We have pushed one another to aim higher and become better martial artists.
Is Life a Challenge or a Bed of Roses?
There are so many people living on this planetand all of them have their own views on what life means to them. There are optimists who choose to see the bright side of this world. There are pessimists who might enjoy constant grumbling as to their difficult and unfair fate. Every person decides for themselves. I want to examine differences in how people perceive our world and what both groups miss out because of the way of thinking they select. No one can deny that there are many different moments in our life when we are sad or disappointed; often there is injustice personal challenges essay various events that are bitter and very unpleasant, personal challenges essay.
We cannot totally avoid these aspects of our lifeas it is always interrelated with the other people and everything can drastically change any moment. A lot of people, namely pessimists, personal challenges essay, find these challenges to be too hard for them and in such situations they just choose not to interfere in the course of affairs and complain about their life as if someone sympathizes with their misery, personal challenges essay. But as personal challenges essay me, it is too easy of a way out. I choose to perceive these challenges in such a way that they polish my character and make me a better person.
On the other hand, I sometimes catch myself thinking that being an optimist is a harder way, but at the same time has much more benefits than the one of pessimism, personal challenges essay. It is indeed much easier to always complain about everything personal challenges essay grumble that there is nothing good left around us and everything is filled with disappointment and sorrow. In order to find something positive in each and every aspect of life, it is necessary to apply certain effort, personal challenges essay, analyze the situation and think of the ways you can benefit from it. Often, it requires much effort, but it is totally worth it. In fact, if personal challenges essay try to perceive our life as a bed of rosesyou will be fascinated by the number of opportunities that will open for you.
Moreover, life will become so interesting and engaging that you can even forget how to complain — there will be no need for it. Maybe it can seem too idealistic a picture, but I believe that a hard personal challenges essay consistent work on your character and world view in order to achieve such a mode of life helps very much. My friends who choose this way of thinking say that the main thing here is to remember it is totally worth all the effort. As for me, I would say that life is a challenge. Thanks for reading my Life is a challenge essay. If you would like to get a great custom written essay, order it from us personal challenges essay. It is that easy!
Is Life a Challenge or a Bed of Roses? Статья Personal Essay on Life Is a Challenge была изменена: December 24th, personal challenges essay, автором admin. Got stuck with another paper? We can help! Time limited special offer! Place an order right now and get VIP customer service for free! Time left: 00 10 Please input your first name. Please input a valid phone number. The format of the e-mail address is incorrect. Contact me. Leave your email and get an eBook. Get an eBook. Submit a request and your personal manager will contact you within 10 minutes! Please enter a valid phone number. Please enter a valid email address. Please enter a valid email address or phone number.
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welfare state essay
Knee-high rubber boots, camouflage, bug spray—I wore the garb and perfume of a proud wild woman, yet there I was, hunched over the pathetic pile of stubborn sticks, utterly stumped, on the verge of tears. As a child, I had considered myself a kind of rustic princess, a cradler of spiders and centipedes, who was serenaded by mourning doves and chickadees, who could glide through tick-infested meadows and emerge Lyme-free. I knew the cracks of the earth like the scars on my own rough palms. Yet here I was, ten years later, incapable of performing the most fundamental outdoor task: I could not, for the life of me, start a fire. Furiously I rubbed the twigs together—rubbed and rubbed until shreds of skin flaked from my fingers. No smoke.
The twigs were too young, too sticky-green; I tossed them away with a shower of curses, and began tearing through the underbrush in search of a more flammable collection. My efforts were fruitless. Livid, I bit a rejected twig, determined to prove that the forest had spurned me, offering only young, wet bones that would never burn. But the wood cracked like carrots between my teeth—old, brittle, and bitter. Roaring and nursing my aching palms, I retreated to the tent, where I sulked and awaited the jeers of my family. Rattling their empty worm cans and reeking of fat fish, my brother and cousins swaggered into the campsite. Immediately, they noticed the minor stick massacre by the fire pit and called to me, their deep voices already sharp with contempt. My face burned long after I left the fire pit.
The camp stank of salmon and shame. In the tent, I pondered my failure. Was I so dainty? Was I that incapable? I thought of my hands, how calloused and capable they had been, how tender and smooth they had become. Crawling along the edge of the tent, a spider confirmed my transformation—he disgusted me, and I felt an overwhelming urge to squash him. I still eagerly explored new worlds, but through poems and prose rather than pastures and puddles. That night, I stayed up late with my journal and wrote about the spider I had decided not to kill. When the night grew cold and the embers died, my words still smoked—my hands burned from all that scrawling—and even when I fell asleep, the ideas kept sparking—I was on fire, always on fire. I had felt pain, but I had not let it drown me — making music was a productive way to express my feelings than worrying.
Since then, I have been learning to take better care of myself in difficult situations. That day before rehearsal, I found myself in the most troubling circumstances of my life thus far, but they did not sink me because I refused to sink. When my aunt developed cancer several months later, I knew that resolution would not come quickly, but that I could rely on music to cope with the agony, even when it would be easier to fall apart. Thankfully, Colin recovered from his injuries and was home within days. As our eyes met and our voices joined in song, I knew that music would always be our greatest mechanism for transforming pain into strength.
Stark, as we affectionately call him, has coached track at my high school for 25 years. His care, dedication, and emphasis on developing good character has left an enduring impact on me and hundreds of other students. Not only did he help me discover my talent and love for running, but he also taught me the importance of commitment and discipline and to approach every endeavor with the passion and intensity that I bring to running. When I learned a neighboring high school had dedicated their track to a longtime coach, I felt that Stark deserved similar honors. I took charge and mobilized my teammates to distribute petitions, reach out to alumni, and compile statistics on the many team and individual champions Stark had coached over the years.
We received astounding support, collecting almost 3, signatures and pages of endorsements from across the community. With help from my teammates, I presented this evidence to the board. Most members argued that dedicating the track was a low priority. Knowing that we had to act quickly to convince them of its importance, I called a team meeting where we drafted a rebuttal for the next board meeting. To my surprise, they chose me to deliver it. I was far from the best public speaker in the group, and I felt nervous about going before the unsympathetic board again. Public speaking resembles a cross country race.
Walking to the starting line, you have to trust your training and quell your last minute doubts. At the next board meeting, the podium was my starting line. As I walked up to it, familiar butterflies fluttered in my stomach. Instead of the track stretching out in front of me, I faced the vast audience of teachers, board members, and my teammates. She finished speaking, and Bang! The brief silence was the gunshot for me to begin. I was disappointed, but proud of myself, my team, and our collaboration off the track. We stood up for a cause we believed in, and I overcame my worries about being a leader. Although I discovered that changing the status quo through an elected body can be a painstakingly difficult process and requires perseverance, I learned that I enjoy the challenges this effort offers.
Just as Stark taught me, I worked passionately to achieve my goal. Scrolling through, I see funny videos and mouth-watering pictures of food. However, one image stops me immediately. Beneath it, I see a slew of flattering comments. However, part of me still wants to have a body like hers so that others will make similar comments to me. I would like to resolve a silent issue that harms many teenagers and adults: negative self image and low self-esteem in a world where social media shapes how people view each other. In this new digital age, it is hard to distinguish authentic from artificial representations.
When I was 11, I developed anorexia nervosa. Though I was already thin, I wanted to be skinny like the models that I saw on the magazine covers on the grocery store stands. Little did I know that those models probably also suffered from disorders, and that photoshop erased their flaws. I preferred being underweight to being healthy. No matter how little I ate or how thin I was, I always thought that I was too fat. I became obsessed with the number on the scale and would try to eat the least that I could without my parents urging me to take more. Fortunately, I stopped engaging in anorexic behaviors before middle school.
However, my underlying mental habits did not change. The images that had provoked my disorder in the first place were still a constant presence in my life. By age 15, I was in recovery from anorexia, but suffered from depression. While I used to only compare myself to models, the growth of social media meant I also compared myself to my friends and acquaintances. As I scrolled past endless photos of my flawless, thin classmates with hundreds of likes and affirming comments, I felt my jealousy spiral. I wanted to be admired and loved by other people too. However, I felt that I could never be enough. I began to hate the way that I looked, and felt nothing in my life was good enough. Body image insecurities and social media comparisons affect thousands of people — men, women, children, and adults — every day.
I am lucky — after a few months of my destructive social media habits, I came across a video that pointed out the illusory nature of social media; many Instagram posts only show off good things while people hide their flaws. I began going to therapy, and recovered from my depression. To address the problem of self-image and social media, we can all focus on what matters on the inside and not what is on the surface. As an effort to become healthy internally, I started a club at my school to promote clean eating and radiating beauty from within. Someday, I hope to make this club a national organization to help teenagers and adults across the country. Tears streamed down my face and my mind was paralyzed with fear.
Sirens blared, but the silent panic in my own head was deafening. I was muted by shock. A few hours earlier, I had anticipated a vacation in Washington, D. My fear turned into action as I made some of the bravest decisions of my life. Throughout her surgery, I anxiously awaited any word from her surgeon, but each time I asked, I was told that there had been another complication or delay. Relying on my faith and positive attitude, I remained optimistic that my mother would survive and that I could embrace new responsibilities.
My mother had been a source of strength for me, and now I would be strong for her through her long recovery ahead. As I started high school, everyone thought the crisis was over, but it had really just started to impact my life. My mother was often fatigued, so I assumed more responsibility, juggling family duties, school, athletics, and work. I made countless trips to the neighborhood pharmacy, cooked dinner, biked to the grocery store, supported my concerned sister, and provided the loving care my mother needed to recover. Each day was a stage in my gradual transformation from dependence to relative independence. It is that easy! Is Life a Challenge or a Bed of Roses?
Статья Personal Essay on Life Is a Challenge была изменена: December 24th, автором admin. Got stuck with another paper? We can help! Time limited special offer! Place an order right now and get VIP customer service for free! Time left: 00 10 Please input your first name. Please input a valid phone number. The format of the e-mail address is incorrect. Contact me. Leave your email and get an eBook. Get an eBook.
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