Example Essay About Experience in Life: School Experience
As I walked into English class on the first day of my 8th-grade year, there wasn’t much to see. The classroom held a long shelf of books of every size, shape, and color. There was a well-used chalkboard on the opposite wall filled with random notes and sketches from students throughout the day. On the opposite wall was a large whiteboard stretching from end to end, intimidatingly large. The clank and grunt of students rushing to desks to claim a spot next to their friends was audible. The refreshing smell of late summer air blowing through the open windows enveloped the room.
When I took my seat, the chime of the period bell rang overhead. Just then I noticed the teacher, Mrs. Gregor, sitting behind her desk in a cozy nook of the room. She stood up and moved towards the front of the class, her auburn hair tied up haphazardly, strays desperately trying to keep hold of the small elastic. When she stopped to face the class, her unusually green eyes caught my attention. They seemed to hold the entirety of Emerald City with the Emerald Castle towering above the green landscape.
She introduced herself and laid out her policy for the year. Then, she briefly explained some books and projects we would be undertaking, many of which immensely interested me. These first words won me over and I was immediately drawn to the class. Mrs. Gregor continued to fascinate me as the year went on by demonstrating many methods to improve my writing through multiple essays and projects. These ranged from illustrating the proper usage of MLA format and how to create an objective paper, to the creation of plot lines and the development of characters.
Later in the year, around late February, I walked into Mrs. Gregor’s room and noticed a tangible difference in the classes’ atmosphere. More curious than ominous, the discernable feeling still caused several butterflies to flutter in my stomach. As the bell rang and the chatter subsided, Gregor took the stage and began explaining the “Portfolio Project.” As she described the project further, I became increasingly apprehensive. We were to produce 20 pieces that should be as creative as possible, but still stay in the range of a theme that we chose. Then, we were to write a reflection - no less than half a page in length - for all 20 parts. I left the class in a blunt state, attempting to process all that had just transpired.
That night, I went home and sat down at my desk, overwhelmed by the enormity of the project. So many thoughts were running through my head, moving nearly too fast for me to grab hold of one at a time. Panicking, I thought of how much there was to do and concluded that I needed to start right away. I grabbed a piece of blank notebook paper and a pencil, nearly creasing the paper in my haste. I couldn’t quiet the thoughts bouncing back and forth inside my head. As time passed, frustration crept over me as I stared into the blank abyss of the sheet with the sudden thoughtlessness that now took over me. The paper stared back, mocking my inability to produce a subject. A similar, yet increasingly frustrating, staring contest occurred every night for the next several days.
The feeling of worrying
Soon, I began to feel the pressure as many students in my class had already picked a subject and some had even begun writing. Eventually, I decided that the first subject that came to mind would be the topic I chose. I found myself finally taking pencil to paper, writing the word horror. Thrilled to have a subject, I began to brainstorm. Horror. Fear, Scary, Halloween, haunted houses. My pencil moved on the paper in a blur. Scary movies, IT, Stephen King.
Once I eventually stopped, I had added on an extra sheet of paper filled with bullet points and scratched out words and phrases. Proudly, I began to work through the list, briefly laying out an outline for each idea. With the layouts completed, I jumped right into writing. My feelings of dread changed into a true fascination for the subject. I wrote with gusto, producing pieces I was actually interested in. These ranged from an interview with Victor Frankenstein, a newspaper article after the death of Mr. Hyde, even a found poem from the Tell-Tale Heart spun into a love story.
As I sat at home every night, I would pull out a piece of paper and begin writing. I would usually come to about halfway through before throwing out the draft and starting anew. For several weeks, the aforementioned process continued until the due date crept up with astounding speed. I sat at home the night before reading and re-reading all the pages, sure I had missed something. However, when I could not succeed in finding a mistake, I became more anxious than before.
The next day came all too soon and before I realized, I was sitting in English class with my project in hand. The neat pages were protected in a pearly white binder covered with multiple images of infamous horror icons. I flipped through for the last time with a keen-eye, ensuring that there was nothing I had missed. The teacher slowly walked by each desk, adding each project to her growing collection. I handed over the binder as she walked by my desk, watching as my hard work was piled on top of a multi-colored arrangement of the class's projects.
The following week was spent in a constant fret, panicking that my articles and papers weren’t good enough. I carried an unpleasant, near daunting feeling that I had written something awry and my grade would suffer. After what felt like years, the time came when Mrs. Gregor announced that the portfolios had all been graded. The class buzzed as the teacher made her rounds, passing them out one by one. I was sure she could hear my heart pounding as she grabbed my project and walked closer and closer.
She smiled warmly as she set the binder down, and with a gentle nod, stated, “Good job. Congratulations!”
I hurriedly flipped open the front page to see a grading rubric filled with her notes and suggestions. I skimmed through until I finally found what I was looking for. At the very bottom of the paper, I noticed a large, circled A+. I was over the moon. My shoulders instantly felt relieved of a burden I didn’t realize I was carrying. Even my feet felt freed from the weight of my body as if I was now gliding from place to place. I knew that I would remember how I felt then for a long time to come. The moment when all my dedication and commitment was finally confirmed.
Even now, I am still thankful for Mrs. Gregor. She taught me so much about my potential and what I am capable of. I am still growing, as a writer and a student, but I will never forget the lessons that her class taught me.