Hello! First, thank you for helping. I'm desperate. This is for my common application essay. I am answering the question "Describe a place you feel perfectly content, what do you do or experience there and why is it meaningful to you?" I am writing about being at my barn. My other topic seemed so cliche (while volunteering at pet therapy program) and even though it was genuine, It felt so typical. So here is mine. I'm struggling so much, I'm at a loss. PLEASE HELP.
All my life, I've always had a way with words. That is if not using them is considered a way. My problem isn't that I don't know how to talk, and there is no doubt I'm certainly capable of communicating and holding a conversation. Talking just simply isn't my thing, and I dont always think it's as necessary as people make it out to be. I was an awkward kid, I tripped over my words with even my imaginary friends, as well as tripping over my feet into not so imaginary steps. I eventually outgrew my awkwardness for the most part, and I assumed I'd outgrow my quietness. Though i never really did. I have always felt more comfortable in places that I can listen, and tune in to the thing around me without having to participate in them. I don't know why I'm like this. But it always frustrated me that if you aren't strongly worded, always wanting to spit out hundreds of words a minute then you're considered either weak or dumb. I'm neither of those things. So, I grew up always desperate to find ways to prove that stereotype wrong, to prove to myself and others that my quietness wasn't a bad thing, or a weakness. I looked for places I could be content, places that wouldn't criticize my quiet nature. I found my place at the end of my street in a white, wooden, two stall barn that holds some of my happiest moments. In it lives an arrangement of stray cats and of course Princess, the horse. My horse and I have a very special way of communicating, obviously because she's a horse, but secondly because she's deaf. It's always been said that there is something amazing between a girl and her horse, but no one can imagine the even more amazing bond between a quiet girl and her deaf horse. The barn is that place and from day one, I loved it. I loved the hard work and responsibilities, the smells, the sounds, and perhaps most of all I loved the idea that I had gained the acceptance and respect of a one thousand pound animal, without a single word. My tendency to be quiet, and listen to the things all around me, were the reason that I could get along so well with that horse. In this place, I learnt that my love of listening was a gift. The barn will always be where I fit in best, and the lessons I learned in that place made me the person I am today. I am content there, with myself and the world around me. To this day, whenever I walk through that barn door, I can be at peace. Nothing else seems to matter, it almost feels as if my troubles are afraid of horses. Anytime in the barn, whether I am dangling my legs from the fence, shoveling manure out of a stall, or watching my horse graze in the pasture, I am at peace.
All my life, I've always had a way with words. That is if not using them is considered a way. My problem isn't that I don't know how to talk, and there is no doubt I'm certainly capable of communicating and holding a conversation. Talking just simply isn't my thing, and I dont always think it's as necessary as people make it out to be. I was an awkward kid, I tripped over my words with even my imaginary friends, as well as tripping over my feet into not so imaginary steps. I eventually outgrew my awkwardness for the most part, and I assumed I'd outgrow my quietness. Though i never really did. I have always felt more comfortable in places that I can listen, and tune in to the thing around me without having to participate in them. I don't know why I'm like this. But it always frustrated me that if you aren't strongly worded, always wanting to spit out hundreds of words a minute then you're considered either weak or dumb. I'm neither of those things. So, I grew up always desperate to find ways to prove that stereotype wrong, to prove to myself and others that my quietness wasn't a bad thing, or a weakness. I looked for places I could be content, places that wouldn't criticize my quiet nature. I found my place at the end of my street in a white, wooden, two stall barn that holds some of my happiest moments. In it lives an arrangement of stray cats and of course Princess, the horse. My horse and I have a very special way of communicating, obviously because she's a horse, but secondly because she's deaf. It's always been said that there is something amazing between a girl and her horse, but no one can imagine the even more amazing bond between a quiet girl and her deaf horse. The barn is that place and from day one, I loved it. I loved the hard work and responsibilities, the smells, the sounds, and perhaps most of all I loved the idea that I had gained the acceptance and respect of a one thousand pound animal, without a single word. My tendency to be quiet, and listen to the things all around me, were the reason that I could get along so well with that horse. In this place, I learnt that my love of listening was a gift. The barn will always be where I fit in best, and the lessons I learned in that place made me the person I am today. I am content there, with myself and the world around me. To this day, whenever I walk through that barn door, I can be at peace. Nothing else seems to matter, it almost feels as if my troubles are afraid of horses. Anytime in the barn, whether I am dangling my legs from the fence, shoveling manure out of a stall, or watching my horse graze in the pasture, I am at peace.