Prompt: "Experience that has had a significant effect on you. Explain."
Essay:
Attitude Blindness
The mountainous form of Half Dome sneered angrily down on me. "Why have you not acknowledged my majesty?" It was hard to imagine that this day had begun with pancakes. What did pancakes taste like? I could only remember the taste of asphalt. Today had been yet another family trip to Yosemite National Park.
I hated Yosemite National Park, or so I thought. This was one in a long line of visits my family had taken to Yosemite. This particular one I had named Albert of Monaco. In my mind, each "succession to the throne," or park visit, deserved a name. It aided in my ability to carve the torment of these events permanently into my warped, teenage mind. I had a problem with my vision. Sure, I could see. Not a leaf escaped my gaze as I stared glumly out of our car window. However, I could not see the beauty, the magnificence, or the grandeur in even the most picturesque scene. I had a severe case of "attitude blindness."
We had been in the car nearly two hours, which is the approximate travel time by car from our house to Yosemite. I was half conscious. The iPod might just be the sorcerer of the 21st century. My parents quickly found a suitable parking place, and I was employed to unload the family bikes. We always brought our bikes to Yosemite. My mother was saying something about how amazing the canyon looked while coasting with a light breeze in her face. At least, I believe that is what she said. I couldn't quite be sure between my iPod's screams of, "I'm just a small town girl..." and "Wheel in the sky keeps on turnin'..."
The bikes were down and I climbed aimlessly on my black, Trek model with a sour frown firmly fixed on my face. We began riding. About an hour into the ride there came a section of gravel in the bike trail that was perhaps two to three inches deep. "Don't know where I'll be tomorrow..." Mr. iPod lured me into my mindless trance. In my heedless condition, I took no notice of the deepening gravel or the curving trail. My bike, however, did. Its wheel turned suddenly sideways, tossing me directly onto the road, which is where I was now, awkwardly sprawled in the middle of a traffic lane staring up at the hulking form of Half Dome.
An oncoming car slammed on the brakes, skidding to a stop a few feet in front of me. My iPod had been torn out of my ears in the process and now lay somewhere near the side of the road. The driver of the car shouted something out his car window. I could barely hear him. Strangely enough, I could hear the rustling of the leaves, the soft swaying of the branches of nearby trees, and the chirp of many a spring bird.
Lying there in the road with bruised and bleeding knees, the massive form of Half Dome did not seem nearly as insipid. Five minutes earlier, it had only been a rock. Now, it was a conqueror and time was its vanquished foe. My shifting attitude brought it alive. It provoked questions which intrigued me far more than Mr. iPod's audible spells. I was converted.
My view on eureka moments up to this point had been skeptical at best. I laughed at people when they described a sudden realization or an instance of transcendence (so much for 17-year-old wisdom). I picked my bike off the road and limped back to the trail. Nothing had changed. Everything had changed. I could have spent the rest of the day gazing contently at the scene before my eyes.
When I first heard the phrase from biologist and author Rachel Carson, "One way to open your eyes to unnoticed beauty is to ask yourself, 'What if I had never seen this before? What if I knew I would never see it again?'" I scoffed at what I jestingly called, "meaningless jabber." However, that was before I fell off my bike.
Okay, sharpen this up. It is a great expression of how you can notice something in a moment when something happens to focus your attention, so... explain it as that!
And explain at the beginning what Half Dome is! You did a great job with this, but it needs some explanation so that the reader understands what is going on!
:-)
It is great writing...
