The Beauty Behind the Trash
Every day I watch as family, friends, and strangers fill their garbage bins full. Recycling becomes second priority and litter, a convenience to some. I see the plastic bags stuck in trees or the plastic bottles and cans lining the water’s edge. There is literally a garbage patch in the middle of the pacific ocean-spanning over 1.6 million square kilometers.
Knowing all this and more about our pollution crisis, I could not bring myself to send away the plastics I knew would never live purposefully again, their fates sealed by the trash can. I began keeping most of all usable waste I found: cereal bags, balloons, bottle caps, empty paint tubes, wraps from my sprained ankle, plastic bags, guitar strings and tons more.
My Hike To Serenity
I went to the Adirondacks this summer in Upstate New York for my first time. I have lived in New York my entire life. I’ve made my way traveling from Buffalo to New York City quite a few times, but the in-between of New York was just the interstate connecting these two cities. I went from one hustling city trying to rebuild itself, to the biggest hustling city in the world.
Then, I was invited by my dear friend Julia to her family’s cabage in Inlet, New York, a small town in the Adirondacks. A cabage for all those wondering is an inventive word created by yours truly which is a house that is the combination between a cabin and a cottage. I said yes in an instant (because why would I not), and soon enough I was on my way from my home in New York to this brand new world I hadn’t yet explored.
Planning for the Unplanned, The Hidden Adventures in the Adirondacks
Over the course of my trip to the Adirondacks, I am growing to realize that the best moments are those far from planned. One can plan every detail, attempt to schedule every minute, but it’s when the plan diverts to the unexpected that I find the greatest jumps for joy.
This week my friend Julia, and I went on a pedal-powered four-seated steel welded “vehicle” which is designed to ride atop the old railroad tracks in Thendara, New York.
My Thoughts on Friendship
Friendship.
The thing many of us value beyond all else. The binding agent that makes us feel whole. That makes us laugh. That makes us smile. That makes us care. That keeps us alive. The complex bond between humans that is supposed to mean something.
Mean what?
How I Read 50+ Books a Year at 16
Hi, my name is Stephanie Froebel and I am a senior in high school who on average reads 50+ books a year.
Now I wouldn’t say I’m a huge reader, though it may sound like I am comparatively with the direction my generation is headed. I am still not a huge fan of summer reading or reading books for school so I’m not that different... right?
Anyways, the reason I am here typing away is to share why I enjoy reading so much and how I am able to do it in a world where reading is starting to become obsolete.
My first and foremost biggest tip is to...
I Cannot See My Reflection
Everytime I look in a mirror or see myself in a reflection, I smile.
No, it is not because I am in love with my looks.
I judge myself for every small self-defined imperfection.
Whether that be my Pinnochio length nose
Or thin lips
Or puffy cheeks
Or inconsistent eyebrows
Or pimples that never seem to go away
Or eyes that are not the same size
Whatever it is that day, I still try and smile.
Balance is Arbitrary
Every day that passes, my appreciation and observation of the artful complexities in the world around me grows. I am not sure if this is just my brain growing as it develops with age or me simply seeing more than I have before. It’s probably a combination of both. I used to just view everything as a useless creation that should not hold the power and strength that that particular thing does. I would discredit the creator perhaps out of jealousy and comparison to myself. Though I do disagree with the heightened appraisal of popular figureheads in society, the work people do produce should be appreciated.
100 Percent Does Not Mean Full
Today my report card came in. Junior year. The last year that counts for class rank at my high school. I looked down the line seeing the final grades of each class: 97, 98, 97, 98, 98, 98, 100, 100. All the numbers look good, but I have never felt more unfulfilled from seeing a 97 or 98 repeated over and over. These numbers used to fill me with pride and designate my accomplishments, but now they are no less foreign than trying to read a dialect that is not my native tongue.
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