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An unknown famous person once quoted, “The journey is more important than the destination.” My journey has consisted of a various rotation of friends, grave heartaches, definitive disappointments, and an awkward sense of rejection and utter seclusion. I’ve gone from knowing everything about myself, to contemplating the simple, and meaningless items. I know plenty about myself now, but 8 years ago, it was a completely different story. I was born in sunny Southern California, Palm Springs to be exact. I had plenty of friends, encouragement, and understanding. I grew up in a small two-bedroom apartment, with my two sisters and my Mom. I went to an elementary school called Gerald Ford Elementary. I was in fifth grade when my Dad brought up the subject of visiting him in a small town called Saint George, somewhere in the secluded state of Utah. It was nearing his birthday. My parents had been separated for quite a while now so my younger sister and I hadn’t seen our Dad in close to 2 years. My Dad told me of the red mountains, the red dirt, and the beautiful sunsets. My mind was set; I decided it was time for a change of pace. I was going to move to Utah. It was March 15 1996. My Dad met my younger sister and me at my apartment. It was early in the morning, about 7:00am. The air had a fresh dew smell to it due to the previous night’s rain.
Approximate Word count = 939
Approximate Pages = 3.8
(250 words per page double spaced)
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