Prompt: Topic of your choice.

 

“Have you noticed how nobody ever looks up? Nobody looks at chimneys, or trees against the sky, or the tops of buildings. Everybody just looks down at the pavement or their shoes. The whole world could pass them by and most people wouldn’t notice.” It was reading time. I was in second grade, listening to my teacher read us the first chapter of The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles, which would become my favorite childhood book. The line about looking up, spoken by the wise and whimsical Professor Savant in the story, struck my seven-year-old mind that day. Inspired by the professor, I ran to recess with my head thrown back to the sky, finding shapes in the clouds and noticing the dancing silhouettes of birds and bugs flying overhead. From then on I made a point to lift my gaze when I noticed it was pointed downward, for I was afraid to miss a moment of the beauty I knew was around me.

 

For a long time, I took the professor’s words literally. I continued to live my life with a lifted gaze. This occasionally involved tripping over backpacks and small children, but I never missed out on constellations, double rainbows, or beautifully architected ceilings that few others looked up high enough to notice.

 

When I was fourteen, I prepared to leave for a month-long summer trip to France where I would travel the country with the Chaury family with whom I would speak only in French. I was eager to leave, knowing I would not only improve my fluidity in the language, but would be able to expose my eyes to new and foreign sights, uncovering types of beauty unlike what I had seen before. I got off the plane in Paris without the intention of ever looking down.

 

That summer I saw magnificent castles, rivers, churches, beaches, and cities that I will never forget. However when I reflect on my experiences in France, I do not think exclusively of the sights. I think of how the Mediterranean crab I tried encouraged me to open my tongue to new tastes. I think of Viviane, my sister in France, who taught me that there are always ways to communicate, even when language acts as a barrier. I think of the old couple that hosted us at their villa on the countryside, whose generosity to strangers inspired me to extend a hand to strangers that come my way.

 

I will never forget the beautiful sights I saw in France, but have realized that the experiences and connections I made there were what helped me grow the most. Professor Savant’s words surely emphasize the importance of looking up rather than down, but after my month in France, I have realized that they also indicate the value of filling your life with as much as possible, for that is how you learn. It is extremely important to me that I expose not only my eyes, but also my heart and mind to as many people and places that I can find. As years pass and I fill my life to the brim, I plan to always look up at the world, and never down at my shoes.