 8/23/11 The other day I was cleaning my room, when I stumbled upon some notebooks. This first page was from my English class of senior year of high school. Our teacher gave the class a writing exercise with the question: Are you a writer? Upon reading this, I had forgotten how unbelievably self-conscious I was at writing: getting C’s and D’s on my essays and even failing a final at one point. Whenever I was assigned a paper, I would beg my brother to edit them, often times pressing him to just write everything for me. He would get so frustrated that I never took the time to practice writing or to learn from my mistakes, but I had already given up on myself.
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 I started lifeguarding the summer before my senior year of high school at a local YMCA. I went to one school all of my life, so this was the first time that I was forced to make friends since pre-school. I always loved swimming, but more I loved the pool deck where I made a new best friend, met my first boyfriend, and another boy —but only in passing— who would later become my current boyfriend.
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