I lay down in my bed, spinning a basketball in the air. I had been assigned to write an essay about what matters to me. How should I know? I don’t want to talk about saving the environment or something like that. It seems like that is what everyone writes about and half of the kids don’t really care. I could write about Katrina, but it didn’t effect me and it seems like old news. I might sound inconsiderate on the matter but I do care, it just didn’t hit home.
I begin to get hungry brainstorming ideas. I head downstairs to grab a snack. I spend almost an hour in my room chomping on Doritos and most likely spilling half of them on the floor. I could do family, friends, a home, but that all seemed like something everyone does just because it is what they think they want to hear. My family is very important to me. My mom helped me out recently when I stayed home with a cold. “That would be a good one,” I thought. I called up my friend to see what he was doing. I was semi-astonished to find that he was doing family too. I didn’t want to steal his thunder (and hundreds of other kids that write about family)

It seemed like the only idea that came into my mind is that I nothing to write about. Then it hit me. That’s what matters. Not that I have nothing to write about, but that I haven’t had anything life changing happen to me. That’s what matters, that I am blessed enough to be alive and have family and friends and a roof over my head. It is all of those things that I thought about . Being fortunate enough to be here right now to enjoy it. Now I know that is what matters to me.