grown-up stuff

So I applied for this job that required me to do a writing sample. I had an hour to write a review of my own autobiography (which obviously has not been written). Here's what I came up with. 

 “The field is green and solid under my feet. My jersey, washed this morning, smells like a tropical waterfall, and it’s kind of sticking. Mom must have forgot the dryer sheet. From the corner of my eye I can see my fellow teammates, lined up and ready for action. That black and white ball in the referee’s hand is begging for a new life in the other team’s goal. I am a giant among men. No, hold on. I am a 17 year old among 6 year olds. This soccer day camp is not what I expected.”

So begins “Wanderlove,” Alyssa H’s new autobiography. A soon-to-be graduate of Brigham Young University, H has finally deemed it necessary to publish every inane detail of her 22 years of life—because, really, how else could she fill an entire book? From her days as an over-achieving second-grader to a really cool, socially accepted, bagpipe-playing high-schooler to a world-traveling, contemporary-dancing French major, H’s book lives up to its promise to “make you 1) feel better about yourself and 2) go on a chocolate frosting binge.” (Spoiler: she actually went to every day of that soccer day camp, even though the cute instructor asked if she was the assistant.)

She credits her relaxed, easy-going personality to the two years she spent in Hawaii, thanks to the arrival of a college acceptance letter on the dreariest, February-ist North Idaho day on the record. It was here she learned to do the haka (the really intense Maori war ritual mostly reserved for rugby games) and live out of vending machines (which had actually been a life-long dream. Just ask her parents). Of course, she had to learn to surf. She fondly recalls her first surf lesson, when, after an hour or so of catching every wave, the instructor asked if she was ready to try one on her own. Realizing for the first time that he had actually been pushing her 12-foot padded foam board into each of those waves, she vowed to never look him in the eye again. And to start doing more push-ups.

And yet, she’s no self-made woman. Sprinkled through are vignettes featuring those people who’ve made a real influence on H’s life—her parents, for their eternal support of a daughter who wanted to be a knight until she decided she’d rather go to Hogwarts, a best friend who rode in the cop car with her (after their car broke down on the highway), a Dutch triathlete who greatly overestimated H’s stamina for bike-riding, and a French host-mother who spoke incredibly fast and believed raw hamburger was a perfectly suitable dinner. Every night.

Somehow, it works. Her 22 years of unexpected adventures come together as neatly as the first time you tried to make an origami swan, and you can’t help but wish you could join her as she concludes, “Welp, time to go. Roller derby try-outs are calling!”

(p.s. I got the job)