my first experience essay

My First Day At School Essay

500 words my first day at school essay.

Our lives are full of new events which we experience on different days. Similarly, going to school for the first time is also memorable. How can one forget their first day, it is only natural to remember the day, no matter good or bad. Thus, my first day at school essay will take you through my experience.

A New Experience

My first day at school was a completely new experience for me. It is because the atmosphere completely changes for any child. You always stay in the comfort and safety of your own home.

However, your first day at school opens door to unknown experiences and opportunities. Much like any other child, I was also scared on my first day. I remember clearly not letting go of my mother’s hand, hesitant to go in the classroom.

On my first day, I got up excited and put on my uniform for the first time. The feeling it gave me was so memorable, I can never forget it. As it was my first day, both my parents went to drop me off.

I remember seeing the classroom full of little children. Some crying while the others playing with others. I looked at my mother and gave her the look that I didn’t want them to leave. They had to go so I kept crying but eventually, my teacher consoled me.

Once I settled in the class, I talked with the other kids and started playing with them. The colourful walls of the classroom fascinated me a lot. We got many toys to play with so it all the other kids also got distracted and stopped crying.

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My Sister My Saviour

My advantage was that my sister was also studying in the same school. She is 3 years older than me so she was my senior. During recess, I was starting to miss my parents so I got teary-eyed.

But, then my sister came to meet me and I feel she was no less than a saviour for me that day. She took permission from the teacher to take me out and I went with her to the playground.

We were swinging throughout recess. All my worries went away because I had a known face with me. After eating and swinging together, the bell rang to mark the end of the recess . So, she dropped me back to my class.

Before leaving, she gave me a kiss and patted my head. It was enough for me to go through the rest of the day without crying. Thus, it made me feel extremely blessed that I had my sister there for me.

Conclusion of My First Day At School Essay

Thus, my first day at school was really pleasant. It fills me with pride when I look back at it and share my experience with others. I feel my first day helped me become confident in school which ultimately shaped the rest of my years there. Thus, it was indeed a memorable experience for me.

FAQ on My First Day At School Essay

Question 1: Why is the first day of school memorable?

Answer 1: We usually remember the first day of school because it is a new experience for us completely. It is the first time we step out from the comfort of our home as kids, so it will be memorable.

Question 2: Does everyone have a good first day at school?

Answer 2: Not necessarily. Everyone’s experience differs, some kids enjoy a lot on their first day. While some which are maybe shy or feel homesick don’t enjoy it that much. Nonetheless, it grows on you and eventually kids start to love going to school.

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My First Experience in Riding a Bicycle

Being a child involves dealing with new issues almost every day and learning how to overcome your fears. My first experience of riding a bicycle at the age of five is among my most vivid memories when it comes to the joys of childhood and conquering fears. On that day in summer, I acquired new skills and became more confident in my physical abilities, and these memories still help me today.

As a five-year-old child, I regarded riding bikes as something exciting but scary. At that age, I was still riding my bike with one training wheel to develop a sense of balance and become confident enough. I still remember my bike with white, pink, and purple elements, a small bicycle bell, and two colorful handlebar pompoms. On one bright and sunny day during summer break, my uncle finally told me that training wheels were only for babies and that it was high time for me to start riding my bike without assistance.

My uncle’s determination to take the training wheel off deeply affected me and, to some degree, instilled mixed feelings in my heart. I actually wanted to prove that I was old enough to master the skill of riding a bike and said with confidence that I was not a baby. However, from the perspective of a young child, taking the training wheel off was similar to a drastic change in life.

To my surprise, my fear of falling gave way to excitement and enthusiasm a few minutes after we started practicing. My uncle devoted enough time to teach me how to turn, and we practiced near my grandfather’s house until I was able to ride to the corner without falling. Of course, that experience was not without unpleasant moments because I fell a few times and scraped my knee due to having no protective equipment.

In conclusion, I often remember that day with happiness and sweet sadness. Most importantly, the day when I learned to ride a bike bubbles to the surface of my memory when I hesitate to try something new. This experience has helped me to realize that what seems scary often turns out to be fascinating and refreshing.

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"My First Experience in Riding a Bicycle." StudyCorgi , 27 Jan. 2022, studycorgi.com/my-first-experience-in-riding-a-bicycle/.

StudyCorgi . (2022) 'My First Experience in Riding a Bicycle'. 27 January.

1. StudyCorgi . "My First Experience in Riding a Bicycle." January 27, 2022. https://studycorgi.com/my-first-experience-in-riding-a-bicycle/.

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StudyCorgi . "My First Experience in Riding a Bicycle." January 27, 2022. https://studycorgi.com/my-first-experience-in-riding-a-bicycle/.

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My First Work Experience and Knowledge I Gained Essay

When I was a child, my dream was to find the work connected with managing people and resources. The vision persisted until it became time for pursuing a college degree, where I opted for a business course in Human Resource Management (HRM). I intended to be in a position to lead people at the workplace. After graduating from school, luckily, I got an internship program with one of the renowned retail companies called Costco Retailers.

The first working experience was memorable because I finally managed to become independent and earn my first money. When I started working in the corporation, I changed my mentality to adapt to the new system. This paper will discuss the experience during my first job recruitment, skills, and knowledge gathered during this period. During the first working experience, recruits should apply the theoretical knowledge in practice to avoid difficulties in time-management, issue solving, and communication with clients and colleagues.

The time-management appeared to be a fundamental problem that I have faced during my experience. It was a requirement that all the staff report one hour before the opening of the stores. This was necessary to facilitate daily planning and arrangement of the work routine to enhance the efficiency of the operations. It was difficult for me to manage time properly and organize the activities of other people. I had to participate in various events and often failed to perform my duties correctly. There even was a period of time when I was at significant risk of being fired. I had to learn how to be time-conscious to overcome the pressure. I solved this problem thanks to applying some time-management techniques.

Besides the time factor, another issue was working under pressure. During the first few months, I was stationed at the customer care desk to attend to the clients’ queries. At this position, several problems emerged that required immediate attention from the top managers within the department. It was challenging to handle some inquiries because of the large number of customers and the nature of their needs. The intensity to meet their expectation was overwhelming, and it involved many commands from the senior staff.

Another problem that required theoretical knowledge from me was cultural diversity. Shoppers consist of people from different races, gender, culture, and profession. Communicating with customers was a nightmare, especially for those whose cultures tend to diverge at some point. Sometimes you might offend people from different cultures without noticing it. Nonetheless, thanks to their interactive nature and understanding, some clients helped me learn how to communicate appropriately.

Generally, working with customers entails fluctuating motions since they come in different moods with various expectations to be fulfilled. Meeting people from different backgrounds increased my exposure and understanding of individuals behave in relation to their culture. The race-tolerance strategies learned during my education helped me to adjust my communicational style.

I thought handling customers was the main challenge of this position, but there was another significant problem. Being a novice, young, and unfamiliar with the company’s system was another terrifying encounter. At the customer care desk, we had co-workers who had been in the institution for an extended period. These workers used to take advantage of the recruits by assigning complex tasks and overworking them. I became a victim and felt exploited since I could do twice what the other workers were doing. From one point of view, such pressure was rational, aiming to increase my working skills. From the other point, I had moral difficulties coping with a considerable amount of work while experienced colleagues did not offer me any help.

It is also essential to mention which new skills I have gained during my working experience which contribute to my professional development. Thanks to this organization, I gained valuable knowledge and skills helpful for developing in this work industry. First, I gained an understanding of how to communicate with customers and colleagues. Before joining the Costco team, I thought managing people was easy to perform and did not require any special knowledge. Thanks to this working experience, I have learned that communication and management is a whole science that requires profound knowledge and well-developed communicational skills. Therefore, I realized that it is critical to apply the behavioral analysis approach to maintain effective communication.

Moreover, the company made me develop and improve my intrapersonal skills. Working with people having different ages and cultures requires self-understanding (Horak & Matoskova, 2018). To be able to relate effectively with other staff members and even customers, I had to learn how to communicate and listen. Communication is essential in advancing the relationship amongst the business affiliates. The on-the-job experience made it easier to comprehend and apply the skills. Here I also successfully applied the gained during my education knowledge.

Surprisingly, technological knowledge was vital during my working experience. Furthermore, being at the customer care desk exposed me to using the computer system to record, search, monitor, and even communicate with the administration. I developed deep insight into technology, and my computer knowledge increased. Through the period, I could use the system to perform critical tasks like monitoring the level of inventory, tracking customers’ purchasing records, and updating new valuable information for clients. In addition, I was able to analyze the trend of buyers, which was helpful for the administration for updating the stocks.

Another critical skill that I acquired during the period was the ability to solve problems. At the customer care desk, clients came with various issues ranging from sales of defective products to poor service delivery. I have analyzed different literature on the topic of problem-solving. Multiple techniques help the manager build good relationships with the customer and colleagues (Funke et al., 2018). One of them is the culturally-tolerant attitude towards the participants of communication. I developed a profound knowledge of managing different circumstances to generate a proper solution by handling such issues. Seeing and learning how the colleagues were regulating similar situations at work was vital and prompted self-confidence. To make a decision, self-reliance is essential as it allows one to find their own answers to the problem.

Generally, obtaining a job after completing coursework in college is beneficial because you can gain valuable experience. On the job, learning makes the whole perspective different as it comes with arrays of experiences both encouraging and demoralizing. Sometimes changing and adapting to a new routine is difficult for the new employees. Furthermore, interacting with various people at the workplace advance understanding and worldview of individuals.

The exposure also makes people gain the necessary knowledge and skills that are essential for further carrier development. Joining the proper organization could impact the level of experience individual gains. If people are ready to develop their knowledge and skills, asking questions, elaborate new ideas, then the chances of attaining new skills at work are high. It is also vital to implement the theoretical concept learned through education in practice. Thus, applying theoretical concepts and constant development contributed to forming a positive working experience.

Funke, J., Fischer, A., & Holt, D. V. (2018). Competencies for complexity: Problem solving in the twenty-first century. In Assessment and teaching of 21st century skills (pp. 41-53). Springer, Cham. Web.

Horak, M., & Matoskova, J. (2018). Comparison of training programmes and activities for cluster managers in Europe with respect to their focus on skills development. International Journal of Entrepreneurial Knowledge , 6 (1). Web.

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IvyPanda. (2023, October 31). My First Work Experience and Knowledge I Gained. https://ivypanda.com/essays/my-first-work-experience-and-knowledge-i-gained/

"My First Work Experience and Knowledge I Gained." IvyPanda , 31 Oct. 2023, ivypanda.com/essays/my-first-work-experience-and-knowledge-i-gained/.

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IvyPanda . 2023. "My First Work Experience and Knowledge I Gained." October 31, 2023. https://ivypanda.com/essays/my-first-work-experience-and-knowledge-i-gained/.

1. IvyPanda . "My First Work Experience and Knowledge I Gained." October 31, 2023. https://ivypanda.com/essays/my-first-work-experience-and-knowledge-i-gained/.

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IvyPanda . "My First Work Experience and Knowledge I Gained." October 31, 2023. https://ivypanda.com/essays/my-first-work-experience-and-knowledge-i-gained/.

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How to Write About Experience: A Step-by-Step Guide

Whether you are writing a college application essay or creative nonfiction, this guide will help you how to write about experience.

There are many theories about how and why humans evolved to have an unparalleled capacity for language. One theory is that two million years ago, early humans developed language to describe their personal experiences with toolmaking to teach those skills to others. 

When you write nonfiction about your own experience, in any format, you are doing something profound. You are creating an opportunity for empathy and learning. 

Writing about your own experience may sound easy (after all, you’re the world’s foremost expert on yourself), but it isn’t always as simple as “Me name Oog. Me make knife by flaking chip from stone, see!” The personal essay writing process is full of risks and potential pitfalls. However, doing it well is within nearly anyone’s grasp if they follow a few basic steps. 

Write About Tension and Conflict

Write about growth, write about something remarkable yet relatable, listing ten ideas, organizational revision, thematic revision, stylistic revision, proofreading, the bottom line on writing about experiences, what are some good topics for a life experience essay, what are examples of personal experiences, step 1: choose a topic.

If you’re old enough to write a personal essay, you’ve lived long enough to have a wealth of experiences to write about. You may think nobody would want to read about your boring life, but you’re wrong. The key is simply choosing the right experiences to write about.

In any piece of writing—a novel, a memoir, or even a college application essay—the number one way to keep a reader’s interest is to focus on two dynamics: tension and conflict. Ideally, this will include both external conflict (you versus an obstacle in the outside world) and an internal conflict (you versus yourself, emotionally speaking).

Conflict is essential for a good essay. Nobody wants to read about the dinner party you hosted where the food turned out great, the guests all got along, and someone helped you do the dishes before they left. Instead, they want to read about the dinner party you hosted where one guest threw a glass of wine in her husband’s face before storming out. Conflict makes every story more interesting. 

Tension is different from conflict, but they are related. One form of tension is that uneasy period of waiting for the obviously inevitable conflict to occur. For example, suppose conflict is a glass of wine to the face.

In that case, tension is the wife slicing her steak viciously as she watches her husband play footsie with another woman, growing red-faced with anger, standing up to leave, realizing she has a glass of wine in her hand, throwing it, and the horrifying slow-motion sequence of red wine flying through the air on the way to her husband’s face.

Tension can take a variety of other forms. Foreshadowing can create tension. If you mention that the party ended with a glass of wine to the face, but you start by describing a party that is going smoothly, the reader’s curiosity about how the party went from A to point Z can create tension. 

The subtext is another good strategy. If you can give the reader the feeling that not all is as it appears or that they know more than the characters do, the reader will wonder if and how the characters will figure it out and what conflict will result.

There are exceptions, but in general, readers find stasis boring and growth interesting. Even in the case of our caveman Oog describing his innovative stone tool construction technique, communicating about how you learned to do something important is intrinsically interesting. That is why 99% of protagonists in fiction (James Bond excluded) experience an arc of personal growth over the course of a story. Nonfiction is no different.

Phillip Lopate, an expert on the art of creative nonfiction, calls it the “double-perspective.” He explains , “In writing memoir, the trick, it seems to me, is to establish a double-perspective, which will allow the reader to participate vicariously in the experience as it was lived (the confusions and misapprehensions of the child one was, say) while conveying the sophisticated wisdom of one’s current self.”

This does not necessarily mean that your writing should contain anything as heavy-handed as an explicit lesson or moral. Instead, your goal should be to balance clarity and subtlety. The key is to show growth rather than merely telling the reader that you grew.

One of my mother’s favorite stories is about a “rubber” chicken. In this story, she, a newlywed, prepared a wonderful dinner to impress her in-laws. As she carried out a platter topped with a golden, steaming, juicy chicken that she had roasted to perfection, she tripped on a rug.

Everyone stared as the chicken launched off the platter, bouncing across the room like a rubber ball. Concealing her panic with an upbeat tone, she said, “Oops! I’ll be right back.” She picked the chicken up from the floor, took it into the kitchen, dusted it off, put it back on the platter, and walked back into the dining room. Beaming, she announced, “Good thing I roasted a backup chicken!” 

It could have happened to anyone. Something like it (embarrassment at the moment you’re trying your hardest to impress someone) has happened to everyone. It is entirely relatable, but it is also remarkable. It is a story with tension and humor baked in (pardon the pun). The visual image of the chicken bouncing across the room is memorable. Listening to the story, I felt her triumph as she overcame her panic and devised a creative solution. 

The point is you don’t need to have worked as a war zone medic or climbed Mt. Everest to write a compelling story about your own experience. You simply need to mine your memories for moments that will surprise your readers, spark an emotional response, and engage their empathy.

Step 2: Brainstorm and Build

Coming up with the base topic that will form the backbone of your essay is the easy part. The next step is to develop the idea into a draft.

If I had in mind that I wanted to write a story about my mother, I might start by thinking about how she is a kind and caring person. She grew up on a farm, and she taught me to read …  BORING! When it comes to writing essays, the first idea is rarely the best idea. 

One great strategy for digging deeper, to find the truly interesting story, is to make a list. Force yourself to make a list of at least ten different things you could write about that fit the subject.

Even if you love the second or third idea, press on and write at least ten bullet points. You may stick with the second idea, but it’s more likely that around idea eight or nine, you’ll start running out of steam, and then BAM! You’ll remember the rubber chicken.

Even if you already have the central spine of your story, you can use this technique to flesh it out. I might try to think of the top ten lessons I learned from hearing my mother’s rubber chicken story (stay calm, think fast, lie when necessary, don’t put throw rugs in the dining room, always cook a backup chicken, etc.). Just remember that your first idea will almost always be the most boring, obvious idea. Dig through the chaff until you get to the wheat.

Mind maps are a great way to brainstorm connections that will give your essay depth. Take your central idea and write it in the center of the page, and then circle it. For example, I might write “Rubber Chicken” in the middle as my starting point.

Then draw lines radiating away from the circle, and at the end of each line, write down an idea related (even if tangentially) to the central topic. For example, my second-level ideas might include connections like “Mom teaching me how to cook,” “Vegetarianism,” “When honest people lie,” “Overcoming humiliation,” and “Disastrous first impressions.” Write as many as you can.

Circle each second-level idea, then repeat the process. Then see if you can find connections between any second and third-level ideas and draw lines connecting them.

In going through this process, I might discover that rather than writing about my mother’s rubber chicken story itself, I really want to write about terrible first date experiences (connecting the humiliation and first impressions topics). I might realize that I can use the rubber chicken story as an anecdote that contrasts how I actually handled a disastrous blind date with how I wish I’d handled it. 

These kinds of unexpected connections often result in the most innovative essays. 

One of my favorite essays that I’ve written appeared in my mind, fully formed, after I read a truly stunning essay (Leslie Jamison’s “The Empathy Exams.”). I set the book down on the couch next to me and grabbed my laptop to start writing. When I finally stood up, five thousand words later, I had a free-write that, with editing, became a pretty strong essay. 

It is rarely the case that a brain dump results in a structurally sound essay in the first draft. But even when the result is a hot mess that will never see the light of day, it is an extremely valuable exercise.

A no-thoughts-censored free-write uses the momentum of your internal, intuitive sense of narrative to help you uncover ideas that you would never have thought of simply by making lists or writing your first draft using a pre-determined structure and outline.

You might only save a sentence or two from your free-write to use in your actual essay. Still, the process of getting into a flow state, writing without constraints, simply letting your brain wander is an invaluable creative process. You might need to repeatedly free-write related themes to find the magical glue that holds your essay together. 

Step 4: Revise, Revise, Revise

This section is not simply called “Revise” because the truth is virtually no great essays about your experience result from one writing session and one revision session. Therefore, revision should be viewed not as a single editing pass but as a series of them, each targeting a specific aspect of the essay. 

It is crucial to find the proper structure for your topic. Once you do, you may need to rewrite substantial sections of your draft or write entirely new sections. Therefore, structural revision should always be the first editing pass you make to save yourself wasted time and effort (for example, time spent proofreading a section you end up cutting). 

You can go with a standard structure, like chronological order, or using a “frame story” (for example, starting with a flash-forward to the ending, then moving back in time to tell the story in a chronological format), or the classic three-act structure (set-up, rising action, and climax/resolution).

You can also try a more creative or innovative structure. The “braided essay,” in which you have several distinct threads/stories that weave together, is a great choice. 

You may need to try fitting your essay into several structures before you find the one that works best for describing your experience. Don’t be afraid to think outside of the box.

At the same time, don’t get so attached to a structural gimmick (reverse-chronological order, or present tense, or anything other than first-person, for example) that it distracts from the substance of your writing.

Once you have the general structure, consider how you’ve integrated your major themes. Do they cohere, or do they send the reader’s mind heading in too many directions? Are they too obvious, or are they too subtle? Can you find ways to represent your theme implicitly, using symbolic images?

For example, is there an anecdote you can swap out for a different one that addresses the theme more meaningfully?

If it turns out all of your content related to one theme is in the last third of your essay, consider how you can sprinkle it into the beginning. Or perhaps you’ll want to do the opposite.

Is your essay structured to build up to a huge and unexpected revelation? Maybe you want to cut out obvious hints about the revelation that slipped into the first half. 

Only after the substance of the essay feels solid should you give serious attention to your sentence quality, but that doesn’t make it any less important. If you have any doubt about the power of style to elevate an essay, read one by David Sedaris, Virginia Woolf, Hunter S. Thompson, or James Baldwin.

When you’re editing for style, one of the best strategies is reading your essay aloud. Consider how your sentence length and structure affect pacing and emphasis. 

Remember that you’re writing about your experience, so the authorial voice should sound like you . You can aim for a slightly elevated version of how you normally speak, but be careful not to elevate it too much. Many otherwise delightful essays have been ruined by overly formal diction or overuse of a thesaurus.

Revision is a great time to inject some humor. You might also do a little research and include a quotation that fits your theme or some factual information that contextualizes the personal experience you’re writing about. 

Try to replace vague, mundane details with unusual, specific information. (My mother’s roasted chicken didn’t just fall to the floor, it bounced across the room like a rubber ball, for example.) Replace the passive voice with action verbs. Find good opportunities for figurative language, but don’t overdo it. 

Only when your essay feels like it’s polished and firing on all cylinders should you bother to look for typos and formatting problems. Unfortunately, by this time, you will likely be unable to actually read your essay. Instead, your eyes will skip over it and read what you expect to see there rather than the words that are actually on the page. 

That makes it extremely important to have a friend proofread your essay rather than doing it all yourself. The good news is, your essay should be so well-written at this point, from your previous rounds of editing, that it will be a pleasure for your friend to read for you.

There are certain essays and essay collections that stick with you. Sometimes it’s because the author had a truly extraordinary experience, but more often is because in reflecting on the subject, the author showed genuine insight into their own life that sparks the reader to have a new understanding of their own life.

With deliberate use of conflict, vivid detail, and the double-perspective, you can elevate your own experience and inspire others with your writing. 

FAQs on How to Write About Experience

You can’t go wrong following the three guidelines described above (write about tension and conflict, write about growth, and write about something remarkable but relatable). However, the specific experiences you write about should be guided by the goal of the writing.

For example, if you’re writing a college application essay, make sure that you directly and specifically answer the prompt. If the application asks, “Describe a person you admire and why,” don’t forget to explain the why (not just what admirable thing the person did, but why that thing mattered to you personally). But even though the prompt doesn’t ask it, remember the overall Why? Why should they want a student like you at their university?

The same principle applies when writing about your work history and other relevant experience for a prospective employer. Perhaps above all, the university or hiring manager you’re writing for wants to see that you have the potential, under their guidance, to grow as an intellectual/professional and as a human being. So show them that you know how to grow.

Even if you’re writing an essay that is more creative, more literary, focusing on the double-perspective is often the easiest way to find an essay topic with enough meaningful substance to mine. Look for a past experience that is vivid in your memory (so that you can accurately and compellingly portray your younger self’s experience) but is also remote enough to show growth (by contrasting the at-the-time experience with a new perspective).

Trauma can be a tempting starting point for an essay, but be cautious. Unless you have sufficient distance and have done the hard work of processing and recovery, trauma can be just as challenging to read as it is to write. A good rule of thumb is that if you can’t write about your trauma without including at least a few moments of levity, you aren’t ready to write about it for others to read.

If you’re trying to write about your experiences and still struggling to come up with a subject, here are five great starting points: 1. Write about a time when you faced significant obstacles and overcame them. 2. Write about the end of a meaningful relationship, for better or worse. 3. Write about the first time you visited a place totally unlike your usual environment and what it showed you about your blind spots. 4. Write about a firmly held belief you used to have and what changed your mind. 5. Write about a habit that is important to you and how you formed it.

Emily Cordo is a freelance writer with an MFA in creative writing from Texas State University. She spends her spare time practicing yoga, cuddling her 20-year-old cat, and running a mini-farm in Indiana.

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My First Experience In The Kitchen (Essay Sample)

As a young girl, I was always fascinated by my mothers cooking skills. I was also very fond of all the cooking programs that played on the television. On top of that, I loved to eat all kinds of foods and was desperate to try out new recipes. In short, I was a foodie since young, however, the kitchen always had an invisible stop sign placed somewhere by my mother and aunts. My family did not want me in the kitchen at such a young age and for obvious reasons. Since one day when my mother finally allowed me to enter the prohibited area handed me a knife, turned on the flame, and allowed me to learn and explore. In this essay, I will describe my first cooking experience under my mother’s supervision.

Table of Contents

My First Experience In The Kitchen Essay – 700 Word Long Essay

I was always fond of trying out new recipes and eating all kinds of food from a very young age. I was a proper foodie and always insisted to my mother on more and better food. I was always fascinated to see my mother’s cooking skills and how she prepared excellent food in minutes. I also loved watching cooking shows and all the chefs were like celebrities to me. Despite all my love for food, the kitchen was like a prohibited area for me for obvious reasons. My family never allowed me to enter the kitchen since one day the ban was lifted and I was allowed to have an experience of a lifetime. I was finally allowed to cook food for the first time in my life. In this essay, I will describe how my first experience in the kitchen felt like.

It was a fine Sunday morning. I woke up early and started insisting to my mother to let me prepare breakfast but my mother didn’t allow me. I became very upset because of this and refused to eat breakfast until my mother said “you can cook lunch with me if you eat your breakfast”. The words felt like magic and I quickly ate my breakfast. My mother asked me to promise her that I will be careful with everything and then I was allowed to enter the kitchen. When I entered at first it felt like I now had a responsibility on my shoulders. I looked at the different ingredients and thought that I could either ruin these ingredients or make something delicious with them. I quickly recalled all the cooking programs I saw and the first-hand experience I had watching my mother cook food. My experience watching food being cooked as well as my emotional bond with the food-filled me with confidence.

My mother asked me to prepare rice for today’s lunch. I became super excited and finally, the cooking started. My mother turned on the flame for me and placed the cooking pot on the flame. My mother then handed the knife to me and asked me to finely slice the onions. I knew how to do it but it felt difficult when I tried it. My mother gave me a demonstration and then grabbed my hand while chopping the onions. I chopped the onions, tomatoes, and ginger and poured them into the cooking pot. While the food was preparing I crushed some garlic to make a garlic paste and added it into the pot as well. My mother gave me all the spices to add in there and I also added some soy sauce and salt to the pot. Just like a chef in a restaurant, I added all the ingredients and waited for the food to become well cooked. Once I did all that I felt more confident and in the meantime, my mom and my aunt kept on motivating me more.

While I prepared the rice my mother also started preparing chicken curry to complete the menu for the lunch. While she was busy I tried to put all the rice into the cooking pot and some rice fell directly onto the flame and some fell on the ground. The flame quickly rose as some water splashed onto it and my mother quickly pushed me away from the flame. I was startled by all this but mom told me to relax a bit. She told me that while you work in a kitchen you have to be very cautious of your environment, she also told me that fire is a good servant but a bad master.  I realized my mistake and we went on preparing the food.

Once all the food was ready I quickly called my sister, grandmother, little brother, and aunt to come and eat the food. I proudly told everyone that I prepared the rice myself and my mother was kind enough to let me take all the credit. All of them ate the food and appreciated my cooking skills. That was a very proud moment for me as I felt great hearing all the compliments. At night when my dad returned home for dinner, he brought a cake for me as an appreciation of my work. for me and then He then tasted the food then hugged me and felt proud of my achievement. I will remember my first cooking experience for my whole life as it was one of the most memorable days for me. 

In conclusion, the time I spent in the kitchen taught me that with passion, love, hard work, and a little assistance everything can be achieved in life. I also realized that we have to be creative and determined to turn raw material into something meaningful. So this was all about my first experience in the kitchen. I hope you all also achieve anything that you love in your life.

Short Essay On My First Cooking Experience – 200 Word Short Essay

While I was still young I had the ambition to become a chef one day. I always dreamt of working in the kitchen preparing food, desserts, and cuisines. I was also fascinated by my mothers cooking skills and I was used to seeing all the cooking shows. In the age when kids only watched cartoons to admire animated characters, I admired all the chefs as celebrities and superheroes. My mother knew about my passion for cooking but she never allowed me to enter the kitchen. No matter how much I insisted she never admitted me into the kitchen until one day when she asked me to cook lunch. In this essay, I will share my first cooking experience to let you know how it all felt like.

It just felt magical to enter the kitchen with my mother to learn cooking. It was time I put all my cooking knowledge to the test. My mother asked me to prepare rice as my first dish. My mother turned on the flame and I put the stove onto that flame. My mother taught me how to use the knife and I started slicing onions and tomatoes. I started cooking the food by putting in all the ingredients along with soy sauce, salt, and other spices. I started following the recipe and waited until the onions turned brown. I then tried to add the rice to the stove but accidentally some rice fell onto the open flame as they were quite heavy for me to carry. The flame quickly rose and I screamed; my mother rushed in and pushed me away from the flame. However, it was not a very big deal and my mother calmed me and helped me relax.

Once all the food was prepared I asked my parents and siblings to come and taste the food. They all ate the rice I prepared and loved the taste. I felt out of this world and became proud of my achievement as it was the first time I prepared a proper dish for anyone. Preparing a complex dish taught me that with passion, love, and determination we can achieve anything in life. No matter how hard it looks we can achieve our ambitions even at a young age like I was at that time. I hope to visit the whole world to prepare and taste all kinds of food that I can in my life.

Do you like these sample essays about My First Cooking Experience? Reach out to Essay Basics to get a professionally written plagiarism-free and unique custom essay on any topic in less than 3 hours.

FAQ About My First Attempt In Cooking Essay

How to write an essay about food.

To write an essay about food you first have to state what kind of food you like and why you like that food. In the body state your ambition about food whether you are a chef or a person who travels to taste food and end it with what you have learned from all this. 

How To Write A Descriptive Essay On My First Cooking Experience?

To write a descriptive essay about your first cooking experience, start with when and why it happened. In the body paragraph, add details about how you felt while cooking and end it by sharing life lessons about your cooking experience.

Home — Essay Samples — Geography & Travel — Journey — My First International Trip

My First International Trip

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Words: 675 |

Published: Aug 24, 2023

Words: 675 | Page: 1 | 4 min read

Table of contents

Cultural immersion and perspective shift, embracing the unfamiliar, global citizenship and empathy, conclusion: a journey of transformation.

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Essay on My First Day in School: Sample in 100, 200, 350 Words

• Updated on  
• Jan 23, 2024

Essay on My First Day in School: The first day of school is often considered an important day in every child’s life. It is a time of a mix of emotions, like nervousness, excitement, homesickness, feelings of shyness, and likewise. But did you know these feelings are responsible for making our day memorable?

As children, we all are like a blank canvas, easily dyed into any colour. Our first day in school is like a new world to us. As a child, we all have experienced those feelings. So, to make you feel nostalgic and refresh those special feelings, we have brought some samples of essay on my first day in school.

Master the art of essay writing with our blog on How to Write an Essay in English .

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Essay on my first day in school in 100 words, essay on my first day in school sample in 200 words, essay on my first day in day in school in 350 words.

It was a cloudy day when I took my first step into the compound of my school. I was carrying a new backpack that was filled with notebooks. Though the backpack was a bit heavy, instead of focusing on the weight, I was excited about the beginning of my journey on my first day in school.

My classroom was at the end of the corridor. As I entered my classroom, my class teacher introduced me to the class and made me feel welcome. Activities like reading, solving problems in groups, and sharing our lunch boxes slowly and steadily transformed the new student with a sense of belonging.

The whole day progressed with mixed excitement as well as emotions. As the bell rang, declaring the end of the school day, the school felt like a world of possibilities where the journey was more than textbooks.

To improve your essay writing skills, here are the top 200+ English Essay Topics for school students.

Also Read: Speech on Republic Day for Class 12th

It was a sunny day and the sun was shining brightly. With my new and attractive backpack, I was moving through the school gate. It was my first day in school and I was filled with nervousness and excitement. From the tower of the building to the playground everything was bigger than life. As a school student, I was about to enter a new world. 

The corridor was filled with the echo of students. As I entered the classroom, wearing a mix of curiosity and excitement, my classmates and class teacher welcomed me with a warm smile. After a round of introductions and some warm-up activities, strangers gradually started tuning into potential friends. At lunchtime, the cafeteria was filled with the smell of delicious food. However, I hesitated before joining the group of students but soon enough, I was laughing with my new friends and sharing stories. The unfamiliar were now my friends and transformed my mixed emotions into delightfulness. 

The bell rang for the next class and I stepped out for new learning in my new academic home. My first day of school had many memorable stories, with old subjects and new introductions of knowledge. The day was spent learning, sharing and making new memories. 

Also Read: Essay on Joint Family in 500+ words in English  

My first day in school started by stepping onto the school bus with a bag full of books and a heart full of curiosity. It was like I was starting a new chapter in my life. After traveling a long way back, I stepped at the gate of my school. The school gate welcomed me with open arms and greeted me with a sense of excitement as well as nervousness.

As I entered the classroom, I found many new faces. Arranging my stuff on the seat, I sat next to an unknown, who later on turned into the best friend of my life. I entered my class with a welcoming smile, and later on, I turned everything in with ease. During our lunchtime, the cafeteria was filled with the energy of students. 

At first, I hesitated to interact with the children, but later on, I was a part of a group that invited me to join the table. At lunchtime, I made many new friends and was no longer a stranger. After having delicious food and chit-chatting with friends, we get back to our respective classrooms. Different subjects such as mathematics, science, and English never left the same impact as they did on the first day of school. 

The teacher taught the lessons so interestingly that we learned the chapter with a mix of laughter and learning. At the end of the day, we all went straight to the playground and enjoyed the swings. Moreover, in the playground, I also met many faces who were new to the school and had their first day in school, like me.

While returning home, I realised that my first day was not just about learning new subjects; it was about making new friends, sailing into new vibrant classrooms, and settling myself as a new student. The morning, which was full of uncertainty at the end of the day, came to an end with exciting adventures and endless possibilities. With new experiences, I look forward to new academic and personal growth in the wonderful world of education.

Also Read: Leave Letter for Stomach Pain: Format and Samples

My first day of school was filled with mixed feelings. I was nervous, homesick, and excited on the first day at my school.

While writing about the first day of school, I share my experience of beginning my journey from home. What were my feelings, emotions, and excitement related to the first day of school, and how did I deal with a whole day among the unknown faces, these were some of the things I wrote in my first day of school experience essay. 

The first day of school is important because, as a new student, we manage everything new. The practice of managing everything is the first step towards self-responsibility.

Along with studying my favourite subjects, I share fun moments and delicious foods with my friends in school. 

Parents are filled with emotions on the first day of their child. As school is the place to gain knowledge, skills, and experience, parents try their best to give their children the best academics they can.

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Deepika Joshi is an experienced content writer with expertise in creating educational and informative content. She has a year of experience writing content for speeches, essays, NCERT, study abroad and EdTech SaaS. Her strengths lie in conducting thorough research and ananlysis to provide accurate and up-to-date information to readers. She enjoys staying updated on new skills and knowledge, particulary in education domain. In her free time, she loves to read articles, and blogs with related to her field to further expand her expertise. In personal life, she loves creative writing and aspire to connect with innovative people who have fresh ideas to offer.

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The Sugarlands Visitor Center Experience

This essay about the Sugarlands Visitor Center portrays it as an integral part of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park experience. It emphasizes the center’s role in providing visitors with valuable information, educational resources, and insights into the park’s natural and cultural history. Through interactive exhibits, knowledgeable park rangers, and an immersive short film, visitors gain a deeper understanding of the park’s geography, biodiversity, and historical narratives. The essay highlights how Sugarlands not only prepares individuals for their exploration of the park but also instills a sense of stewardship and community involvement in conservation efforts. It concludes by asserting that the visitor center enhances the overall experience of the park, making it more than just a starting point for exploration but a meaningful part of the journey into the Smokies. At PapersOwl, you’ll also come across free essay samples that pertain to Experience.

How it works

Nestled at the doorstep of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, the Sugarlands Visitor Center serves as a pivotal first stop for the millions of visitors drawn to the park’s sprawling vistas and rich biodiversity each year. More than just an information hub, Sugarlands offers a comprehensive introduction to the natural and cultural history of the Smokies, providing a foundation that enriches the visitor experience beyond measure.

Upon entering the center, guests are greeted by a wealth of resources designed to guide and enhance their exploration of the park.

Maps, brochures, and interactive exhibits offer a primer on the park’s geography, flora and fauna, and trail systems, allowing visitors to plan their journey with confidence. Knowledgeable park rangers are on hand to offer expert advice, answer questions, and share insights that deepen the connection between visitors and the landscape they’re about to explore.

But Sugarlands is more than a starting point for physical journeys; it’s also a journey through time. The center’s museum displays and audio-visual presentations tell the stories of the people who have called the Smokies home, from the indigenous Cherokee tribes to the European settlers of the 18th and 19th centuries. These narratives of survival, adaptation, and transformation underscore the human element of the park’s history, reminding visitors that the majestic landscapes of the Smokies are also steeped in human experience.

One of the center’s highlights is the short film shown in its theater, offering an immersive introduction to the park’s seasonal beauty and ecological significance. This visual feast sets the stage for what visitors can expect to encounter in the wider park, from cascading waterfalls and mist-covered mountains to the diverse wildlife that inhabits these ancient forests. The film, coupled with the center’s exhibits, serves as a powerful reminder of the importance of conservation and the role each visitor plays in preserving this national treasure for future generations.

Beyond its educational offerings, Sugarlands Visitor Center also serves as a testament to the power of community and stewardship. The center, like the park itself, benefits from the dedication of countless volunteers and the support of organizations committed to preserving the natural beauty and cultural heritage of the Smokies. This collaborative spirit is palpable throughout the center, inspiring visitors to consider their own role in the stewardship of natural spaces.

In conclusion, the Sugarlands Visitor Center is far more than a mere gateway to the Great Smoky Mountains National Park; it is an essential part of the park experience. Through its resources, exhibits, and programs, the center not only prepares visitors for the physical exploration of the park but also deepens their appreciation for its environmental and historical significance. As visitors venture from the center into the wider park, they carry with them a greater awareness of the intricate tapestry of life and history that makes the Smokies a place of endless discovery and wonder.

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Essay on My First Experience on Stage

Students are often asked to write an essay on My First Experience on Stage in their schools and colleges. And if you’re also looking for the same, we have created 100-word, 250-word, and 500-word essays on the topic.

Let’s take a look…

100 Words Essay on My First Experience on Stage

The excitement before the performance.

I was only seven when I had my first stage experience. I was chosen to perform in our annual school play. The excitement was overwhelming.

The Preparation

I was to play a tree. I practiced my lines daily. My costume was green and brown, matching my role perfectly.

The Big Day

Finally, the day arrived. I was nervous, but my teacher’s encouraging words calmed me. The spotlight was on me, and I recited my lines flawlessly.

The Joy of Success

The applause at the end was exhilarating. My first stage experience was a success, and it boosted my confidence greatly.

250 Words Essay on My First Experience on Stage

Introduction.

The stage – a platform that has the power to provoke myriad emotions. My first experience on stage was a blend of apprehension, excitement, and a profound sense of achievement. It was a high school play, a rite of passage that would go on to shape my personality and perspective.

The journey began with auditions, a nerve-racking process that tested my mettle. I was selected for a supporting role, and the real work began. Hours were spent rehearsing lines, perfecting expressions, and synchronizing movements. The camaraderie developed during these sessions was a lesson in teamwork and resilience.

The Performance

The day arrived, and the curtain rose. The bright lights, the hushed anticipation of the audience, and the palpable energy were overwhelming. My heart pounded as I stepped onto the stage, the spotlight hitting my face. I took a deep breath and let my character take over.

The applause at the end of the play was exhilarating. It was a validation of our hard work and dedication. The stage had transformed me, teaching me the value of discipline, collaboration, and the power of storytelling.

The stage is a microcosm of life, filled with challenges, triumphs, and learning opportunities. My first experience on stage was a transformative journey that instilled in me a sense of confidence and a love for performing arts. It was an experience that transcended the boundaries of a mere school event and became a life-altering moment.

500 Words Essay on My First Experience on Stage

My first experience on stage was a journey of self-discovery, a moment that ignited a spark of confidence and resilience in me. As a college student, I was always intrigued by the allure of the stage but never had the courage to step onto it. However, one day, an opportunity presented itself in the form of a college play, and I decided to take the plunge.

The Audition

The audition was my first encounter with the stage, and it was nerve-wracking. The stage was a vast expanse, and I felt like a tiny speck under the glaring lights. The anticipation of performing in front of my peers and professors was overwhelming. However, I was determined to overcome my fears. I took a deep breath, focused on my lines, and gave it my all. To my surprise, I was selected for a significant role.

The rehearsals were a rollercoaster ride of emotions. Some days were filled with excitement and progress, while others were marred by mistakes and frustration. The stage became a second home, a place where I could express myself without fear of judgment. The camaraderie among the cast members was heartwarming, and we supported each other through the highs and lows.

Performance Day

The day of the performance was a whirlwind of emotions. As I stepped onto the stage, I could feel the weight of the audience’s expectations. The lights were brighter, the silence was louder, and the stage seemed bigger. My heart pounded in my chest as I waited for my cue. As I delivered my first line, I could feel the tension dissipating. The stage was no longer a terrifying expanse but a platform for me to express my creativity. The applause at the end of the performance was the most rewarding experience. It was a testament to my hard work and dedication.

My first experience on stage was a transformative journey. It taught me the importance of stepping out of my comfort zone and embracing new challenges. It made me realize that the stage is not just a platform for performance, but a place where one can learn, grow, and evolve. The stage became a metaphor for life itself – a place where one can face their fears, overcome obstacles, and emerge victorious. It was an experience that shaped my college life and continues to inspire me in my endeavors.

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What Solar Eclipse-Gazing Has Looked Like for the Past 2 Centuries

Millions of people on Monday will continue the tradition of experiencing and capturing solar eclipses, a pursuit that has spawned a lot of unusual gear.

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By Sarah Eckinger

• April 8, 2024

For centuries, people have been clamoring to glimpse solar eclipses. From astronomers with custom-built photographic equipment to groups huddled together with special glasses, this spectacle has captivated the human imagination.

Creating a Permanent Record

In 1860, Warren de la Rue captured what many sources describe as the first photograph of a total solar eclipse . He took it in Rivabellosa, Spain, with an instrument known as the Kew Photoheliograph . This combination of a telescope and camera was specifically built to photograph the sun.

Forty years later, Nevil Maskelyne, a magician and an astronomy enthusiast, filmed a total solar eclipse in North Carolina. The footage was lost, however, and only released in 2019 after it was rediscovered in the Royal Astronomical Society’s archives.

Telescopic Vision

For scientists and astronomers, eclipses provide an opportunity not only to view the moon’s umbra and gaze at the sun’s corona, but also to make observations that further their studies. Many observatories, or friendly neighbors with a telescope, also make their instruments available to the public during eclipses.

Fredrik Hjalmar Johansen, Fridtjof Nansen and Sigurd Scott Hansen observing a solar eclipse while on a polar expedition in 1894 .

Women from Wellesley College in Massachusetts and their professor tested out equipment ahead of their eclipse trip (to “catch old Sol in the act,” as the original New York Times article phrased it) to New London, Conn., in 1922.

A group from Swarthmore College in Pennsylvania traveled to Yerbaniz, Mexico, in 1923, with telescopes and a 65-foot camera to observe the sun’s corona .

Dr. J.J. Nassau, director of the Warner and Swasey Observatory at Case School of Applied Science in Cleveland, prepared to head to Douglas Hill, Maine, to study an eclipse in 1932. An entire freight car was required to transport the institution’s equipment.

Visitors viewed a solar eclipse at an observatory in Berlin in the mid-1930s.

A family set up two telescopes in Bar Harbor, Maine, in 1963. The two children placed stones on the base to help steady them.

An astronomer examined equipment for an eclipse in a desert in Mauritania in June 1973. We credit the hot climate for his choice in outfit.

Indirect Light

If you see people on Monday sprinting to your local park clutching pieces of paper, or with a cardboard box of their head, they are probably planning to reflect or project images of the solar eclipse onto a surface.

Cynthia Goulakos demonstrated a safe way to view a solar eclipse , with two pieces of cardboard to create a reflection of the shadowed sun, in Lowell, Mass., in 1970.

Another popular option is to create a pinhole camera. This woman did so in Central Park in 1963 by using a paper cup with a small hole in the bottom and a twin-lens reflex camera.

Amateur astronomers viewed a partial eclipse, projected from a telescope onto a screen, from atop the Empire State Building in 1967 .

Back in Central Park, in 1970, Irving Schwartz and his wife reflected an eclipse onto a piece of paper by holding binoculars on the edge of a garbage basket.

Children in Denver in 1979 used cardboard viewing boxes and pieces of paper with small pinholes to view projections of a partial eclipse.

A crowd gathered around a basin of water dyed with dark ink, waiting for the reflection of a solar eclipse to appear, in Hanoi, Vietnam, in 1995.

Staring at the Sun (or, How Not to Burn Your Retinas)

Eclipse-gazers have used different methods to protect their eyes throughout the years, some safer than others .

In 1927, women gathered at a window in a building in London to watch a total eclipse through smoked glass. This was popularized in France in the 1700s , but fell out of favor when physicians began writing papers on children whose vision was damaged.

Another trend was to use a strip of exposed photographic film, as seen below in Sydney, Australia, in 1948 and in Turkana, Kenya, in 1963. This method, which was even suggested by The Times in 1979 , has since been declared unsafe.

Solar eclipse glasses are a popular and safe way to view the event ( if you use models compliant with international safety standards ). Over the years there have been various styles, including these large hand-held options found in West Palm Beach, Fla., in 1979.

Parents and children watched a partial eclipse through their eclipse glasses in Tokyo in 1981.

Slimmer, more colorful options were used in Nabusimake, Colombia, in 1998.

In France in 1999.

And in Iran and England in 1999.

And the best way to see the eclipse? With family and friends at a watch party, like this one in Isalo National Park in Madagascar in 2001.

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I was 1 of millions who traveled for the eclipse. Here's how it went

I first heard about the Great American Eclipse from my now husband , Dave, three years ago. He told me he was absolutely, without a doubt going to see the eclipse in 2024, because the last one had changed his life.

He described what really happened once the moon fully blocked the sun’s light back in 2017: The sky grew dark. The air cold. To him, it felt like being on another planet entirely. While he stood there in a field in rural Tennessee, the strangers around him began to cheer. “It’s like, you’re not even human anymore,” he said about witnessing totality firsthand.

Eclipse comes from the Greek word for “abandonment,” because for a few minutes, it’s as if the sun leaves us, and something strange and magical takes its place. 

Dave's experience lasted for about two minutes before life returned to normal — but onlookers everywhere felt like they had been changed for good. They were aware of having passed through a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Actually, a once-in-a-universe one. 

One that I, stupidly, missed out on because I was too cheap to pay for an overpriced flight to Greenville, South Carolina, and too nervous to take yet another day off from my first job. Seeing that 2017 partial eclipse from downtown Manhattan, I realized that my human concerns got in the way of a celestial breakthrough. After that very human error, I vowed I would see an eclipse eventually. Next time, I would get my chance in 2024.

The eclipse on April 8 was notable for a few reasons. For one, it cut across many major metropolitan areas, from Mazatlan, Texas through Dallas, all the way up to Maine and Montreal. Timing matters, too: This eclipse hit North America on a day with clear weather and it’s the last one the contiguous U.S. will see until 2043. 

This eclipse stands to be an even more powerful experience than the last. “This one will be even longer, with more than four minutes of darkness along much of the path of totality,” said Catherine Pilachowski, the Kirkwood Chair in Astronomy at Indiana University Bloomington.

“A total eclipse is a deeply moving experience — it's a sense of connection to nature, to the universe, in a way we don’t often experience,” she said, echoing Dave’s words.

But what is an eclipse, and why is this one special enough to send millions in search of a few minutes in the dark?

“Eclipses occur when the moon and sun appear to be the same size and line up in the sky,” Dr. Anita Cochran of UT Austin said. The alignment of the sun, earth and moon is a “complex dance,” she said, given their elliptical patterns. Actual eclipses aren’t uncommon and occur multiple times a year, though solar eclipses happen less frequently. The trouble is that most eclipses occur over the ocean and their paths of totality are very small.

“You get really lucky when you get into the path,” Cochran said of the small but populous swath of America that will have front-row seats to the show.

Astrologer Lisa Stardust has a different take. She warns that astrologers recommend staying far away from the path of totality, since “eclipses can bring intense emotions and secrets to the surface, causing people to act out or behave unpredictably.” 

I decided that was a risk I would take, which was good, because Dave and I planned to travel to the epicenter of it all: Texas. Historically, Texas is the state along the eclipse path with the lowest cloud cover this time of year. Because of the weather conditions, an estimated 1.1 million people would travel the state to view the eclipse.

John Beckman, who traveled to Montana to witness the eclipse in 2017, drove across the country from California to Texas this year to meet a group of 20 family members and friends.

“It’s really hard to get through to people that you’re going cross country for three minutes (of eclipse),” he said.

A whole year prior to the eclipse, we solidified our plan to hit the road. We would meet up with Dave's cousins, who live in Austin, and drive to a camp site in Llano, Texas, right at the center of the eclipse path. There, over 120 people from around the wold — from Melbourne to Colorado — would convene to witness the cosmic event together.

In the months leading up to April 8, we met the fellow travelers on Zoom calls. We learned who would be bringing telescopes and tents, and signed up for potlucks and Peruvian fire rituals (yes, really).

Meanwhile, the people of Llano, Texas — a town of 2,000 — prepared for an influx of eclipse chasers just like us. Michelle Long Hagli, the owner of Brown Chicken Brown Cow Ranch, warned us to have supplies. At times, I couldn’t tell if we were preparing for a natural phenomenon or disaster.

Public notes from the mayor of Llano seemed to take on the same tone of resignation and anticipation as Michelle. She advised townspeople to have “ two weeks of supplies” secured by April 1, and put it this way in a poetic Facebook post to her constituents: “We could not stop this wave of eclipse watchers from coming here to Llano even if we wanted to, so we will make the best of it. And even though it will be a boost for the economy, it will be like trying to get a drink out of a fire hose.”

Diana Stewart, a Llanite who owns a local tamale business, said, days before the eclipse, “We’re not sure what to expect. We don’t know if we should prepare for the masses, or if it will be similar to a Christmas holiday.” She adds generally, she and her neighbors are “excited,” saying, “We think this will be a great time to show everyone how beautiful and unique our little town is.”

As we prepared (and as I watched airfare rates nearly triple) I started to relax and dream of totality in a small Texas town.

Last eclipse, I was so worried with my human concerns I missed out on something great. This eclipse, I was so sure of my human plans that I forgot about the other key player: The sky. It turns out that weather doesn't care for even the best-laid plans.

The weekend before the eclipse, I began to panic at the sight of the weather forecast. Clouds . I studied the forecast so much, I felt like I had accrued enough credits for a meteorology minor. I learned the difference between cloud types: High, cirrus clouds were good; it meant the sun could poke through. Cumulus clouds, which cover the sky like a blanket, foretold total eclipse doom. Still, as I looked at chart after chart, it felt a bit like reading tea leaves. How were we to know until Monday at 1:35 CT?

Dave, forever calm, kept telling me to close the computer and my multiple browser tabs for “Texas weather eclipse.”

All the local Texans I spoke to, including our family, said not to bother: Texas weather changes on a dime. Still, I wanted certainty that this trip would be worth the trek.

Looking at cloud cover blanketing Texas, I entertained canceling the whole trip and going to Alexandria Bay, New York, where the forecast appeared to be clearer. There, I could watch the eclipse on the St. Lawrence River.

But Dave and had a plan, and we would stick to it, whether or not we had a pact with the sky.

Our flight to Austin from Newark on April 6 was nearly full. Just before takeoff, the flight attendant got on the loudspeaker and asked, “How many of you are going to see the eclipse?” Passengers cheered as if it were a sporting event, myself included.

While boarding the plane, I realized this trip, and the weather, hadn’t just consumed me — it had consumed nearly everyone else as well.

A family of five boarded ahead of us. The dad, wide-eyed, said his friends told him about the 2017 eclipse, and he couldn’t miss out on this one, so he was bringing the whole family along. His son chimed in saying it was going to be cloudy, but they all seemed determined to have a good time despite the weather.

One of the sons chimed in with “Spain 2026.” It was an invocation I heard often on my eclipse Facebook groups, calling to the next visible total solar eclipse. As if to say: we might not have Texas, but we’ll always have Spain.

I asked a woman ahead of me if she was traveling to see the eclipse. “More like not going to see it,” she said. She went on to compare the eclipse to her wedding night: “Dark and cloudy.”

The flight attendant warned me as I left. She said her friend was from Llano, where we were headed — and that it was going to be mobbed. I decided not to text my mom that.

Once we landed in Austin, Dave’s cousin, Brian, and his partner Erika picked us up from the airport. On Sunday morning, we left for the campsite. Michelle Long Hagli, who bought the land with her husband after the pandemic, greeted us with a huge hello, wearing the eclipse shirts she had designed for the occasion. On it was a brown chicken and a cow donning eclipse glasses.

My first impression of Brown Chicken Brown Cow Ranch is that it smells much better than I thought a ranch ever could. The bluebells has blossomed, and so did a sense of excitement among everyone we passed. What followed was a slideshow of Texas’ greatest hits: We ate barbecue from Cooper’s, went to a big, empty bar in downtown Llano, met four longhorn cows and hiked Enchanted Rock. Yes, it was enchanted (and also steep). 

By night, we could see the stars. The evening before the eclipse, we woke up in the dark to a clear night sky.

The next day, those skies had changed to gray. Still, Michelle was cheery when I asked if she ever worried about the weather. She said at 56, she had lived long enough to stop worrying about things out of her control. Anyway, she said, “it was all a gift from God.”

By then, I was so happy in the Texas landscape that I started to believe she was right.

We had pancakes, then we participated in a ritual meant to situate ourselves as one with the planet, harness the manifesting powers of the eclipse and release baggage, guided by healers Woody Strickland and Kay Jantzen. Obviously, I prayed for a clear sky. As we were directed us to pray toward the sun, the sun suddenly broke through the clouds.

Then came the crucial decision that would determine our entire eclipse experience: The question of whether to stay put or go elsewhere. To play the cards we had, or drive until we found a better deck.

Dave, who reads weather maps for fun, made the call. We would go west for an hour where it seemed less cloudy — 25% coverage to Llano’s 75% — and totality still stretched for over three minutes.

Still, I was worried. What if we left, and the conditions were clearer back at BCBC Ranch? What if we encountered traffic and missed it all? I thanked myself for marrying someone so decisive. Dave dismissed my worries and we hit the road.

We took a nearly empty stretch of Road 171 westward toward Brady, before stopping in the small community of Voca. The only structure we could see was a vineyard (closed) and a post office (also closed). The post office parking lot was filled with about 10 cars and plenty telescopes — it was clear that others were waiting in anticipation.

We parked and set up our chairs in a field of bluebonnets. Together, all us strangers waited patiently. Many had waiting for years, but the last few minutes leading up to the eclipse felt the longest.

The other onlookers were seemingly in this tiny town on accident. Vice, Texas (population: 50), was not the plan, but the travelers I met and spoke to had made the same calculations that Dave and I had. All except Shirlene Miller, the woman whose field we congregated next to. She moved to Voca for her husband, who was born and raised there. At 84, she told me this was her last chance at an eclipse. I hoped the clouds would clear for her. And, ok , for me, too.

The moon started its journey into the sun’s path at 12:15 and would reach totality at 1:35. I felt like I was at a championship game and the teams were tied, only there was no coaching, no reason, nothing that could be done. Low clouds started to gather. For about 15 minutes, the sun was gone. 

Then, like some sort of cosmic red carpet, a pathway opened between the clouds. It looked like a path made for the sun to travel — and travel it did. We all looked up, glasses on. Everything but the sun was dark. We watched as the sun went from a crescent to a sliver. Then, it was gone.

I took off my glasses and saw it: totality. The moon blocking the sun. This is what no one else could see outside the path of totality.

Here is where I get to the part that's almost impossible to express. Now that I've experienced a total solar eclipse, I know that no video, photo or description will do it justice.

The best thing I can say is to travel in 2026 to see the next total eclipse yourself. All words and video will fail you in the meantime.

Because you’re curious, I’ll try my best to describe the experience. It is like a third sun or moon you never knew before coming out to introduce itself, and you wondered how you missed it this whole time. It’s like the eye of God coming out to blink. It’s like the clock turning to 1/1/2000 and standing in a crowd, trying to make sense of time and the universe and our place in it. It’s feeling that not only are the sun, moon and earth aligned but somehow, you are too.

It was enough to make me literally fall to my knees.

This is actually what happened. The moon covered the sun and the world grew dark. Venus and Mercury were visible in the dusk-like sky. People cheered and shouted (fine, people being me). Simply put, it was so incredibly cool.

Perhaps Brian put it best when he said, “I get why people 1000 years ago were terrified. It gets dark out, and you look up and there’s a black circle?”

Then it was over, the vista was gone. I put my eclipse glasses back on, and realized I couldn’t get back that magical moment if I tried. If I tried, I'd quite literally go blind.

The sky lightened. The birds began chirping again — I didn’t realize how silent it had become. We all looked back at each other in awe.

We did it. With plenty of planning and a lot of luck, we actually accomplished what we had come to Texas to see.

I’m still processing the eclipse and processing the lessons it has for me. Is there a way to make sense of luck? Does it just happen? Or does luck happen by putting yourself in its path, and making sure you’re looking up, ready to marvel at whatever comes your way?

I do know this; I got lucky, and it’s only because I didn’t get in the way of myself. I surrendered to the day — and to Dave — who never worried.

The truth is my worries never mattered. They never had any sway over the clouds. No matter what happened, I was lucky to come along for the ride — lucky for another day under this sun.

My sense of awe and luck was shared with Jay Lawson, an amateur astronomer at the Brown Chicken Brown Cow Ranch, who wore a shirt emblazoned with four eclipses he has seen from 1979 to 2024. It turns out that totality was visible for only 90 seconds at BCBC ranch, but it was still something.

“You plan for years, and it’s done in a few seconds. And all you can think is, ‘When can I see another?’” Lawson said, taking the words right out of my mouth.

It goes without saying: Spain 2026! Dave and I hope to see you there.

Elena Nicolaou is a senior entertainment editor at Today.com, where she covers the latest in TV, pop culture, movies and all things streaming. Previously, she covered culture at Refinery29 and Oprah Daily. Her superpower is matching people up with the perfect book, which she does on her podcast, Blind Date With a Book.

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Crying Myself to Sleep on the Biggest Cruise Ship Ever

Seven agonizing nights aboard the Icon of the Seas

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Updated at 2:44 p.m. ET on April 6, 2024.

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MY FIRST GLIMPSE of Royal Caribbean’s Icon of the Seas, from the window of an approaching Miami cab, brings on a feeling of vertigo, nausea, amazement, and distress. I shut my eyes in defense, as my brain tells my optic nerve to try again.

The ship makes no sense, vertically or horizontally. It makes no sense on sea, or on land, or in outer space. It looks like a hodgepodge of domes and minarets, tubes and canopies, like Istanbul had it been designed by idiots. Vibrant, oversignifying colors are stacked upon other such colors, decks perched over still more decks; the only comfort is a row of lifeboats ringing its perimeter. There is no imposed order, no cogent thought, and, for those who do not harbor a totalitarian sense of gigantomania, no visual mercy. This is the biggest cruise ship ever built, and I have been tasked with witnessing its inaugural voyage.

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“Author embarks on their first cruise-ship voyage” has been a staple of American essay writing for almost three decades, beginning with David Foster Wallace’s “A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again,” which was first published in 1996 under the title “Shipping Out.” Since then, many admirable writers have widened and diversified the genre. Usually the essayist commissioned to take to the sea is in their first or second flush of youth and is ready to sharpen their wit against the hull of the offending vessel. I am 51, old and tired, having seen much of the world as a former travel journalist, and mostly what I do in both life and prose is shrug while muttering to my imaginary dachshund, “This too shall pass.” But the Icon of the Seas will not countenance a shrug. The Icon of the Seas is the Linda Loman of cruise ships, exclaiming that attention must be paid. And here I am in late January with my one piece of luggage and useless gray winter jacket and passport, zipping through the Port of Miami en route to the gangway that will separate me from the bulk of North America for more than seven days, ready to pay it in full.

The aforementioned gangway opens up directly onto a thriving mall (I will soon learn it is imperiously called the “Royal Promenade”), presently filled with yapping passengers beneath a ceiling studded with balloons ready to drop. Crew members from every part of the global South, as well as a few Balkans, are shepherding us along while pressing flutes of champagne into our hands. By a humming Starbucks, I drink as many of these as I can and prepare to find my cabin. I show my blue Suite Sky SeaPass Card (more on this later, much more) to a smiling woman from the Philippines, and she tells me to go “aft.” Which is where, now? As someone who has rarely sailed on a vessel grander than the Staten Island Ferry, I am confused. It turns out that the aft is the stern of the ship, or, for those of us who don’t know what a stern or an aft are, its ass. The nose of the ship, responsible for separating the waves before it, is also called a bow, and is marked for passengers as the FWD , or forward. The part of the contemporary sailing vessel where the malls are clustered is called the midship. I trust that you have enjoyed this nautical lesson.

I ascend via elevator to my suite on Deck 11. This is where I encounter my first terrible surprise. My suite windows and balcony do not face the ocean. Instead, they look out onto another shopping mall. This mall is the one that’s called Central Park, perhaps in homage to the Olmsted-designed bit of greenery in the middle of my hometown. Although on land I would be delighted to own a suite with Central Park views, here I am deeply depressed. To sail on a ship and not wake up to a vast blue carpet of ocean? Unthinkable.

Allow me a brief preamble here. The story you are reading was commissioned at a moment when most staterooms on the Icon were sold out. In fact, so enthralled by the prospect of this voyage were hard-core mariners that the ship’s entire inventory of guest rooms (the Icon can accommodate up to 7,600 passengers, but its inaugural journey was reduced to 5,000 or so for a less crowded experience) was almost immediately sold out. Hence, this publication was faced with the shocking prospect of paying nearly $19,000 to procure for this solitary passenger an entire suite—not including drinking expenses—all for the privilege of bringing you this article. But the suite in question doesn’t even have a view of the ocean! I sit down hard on my soft bed. Nineteen thousand dollars for this .

The viewless suite does have its pluses. In addition to all the Malin+Goetz products in my dual bathrooms, I am granted use of a dedicated Suite Deck lounge; access to Coastal Kitchen, a superior restaurant for Suites passengers; complimentary VOOM SM Surf & Stream (“the fastest Internet at Sea”) “for one device per person for the whole cruise duration”; a pair of bathrobes (one of which comes prestained with what looks like a large expectoration by the greenest lizard on Earth); and use of the Grove Suite Sun, an area on Decks 18 and 19 with food and deck chairs reserved exclusively for Suite passengers. I also get reserved seating for a performance of The Wizard of Oz , an ice-skating tribute to the periodic table, and similar provocations. The very color of my Suite Sky SeaPass Card, an oceanic blue as opposed to the cloying royal purple of the standard non-Suite passenger, will soon provoke envy and admiration. But as high as my status may be, there are those on board who have much higher status still, and I will soon learn to bow before them.

In preparation for sailing, I have “priced in,” as they say on Wall Street, the possibility that I may come from a somewhat different monde than many of the other cruisers. Without falling into stereotypes or preconceptions, I prepare myself for a friendly outspokenness on the part of my fellow seafarers that may not comply with modern DEI standards. I believe in meeting people halfway, and so the day before flying down to Miami, I visited what remains of Little Italy to purchase a popular T-shirt that reads DADDY’S LITTLE MEATBALL across the breast in the colors of the Italian flag. My wife recommended that I bring one of my many T-shirts featuring Snoopy and the Peanuts gang, as all Americans love the beagle and his friends. But I naively thought that my meatball T-shirt would be more suitable for conversation-starting. “Oh, and who is your ‘daddy’?” some might ask upon seeing it. “And how long have you been his ‘little meatball’?” And so on.

I put on my meatball T-shirt and head for one of the dining rooms to get a late lunch. In the elevator, I stick out my chest for all to read the funny legend upon it, but soon I realize that despite its burnished tricolor letters, no one takes note. More to the point, no one takes note of me. Despite my attempts at bridge building, the very sight of me (small, ethnic, without a cap bearing the name of a football team) elicits no reaction from other passengers. Most often, they will small-talk over me as if I don’t exist. This brings to mind the travails of David Foster Wallace , who felt so ostracized by his fellow passengers that he retreated to his cabin for much of his voyage. And Wallace was raised primarily in the Midwest and was a much larger, more American-looking meatball than I am. If he couldn’t talk to these people, how will I? What if I leave this ship without making any friends at all, despite my T-shirt? I am a social creature, and the prospect of seven days alone and apart is saddening. Wallace’s stateroom, at least, had a view of the ocean, a kind of cheap eternity.

Worse awaits me in the dining room. This is a large, multichandeliered room where I attended my safety training (I was shown how to put on a flotation vest; it is a very simple procedure). But the maître d’ politely refuses me entry in an English that seems to verge on another language. “I’m sorry, this is only for pendejos ,” he seems to be saying. I push back politely and he repeats himself. Pendejos ? Piranhas? There’s some kind of P-word to which I am not attuned. Meanwhile elderly passengers stream right past, powered by their limbs, walkers, and electric wheelchairs. “It is only pendejo dining today, sir.” “But I have a suite!” I say, already starting to catch on to the ship’s class system. He examines my card again. “But you are not a pendejo ,” he confirms. I am wearing a DADDY’S LITTLE MEATBALL T-shirt, I want to say to him. I am the essence of pendejo .

Eventually, I give up and head to the plebeian buffet on Deck 15, which has an aquatic-styled name I have now forgotten. Before gaining entry to this endless cornucopia of reheated food, one passes a washing station of many sinks and soap dispensers, and perhaps the most intriguing character on the entire ship. He is Mr. Washy Washy—or, according to his name tag, Nielbert of the Philippines—and he is dressed as a taco (on other occasions, I’ll see him dressed as a burger). Mr. Washy Washy performs an eponymous song in spirited, indeed flamboyant English: “Washy, washy, wash your hands, WASHY WASHY!” The dangers of norovirus and COVID on a cruise ship this size (a giant fellow ship was stricken with the former right after my voyage) makes Mr. Washy Washy an essential member of the crew. The problem lies with the food at the end of Washy’s rainbow. The buffet is groaning with what sounds like sophisticated dishes—marinated octopus, boiled egg with anchovy, chorizo, lobster claws—but every animal tastes tragically the same, as if there was only one creature available at the market, a “cruisipus” bred specifically for Royal Caribbean dining. The “vegetables” are no better. I pick up a tomato slice and look right through it. It tastes like cellophane. I sit alone, apart from the couples and parents with gaggles of children, as “We Are Family” echoes across the buffet space.

I may have failed to mention that all this time, the Icon of the Seas has not left port. As the fiery mango of the subtropical setting sun makes Miami’s condo skyline even more apocalyptic, the ship shoves off beneath a perfunctory display of fireworks. After the sun sets, in the far, dark distance, another circus-lit cruise ship ruptures the waves before us. We glance at it with pity, because it is by definition a smaller ship than our own. I am on Deck 15, outside the buffet and overlooking a bunch of pools (the Icon has seven of them), drinking a frilly drink that I got from one of the bars (the Icon has 15 of them), still too shy to speak to anyone, despite Sister Sledge’s assertion that all on the ship are somehow related.

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The ship’s passage away from Ron DeSantis’s Florida provides no frisson, no sense of developing “sea legs,” as the ship is too large to register the presence of waves unless a mighty wind adds significant chop. It is time for me to register the presence of the 5,000 passengers around me, even if they refuse to register mine. My fellow travelers have prepared for this trip with personally decorated T-shirts celebrating the importance of this voyage. The simplest ones say ICON INAUGURAL ’24 on the back and the family name on the front. Others attest to an over-the-top love of cruise ships: WARNING! MAY START TALKING ABOUT CRUISING . Still others are artisanally designed and celebrate lifetimes spent married while cruising (on ships, of course). A couple possibly in their 90s are wearing shirts whose backs feature a drawing of a cruise liner, two flamingos with ostensibly male and female characteristics, and the legend “ HUSBAND AND WIFE Cruising Partners FOR LIFE WE MAY NOT HAVE IT All Together BUT TOGETHER WE HAVE IT ALL .” (The words not in all caps have been written in cursive.) A real journalist or a more intrepid conversationalist would have gone up to the couple and asked them to explain the longevity of their marriage vis-à-vis their love of cruising. But instead I head to my mall suite, take off my meatball T-shirt, and allow the first tears of the cruise to roll down my cheeks slowly enough that I briefly fall asleep amid the moisture and salt.

I WAKE UP with a hangover. Oh God. Right. I cannot believe all of that happened last night. A name floats into my cobwebbed, nauseated brain: “Ayn Rand.” Jesus Christ.

I breakfast alone at the Coastal Kitchen. The coffee tastes fine and the eggs came out of a bird. The ship rolls slightly this morning; I can feel it in my thighs and my schlong, the parts of me that are most receptive to danger.

I had a dangerous conversation last night. After the sun set and we were at least 50 miles from shore (most modern cruise ships sail at about 23 miles an hour), I lay in bed softly hiccupping, my arms stretched out exactly like Jesus on the cross, the sound of the distant waves missing from my mall-facing suite, replaced by the hum of air-conditioning and children shouting in Spanish through the vents of my two bathrooms. I decided this passivity was unacceptable. As an immigrant, I feel duty-bound to complete the tasks I am paid for, which means reaching out and trying to understand my fellow cruisers. So I put on a normal James Perse T-shirt and headed for one of the bars on the Royal Promenade—the Schooner Bar, it was called, if memory serves correctly.

I sat at the bar for a martini and two Negronis. An old man with thick, hairy forearms drank next to me, very silent and Hemingwaylike, while a dreadlocked piano player tinkled out a series of excellent Elton John covers. To my right, a young white couple—he in floral shorts, she in a light, summery miniskirt with a fearsome diamond ring, neither of them in football regalia—chatted with an elderly couple. Do it , I commanded myself. Open your mouth. Speak! Speak without being spoken to. Initiate. A sentence fragment caught my ear from the young woman, “Cherry Hill.” This is a suburb of Philadelphia in New Jersey, and I had once been there for a reading at a synagogue. “Excuse me,” I said gently to her. “Did you just mention Cherry Hill? It’s a lovely place.”

As it turned out, the couple now lived in Fort Lauderdale (the number of Floridians on the cruise surprised me, given that Southern Florida is itself a kind of cruise ship, albeit one slowly sinking), but soon they were talking with me exclusively—the man potbellied, with a chin like a hard-boiled egg; the woman as svelte as if she were one of the many Ukrainian members of the crew—the elderly couple next to them forgotten. This felt as groundbreaking as the first time I dared to address an American in his native tongue, as a child on a bus in Queens (“On my foot you are standing, Mister”).

“I don’t want to talk politics,” the man said. “But they’re going to eighty-six Biden and put Michelle in.”

I considered the contradictions of his opening conversational gambit, but decided to play along. “People like Michelle,” I said, testing the waters. The husband sneered, but the wife charitably put forward that the former first lady was “more personable” than Joe Biden. “They’re gonna eighty-six Biden,” the husband repeated. “He can’t put a sentence together.”

After I mentioned that I was a writer—though I presented myself as a writer of teleplays instead of novels and articles such as this one—the husband told me his favorite writer was Ayn Rand. “Ayn Rand, she came here with nothing,” the husband said. “I work with a lot of Cubans, so …” I wondered if I should mention what I usually do to ingratiate myself with Republicans or libertarians: the fact that my finances improved after pass-through corporations were taxed differently under Donald Trump. Instead, I ordered another drink and the couple did the same, and I told him that Rand and I were born in the same city, St. Petersburg/Leningrad, and that my family also came here with nothing. Now the bonding and drinking began in earnest, and several more rounds appeared. Until it all fell apart.

Read: Gary Shteyngart on watching Russian television for five days straight

My new friend, whom I will refer to as Ayn, called out to a buddy of his across the bar, and suddenly a young couple, both covered in tattoos, appeared next to us. “He fucking punked me,” Ayn’s frat-boy-like friend called out as he put his arm around Ayn, while his sizable partner sizzled up to Mrs. Rand. Both of them had a look I have never seen on land—their eyes projecting absence and enmity in equal measure. In the ’90s, I drank with Russian soldiers fresh from Chechnya and wandered the streets of wartime Zagreb, but I have never seen such undisguised hostility toward both me and perhaps the universe at large. I was briefly introduced to this psychopathic pair, but neither of them wanted to have anything to do with me, and the tattooed woman would not even reveal her Christian name to me (she pretended to have the same first name as Mrs. Rand). To impress his tattooed friends, Ayn made fun of the fact that as a television writer, I’d worked on the series Succession (which, it would turn out, practically nobody on the ship had watched), instead of the far more palatable, in his eyes, zombie drama of last year. And then my new friends drifted away from me into an angry private conversation—“He punked me!”—as I ordered another drink for myself, scared of the dead-eyed arrivals whose gaze never registered in the dim wattage of the Schooner Bar, whose terrifying voices and hollow laughs grated like unoiled gears against the crooning of “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.”

But today is a new day for me and my hangover. After breakfast, I explore the ship’s so-called neighborhoods . There’s the AquaDome, where one can find a food hall and an acrobatic sound-and-light aquatic show. Central Park has a premium steak house, a sushi joint, and a used Rolex that can be bought for $8,000 on land here proudly offered at $17,000. There’s the aforementioned Royal Promenade, where I had drunk with the Rands, and where a pair of dueling pianos duel well into the night. There’s Surfside, a kids’ neighborhood full of sugary garbage, which looks out onto the frothy trail that the behemoth leaves behind itself. Thrill Island refers to the collection of tubes that clutter the ass of the ship and offer passengers six waterslides and a surfing simulation. There’s the Hideaway, an adult zone that plays music from a vomit-slathered, Brit-filled Alicante nightclub circa 1996 and proves a big favorite with groups of young Latin American customers. And, most hurtfully, there’s the Suite Neighborhood.

I say hurtfully because as a Suite passenger I should be here, though my particular suite is far from the others. Whereas I am stuck amid the riffraff of Deck 11, this section is on the highborn Decks 16 and 17, and in passing, I peek into the spacious, tall-ceilinged staterooms from the hallway, dazzled by the glint of the waves and sun. For $75,000, one multifloor suite even comes with its own slide between floors, so that a family may enjoy this particular terror in private. There is a quiet splendor to the Suite Neighborhood. I see fewer stickers and signs and drawings than in my own neighborhood—for example, MIKE AND DIANA PROUDLY SERVED U.S. MARINE CORPS RETIRED . No one here needs to announce their branch of service or rank; they are simply Suites, and this is where they belong. Once again, despite my hard work and perseverance, I have been disallowed from the true American elite. Once again, I am “Not our class, dear.” I am reminded of watching The Love Boat on my grandmother’s Zenith, which either was given to her or we found in the trash (I get our many malfunctioning Zeniths confused) and whose tube got so hot, I would put little chunks of government cheese on a thin tissue atop it to give our welfare treat a pleasant, Reagan-era gooeyness. I could not understand English well enough then to catch the nuances of that seafaring program, but I knew that there were differences in the status of the passengers, and that sometimes those differences made them sad. Still, this ship, this plenty—every few steps, there are complimentary nachos or milkshakes or gyros on offer—was the fatty fuel of my childhood dreams. If only I had remained a child.

I walk around the outdoor decks looking for company. There is a middle-aged African American couple who always seem to be asleep in each other’s arms, probably exhausted from the late capitalism they regularly encounter on land. There is far more diversity on this ship than I expected. Many couples are a testament to Loving v. Virginia , and there is a large group of folks whose T-shirts read MELANIN AT SEA / IT’S THE MELANIN FOR ME . I smile when I see them, but then some young kids from the group makes Mr. Washy Washy do a cruel, caricatured “Burger Dance” (today he is in his burger getup), and I think, Well, so much for intersectionality .

At the infinity pool on Deck 17, I spot some elderly women who could be ethnic and from my part of the world, and so I jump in. I am proved correct! Many of them seem to be originally from Queens (“Corona was still great when it was all Italian”), though they are now spread across the tristate area. We bond over the way “Ron-kon-koma” sounds when announced in Penn Station.

“Everyone is here for a different reason,” one of them tells me. She and her ex-husband last sailed together four years ago to prove to themselves that their marriage was truly over. Her 15-year-old son lost his virginity to “an Irish young lady” while their ship was moored in Ravenna, Italy. The gaggle of old-timers competes to tell me their favorite cruising stories and tips. “A guy proposed in Central Park a couple of years ago”—many Royal Caribbean ships apparently have this ridiculous communal area—“and she ran away screaming!” “If you’re diamond-class, you get four drinks for free.” “A different kind of passenger sails out of Bayonne.” (This, perhaps, is racially coded.) “Sometimes, if you tip the bartender $5, your next drink will be free.”

“Everyone’s here for a different reason,” the woman whose marriage ended on a cruise tells me again. “Some people are here for bad reasons—the drinkers and the gamblers. Some people are here for medical reasons.” I have seen more than a few oxygen tanks and at least one woman clearly undergoing very serious chemo. Some T-shirts celebrate good news about a cancer diagnosis. This might be someone’s last cruise or week on Earth. For these women, who have spent months, if not years, at sea, cruising is a ritual as well as a life cycle: first love, last love, marriage, divorce, death.

Read: The last place on Earth any tourist should go

I have talked with these women for so long, tonight I promise myself that after a sad solitary dinner I will not try to seek out company at the bars in the mall or the adult-themed Hideaway. I have enough material to fulfill my duties to this publication. As I approach my orphaned suite, I run into the aggro young people who stole Mr. and Mrs. Rand away from me the night before. The tattooed apparitions pass me without a glance. She is singing something violent about “Stuttering Stanley” (a character in a popular horror movie, as I discover with my complimentary VOOM SM Surf & Stream Internet at Sea) and he’s loudly shouting about “all the money I’ve lost,” presumably at the casino in the bowels of the ship.

So these bent psychos out of a Cormac McCarthy novel are angrily inhabiting my deck. As I mewl myself to sleep, I envision a limited series for HBO or some other streamer, a kind of low-rent White Lotus , where several aggressive couples conspire to throw a shy intellectual interloper overboard. I type the scenario into my phone. As I fall asleep, I think of what the woman who recently divorced her husband and whose son became a man through the good offices of the Irish Republic told me while I was hoisting myself out of the infinity pool. “I’m here because I’m an explorer. I’m here because I’m trying something new.” What if I allowed myself to believe in her fantasy?

“YOU REALLY STARTED AT THE TOP,” they tell me. I’m at the Coastal Kitchen for my eggs and corned-beef hash, and the maître d’ has slotted me in between two couples. Fueled by coffee or perhaps intrigued by my relative youth, they strike up a conversation with me. As always, people are shocked that this is my first cruise. They contrast the Icon favorably with all the preceding liners in the Royal Caribbean fleet, usually commenting on the efficiency of the elevators that hurl us from deck to deck (as in many large corporate buildings, the elevators ask you to choose a floor and then direct you to one of many lifts). The couple to my right, from Palo Alto—he refers to his “porn mustache” and calls his wife “my cougar” because she is two years older—tell me they are “Pandemic Pinnacles.”

This is the day that my eyes will be opened. Pinnacles , it is explained to me over translucent cantaloupe, have sailed with Royal Caribbean for 700 ungodly nights. Pandemic Pinnacles took advantage of the two-for-one accrual rate of Pinnacle points during the pandemic, when sailing on a cruise ship was even more ill-advised, to catapult themselves into Pinnacle status.

Because of the importance of the inaugural voyage of the world’s largest cruise liner, more than 200 Pinnacles are on this ship, a startling number, it seems. Mrs. Palo Alto takes out a golden badge that I have seen affixed over many a breast, which reads CROWN AND ANCHOR SOCIETY along with her name. This is the coveted badge of the Pinnacle. “You should hear all the whining in Guest Services,” her husband tells me. Apparently, the Pinnacles who are not also Suites like us are all trying to use their status to get into Coastal Kitchen, our elite restaurant. Even a Pinnacle needs to be a Suite to access this level of corned-beef hash.

“We’re just baby Pinnacles,” Mrs. Palo Alto tells me, describing a kind of internal class struggle among the Pinnacle elite for ever higher status.

And now I understand what the maître d’ was saying to me on the first day of my cruise. He wasn’t saying “ pendejo .” He was saying “Pinnacle.” The dining room was for Pinnacles only, all those older people rolling in like the tide on their motorized scooters.

And now I understand something else: This whole thing is a cult. And like most cults, it can’t help but mirror the endless American fight for status. Like Keith Raniere’s NXIVM, where different-colored sashes were given out to connote rank among Raniere’s branded acolytes, this is an endless competition among Pinnacles, Suites, Diamond-Plusers, and facing-the-mall, no-balcony purple SeaPass Card peasants, not to mention the many distinctions within each category. The more you cruise, the higher your status. No wonder a section of the Royal Promenade is devoted to getting passengers to book their next cruise during the one they should be enjoying now. No wonder desperate Royal Caribbean offers (“FINAL HOURS”) crowded my email account weeks before I set sail. No wonder the ship’s jewelry store, the Royal Bling, is selling a $100,000 golden chalice that will entitle its owner to drink free on Royal Caribbean cruises for life. (One passenger was already gaming out whether her 28-year-old son was young enough to “just about earn out” on the chalice or if that ship had sailed.) No wonder this ship was sold out months before departure , and we had to pay $19,000 for a horrid suite away from the Suite Neighborhood. No wonder the most mythical hero of Royal Caribbean lore is someone named Super Mario, who has cruised so often, he now has his own working desk on many ships. This whole experience is part cult, part nautical pyramid scheme.

From the June 2014 issue: Ship of wonks

“The toilets are amazing,” the Palo Altos are telling me. “One flush and you’re done.” “They don’t understand how energy-efficient these ships are,” the husband of the other couple is telling me. “They got the LNG”—liquefied natural gas, which is supposed to make the Icon a boon to the environment (a concept widely disputed and sometimes ridiculed by environmentalists).

But I’m thinking along a different line of attack as I spear my last pallid slice of melon. For my streaming limited series, a Pinnacle would have to get killed by either an outright peasant or a Suite without an ocean view. I tell my breakfast companions my idea.

“Oh, for sure a Pinnacle would have to be killed,” Mr. Palo Alto, the Pandemic Pinnacle, says, touching his porn mustache thoughtfully as his wife nods.

“THAT’S RIGHT, IT’S your time, buddy!” Hubert, my fun-loving Panamanian cabin attendant, shouts as I step out of my suite in a robe. “Take it easy, buddy!”

I have come up with a new dressing strategy. Instead of trying to impress with my choice of T-shirts, I have decided to start wearing a robe, as one does at a resort property on land, with a proper spa and hammam. The response among my fellow cruisers has been ecstatic. “Look at you in the robe!” Mr. Rand cries out as we pass each other by the Thrill Island aqua park. “You’re living the cruise life! You know, you really drank me under the table that night.” I laugh as we part ways, but my soul cries out, Please spend more time with me, Mr. and Mrs. Rand; I so need the company .

In my white robe, I am a stately presence, a refugee from a better limited series, a one-man crossover episode. (Only Suites are granted these robes to begin with.) Today, I will try many of the activities these ships have on offer to provide their clientele with a sense of never-ceasing motion. Because I am already at Thrill Island, I decide to climb the staircase to what looks like a mast on an old-fashioned ship (terrified, because I am afraid of heights) to try a ride called “Storm Chasers,” which is part of the “Category 6” water park, named in honor of one of the storms that may someday do away with the Port of Miami entirely. Storm Chasers consists of falling from the “mast” down a long, twisting neon tube filled with water, like being the camera inside your own colonoscopy, as you hold on to the handles of a mat, hoping not to die. The tube then flops you down headfirst into a trough of water, a Royal Caribbean baptism. It both knocks my breath out and makes me sad.

In keeping with the aquatic theme, I attend a show at the AquaDome. To the sound of “Live and Let Die,” a man in a harness gyrates to and fro in the sultry air. I saw something very similar in the back rooms of the famed Berghain club in early-aughts Berlin. Soon another harnessed man is gyrating next to the first. Ja , I think to myself, I know how this ends. Now will come the fisting , natürlich . But the show soon devolves into the usual Marvel-film-grade nonsense, with too much light and sound signifying nichts . If any fisting is happening, it is probably in the Suite Neighborhood, inside a cabin marked with an upside-down pineapple, which I understand means a couple are ready to swing, and I will see none of it.

I go to the ice show, which is a kind of homage—if that’s possible—to the periodic table, done with the style and pomp and masterful precision that would please the likes of Kim Jong Un, if only he could afford Royal Caribbean talent. At one point, the dancers skate to the theme song of Succession . “See that!” I want to say to my fellow Suites—at “cultural” events, we have a special section reserved for us away from the commoners—“ Succession ! It’s even better than the zombie show! Open your minds!”

Finally, I visit a comedy revue in an enormous and too brightly lit version of an “intimate,” per Royal Caribbean literature, “Manhattan comedy club.” Many of the jokes are about the cruising life. “I’ve lived on ships for 20 years,” one of the middle-aged comedians says. “I can only see so many Filipino homosexuals dressed as a taco.” He pauses while the audience laughs. “I am so fired tonight,” he says. He segues into a Trump impression and then Biden falling asleep at the microphone, which gets the most laughs. “Anyone here from Fort Leonard Wood?” another comedian asks. Half the crowd seems to cheer. As I fall asleep that night, I realize another connection I have failed to make, and one that may explain some of the diversity on this vessel—many of its passengers have served in the military.

As a coddled passenger with a suite, I feel like I am starting to understand what it means to have a rank and be constantly reminded of it. There are many espresso makers , I think as I look across the expanse of my officer-grade quarters before closing my eyes, but this one is mine .

A shocking sight greets me beyond the pools of Deck 17 as I saunter over to the Coastal Kitchen for my morning intake of slightly sour Americanos. A tiny city beneath a series of perfectly pressed green mountains. Land! We have docked for a brief respite in Basseterre, the capital of St. Kitts and Nevis. I wolf down my egg scramble to be one of the first passengers off the ship. Once past the gangway, I barely refrain from kissing the ground. I rush into the sights and sounds of this scruffy island city, sampling incredible conch curry and buckets of non-Starbucks coffee. How wonderful it is to be where God intended humans to be: on land. After all, I am neither a fish nor a mall rat. This is my natural environment. Basseterre may not be Havana, but there are signs of human ingenuity and desire everywhere you look. The Black Table Grill Has been Relocated to Soho Village, Market Street, Directly Behind of, Gary’s Fruits and Flower Shop. Signed. THE PORK MAN reads a sign stuck to a wall. Now, that is how you write a sign. A real sign, not the come-ons for overpriced Rolexes that blink across the screens of the Royal Promenade.

“Hey, tie your shoestring!” a pair of laughing ladies shout to me across the street.

“Thank you!” I shout back. Shoestring! “Thank you very much.”

A man in Independence Square Park comes by and asks if I want to play with his monkey. I haven’t heard that pickup line since the Penn Station of the 1980s. But then he pulls a real monkey out of a bag. The monkey is wearing a diaper and looks insane. Wonderful , I think, just wonderful! There is so much life here. I email my editor asking if I can remain on St. Kitts and allow the Icon to sail off into the horizon without me. I have even priced a flight home at less than $300, and I have enough material from the first four days on the cruise to write the entire story. “It would be funny …” my editor replies. “Now get on the boat.”

As I slink back to the ship after my brief jailbreak, the locals stand under umbrellas to gaze at and photograph the boat that towers over their small capital city. The limousines of the prime minister and his lackeys are parked beside the gangway. St. Kitts, I’ve been told, is one of the few islands that would allow a ship of this size to dock.

“We hear about all the waterslides,” a sweet young server in one of the cafés told me. “We wish we could go on the ship, but we have to work.”

“I want to stay on your island,” I replied. “I love it here.”

But she didn’t understand how I could possibly mean that.

“WASHY, WASHY, so you don’t get stinky, stinky!” kids are singing outside the AquaDome, while their adult minders look on in disapproval, perhaps worried that Mr. Washy Washy is grooming them into a life of gayness. I heard a southern couple skip the buffet entirely out of fear of Mr. Washy Washy.

Meanwhile, I have found a new watering hole for myself, the Swim & Tonic, the biggest swim-up bar on any cruise ship in the world. Drinking next to full-size, nearly naked Americans takes away one’s own self-consciousness. The men have curvaceous mom bodies. The women are equally un-shy about their sprawling physiques.

Today I’ve befriended a bald man with many children who tells me that all of the little trinkets that Royal Caribbean has left us in our staterooms and suites are worth a fortune on eBay. “Eighty dollars for the water bottle, 60 for the lanyard,” the man says. “This is a cult.”

“Tell me about it,” I say. There is, however, a clientele for whom this cruise makes perfect sense. For a large middle-class family (he works in “supply chains”), seven days in a lower-tier cabin—which starts at $1,800 a person—allow the parents to drop off their children in Surfside, where I imagine many young Filipina crew members will take care of them, while the parents are free to get drunk at a swim-up bar and maybe even get intimate in their cabin. Cruise ships have become, for a certain kind of hardworking family, a form of subsidized child care.

There is another man I would like to befriend at the Swim & Tonic, a tall, bald fellow who is perpetually inebriated and who wears a necklace studded with little rubber duckies in sunglasses, which, I am told, is a sort of secret handshake for cruise aficionados. Tomorrow, I will spend more time with him, but first the ship docks at St. Thomas, in the U.S. Virgin Islands. Charlotte Amalie, the capital, is more charming in name than in presence, but I still all but jump off the ship to score a juicy oxtail and plantains at the well-known Petite Pump Room, overlooking the harbor. From one of the highest points in the small city, the Icon of the Seas appears bigger than the surrounding hills.

I usually tan very evenly, but something about the discombobulation of life at sea makes me forget the regular application of sunscreen. As I walk down the streets of Charlotte Amalie in my fluorescent Icon of the Seas cap, an old Rastafarian stares me down. “Redneck,” he hisses.

“No,” I want to tell him, as I bring a hand up to my red neck, “that’s not who I am at all. On my island, Mannahatta, as Whitman would have it, I am an interesting person living within an engaging artistic milieu. I do not wish to use the Caribbean as a dumping ground for the cruise-ship industry. I love the work of Derek Walcott. You don’t understand. I am not a redneck. And if I am, they did this to me.” They meaning Royal Caribbean? Its passengers? The Rands?

“They did this to me!”

Back on the Icon, some older matrons are muttering about a run-in with passengers from the Celebrity cruise ship docked next to us, the Celebrity Apex. Although Celebrity Cruises is also owned by Royal Caribbean, I am made to understand that there is a deep fratricidal beef between passengers of the two lines. “We met a woman from the Apex,” one matron says, “and she says it was a small ship and there was nothing to do. Her face was as tight as a 19-year-old’s, she had so much surgery.” With those words, and beneath a cloudy sky, humidity shrouding our weathered faces and red necks, we set sail once again, hopefully in the direction of home.

THERE ARE BARELY 48 HOURS LEFT to the cruise, and the Icon of the Seas’ passengers are salty. They know how to work the elevators. They know the Washy Washy song by heart. They understand that the chicken gyro at “Feta Mediterranean,” in the AquaDome Market, is the least problematic form of chicken on the ship.

The passengers have shed their INAUGURAL CRUISE T-shirts and are now starting to evince political opinions. There are caps pledging to make America great again and T-shirts that celebrate words sometimes attributed to Patrick Henry: “The Constitution is not an instrument for the government to restrain the people; it is an instrument for the people to restrain the government.” With their preponderance of FAMILY FLAG FAITH FRIENDS FIREARMS T-shirts, the tables by the crepe station sometimes resemble the Capitol Rotunda on January 6. The Real Anthony Fauci , by Robert F. Kennedy Jr., appears to be a popular form of literature, especially among young men with very complicated versions of the American flag on their T-shirts. Other opinions blend the personal and the political. “Someone needs to kill Washy guy, right?” a well-dressed man in the elevator tells me, his gray eyes radiating nothing. “Just beat him to death. Am I right?” I overhear the male member of a young couple whisper, “There goes that freak” as I saunter by in my white spa robe, and I decide to retire it for the rest of the cruise.

I visit the Royal Bling to see up close the $100,000 golden chalice that entitles you to free drinks on Royal Caribbean forever. The pleasant Serbian saleslady explains that the chalice is actually gold-plated and covered in white zirconia instead of diamonds, as it would otherwise cost $1 million. “If you already have everything,” she explains, “this is one more thing you can get.”

I believe that anyone who works for Royal Caribbean should be entitled to immediate American citizenship. They already speak English better than most of the passengers and, per the Serbian lady’s sales pitch above, better understand what America is as well. Crew members like my Panamanian cabin attendant seem to work 24 hours a day. A waiter from New Delhi tells me that his contract is six months and three weeks long. After a cruise ends, he says, “in a few hours, we start again for the next cruise.” At the end of the half a year at sea, he is allowed a two-to-three-month stay at home with his family. As of 2019, the median income for crew members was somewhere in the vicinity of $20,000, according to a major business publication. Royal Caribbean would not share the current median salary for its crew members, but I am certain that it amounts to a fraction of the cost of a Royal Bling gold-plated, zirconia-studded chalice.

And because most of the Icon’s hyper-sanitized spaces are just a frittata away from being a Delta lounge, one forgets that there are actual sailors on this ship, charged with the herculean task of docking it in port. “Having driven 100,000-ton aircraft carriers throughout my career,” retired Admiral James G. Stavridis, the former NATO Supreme Allied Commander Europe, writes to me, “I’m not sure I would even know where to begin with trying to control a sea monster like this one nearly three times the size.” (I first met Stavridis while touring Army bases in Germany more than a decade ago.)

Today, I decide to head to the hot tub near Swim & Tonic, where some of the ship’s drunkest reprobates seem to gather (the other tubs are filled with families and couples). The talk here, like everywhere else on the ship, concerns football, a sport about which I know nothing. It is apparent that four teams have recently competed in some kind of finals for the year, and that two of them will now face off in the championship. Often when people on the Icon speak, I will try to repeat the last thing they said with a laugh or a nod of disbelief. “Yes, 20-yard line! Ha!” “Oh my God, of course, scrimmage.”

Soon we are joined in the hot tub by the late-middle-age drunk guy with the duck necklace. He is wearing a bucket hat with the legend HAWKEYES , which, I soon gather, is yet another football team. “All right, who turned me in?” Duck Necklace says as he plops into the tub beside us. “I get a call in the morning,” he says. “It’s security. Can you come down to the dining room by 10 a.m.? You need to stay away from the members of this religious family.” Apparently, the gregarious Duck Necklace had photobombed the wrong people. There are several families who present as evangelical Christians or practicing Muslims on the ship. One man, evidently, was not happy that Duck Necklace had made contact with his relatives. “It’s because of religious stuff; he was offended. I put my arm around 20 people a day.”

Everyone laughs. “They asked me three times if I needed medication,” he says of the security people who apparently interrogated him in full view of others having breakfast.

Another hot-tub denizen suggests that he should have asked for fentanyl. After a few more drinks, Duck Necklace begins to muse about what it would be like to fall off the ship. “I’m 62 and I’m ready to go,” he says. “I just don’t want a shark to eat me. I’m a huge God guy. I’m a Bible guy. There’s some Mayan theory squaring science stuff with religion. There is so much more to life on Earth.” We all nod into our Red Stripes.

“I never get off the ship when we dock,” he says. He tells us he lost $6,000 in the casino the other day. Later, I look him up, and it appears that on land, he’s a financial adviser in a crisp gray suit, probably a pillar of his North Chicago community.

THE OCEAN IS TEEMING with fascinating life, but on the surface it has little to teach us. The waves come and go. The horizon remains ever far away.

I am constantly told by my fellow passengers that “everybody here has a story.” Yes, I want to reply, but everybody everywhere has a story. You, the reader of this essay, have a story, and yet you’re not inclined to jump on a cruise ship and, like Duck Necklace, tell your story to others at great pitch and volume. Maybe what they’re saying is that everybody on this ship wants to have a bigger, more coherent, more interesting story than the one they’ve been given. Maybe that’s why there’s so much signage on the doors around me attesting to marriages spent on the sea. Maybe that’s why the Royal Caribbean newsletter slipped under my door tells me that “this isn’t a vacation day spent—it’s bragging rights earned.” Maybe that’s why I’m so lonely.

Today is a big day for Icon passengers. Today the ship docks at Royal Caribbean’s own Bahamian island, the Perfect Day at CocoCay. (This appears to be the actual name of the island.) A comedian at the nightclub opined on what his perfect day at CocoCay would look like—receiving oral sex while learning that his ex-wife had been killed in a car crash (big laughter). But the reality of the island is far less humorous than that.

One of the ethnic tristate ladies in the infinity pool told me that she loved CocoCay because it had exactly the same things that could be found on the ship itself. This proves to be correct. It is like the Icon, but with sand. The same tired burgers, the same colorful tubes conveying children and water from Point A to B. The same swim-up bar at its Hideaway ($140 for admittance, no children allowed; Royal Caribbean must be printing money off its clientele). “There was almost a fight at The Wizard of Oz ,” I overhear an elderly woman tell her companion on a chaise lounge. Apparently one of the passengers began recording Royal Caribbean’s intellectual property and “three guys came after him.”

I walk down a pathway to the center of the island, where a sign reads DO NOT ENTER: YOU HAVE REACHED THE BOUNDARY OF ADVENTURE . I hear an animal scampering in the bushes. A Royal Caribbean worker in an enormous golf cart soon chases me down and takes me back to the Hideaway, where I run into Mrs. Rand in a bikini. She becomes livid telling me about an altercation she had the other day with a woman over a towel and a deck chair. We Suites have special towel privileges; we do not have to hand over our SeaPass Card to score a towel. But the Rands are not Suites. “People are so entitled here,” Mrs. Rand says. “It’s like the airport with all its classes.” “You see,” I want to say, “this is where your husband’s love of Ayn Rand runs into the cruelties and arbitrary indignities of unbridled capitalism.” Instead we make plans to meet for a final drink in the Schooner Bar tonight (the Rands will stand me up).

Back on the ship, I try to do laps, but the pool (the largest on any cruise ship, naturally) is fully trashed with the detritus of American life: candy wrappers, a slowly dissolving tortilla chip, napkins. I take an extra-long shower in my suite, then walk around the perimeter of the ship on a kind of exercise track, past all the alluring lifeboats in their yellow-and-white livery. Maybe there is a dystopian angle to the HBO series that I will surely end up pitching, one with shades of WALL-E or Snowpiercer . In a collapsed world, a Royal Caribbean–like cruise liner sails from port to port, collecting new shipmates and supplies in exchange for the precious energy it has on board. (The actual Icon features a new technology that converts passengers’ poop into enough energy to power the waterslides . In the series, this shitty technology would be greatly expanded.) A very young woman (18? 19?), smart and lonely, who has only known life on the ship, walks along the same track as I do now, contemplating jumping off into the surf left by its wake. I picture reusing Duck Necklace’s words in the opening shot of the pilot. The girl is walking around the track, her eyes on the horizon; maybe she’s highborn—a Suite—and we hear the voice-over: “I’m 19 and I’m ready to go. I just don’t want a shark to eat me.”

Before the cruise is finished, I talk to Mr. Washy Washy, or Nielbert of the Philippines. He is a sweet, gentle man, and I thank him for the earworm of a song he has given me and for keeping us safe from the dreaded norovirus. “This is very important to me, getting people to wash their hands,” he tells me in his burger getup. He has dreams, as an artist and a performer, but they are limited in scope. One day he wants to dress up as a piece of bacon for the morning shift.

THE MAIDEN VOYAGE OF THE TITANIC (the Icon of the Seas is five times as large as that doomed vessel) at least offered its passengers an exciting ending to their cruise, but when I wake up on the eighth day, all I see are the gray ghosts that populate Miami’s condo skyline. Throughout my voyage, my writer friends wrote in to commiserate with me. Sloane Crosley, who once covered a three-day spa mini-cruise for Vogue , tells me she felt “so very alone … I found it very untethering.” Gideon Lewis-Kraus writes in an Instagram comment: “When Gary is done I think it’s time this genre was taken out back and shot.” And he is right. To badly paraphrase Adorno: After this, no more cruise stories. It is unfair to put a thinking person on a cruise ship. Writers typically have difficult childhoods, and it is cruel to remind them of the inherent loneliness that drove them to writing in the first place. It is also unseemly to write about the kind of people who go on cruises. Our country does not provide the education and upbringing that allow its citizens an interior life. For the creative class to point fingers at the large, breasty gentlemen adrift in tortilla-chip-laden pools of water is to gather a sour harvest of low-hanging fruit.

A day or two before I got off the ship, I decided to make use of my balcony, which I had avoided because I thought the view would only depress me further. What I found shocked me. My suite did not look out on Central Park after all. This entire time, I had been living in the ship’s Disneyland, Surfside, the neighborhood full of screaming toddlers consuming milkshakes and candy. And as I leaned out over my balcony, I beheld a slight vista of the sea and surf that I thought I had been missing. It had been there all along. The sea was frothy and infinite and blue-green beneath the span of a seagull’s wing. And though it had been trod hard by the world’s largest cruise ship, it remained.

This article appears in the May 2024 print edition with the headline “A Meatball at Sea.” When you buy a book using a link on this page, we receive a commission. Thank you for supporting The Atlantic.

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Amy Ettinger, who inspired readers with her life-affirming essays on dying, succumbs to cancer at 49

( JTA ) — Amy Ettinger,  an author and creative writing instructor who chronicled the last months of her life in articles for the Washington Post , died March 20 from cancer at her home in Santa Cruz, California. She was 49.

Ettinger’s essays focused on the things she was able to do and cherish despite her diagnosis with a rare, incurable cancer called leiomyosarcoma : seeing a live performance of “Mamma Mia!” with her 14-year-old daughter, Julianna; eating her favorite pastry from a San Francisco bakery.

“ I’ve learned that life is all about a series of moments, and I plan to spend as much remaining time as I can savoring each one, surrounded by the beauty of nature and my family and friends,”she wrote.

Ettinger was an occasional contributor to Kveller, the Jewish family website that is a Jewish Telegraphic Agency partner. There she wrote about her mother’s kugel recipe (“light brown on its crispy top, and the color of milky coffee in the middle”) , and how she, as a “non-observant Jew,” marked Yom Kippur — which in 2013 happened to fall on her 10th wedding anniversary .

“Like Yom Kippur, a wedding anniversary is a time to take a step back from your daily life — to weigh the good and bad, to contemplate your triumphs and missteps, to make a vow to do better individually and as a couple,” she wrote.

Ettinger was born in Rochester, New York, and grew up in Cupertino, California. She discovered her calling as a journalist in high school. She majored in American literature at UC Santa Cruz and earned a master’s degree in journalism from Northwestern University in 1999.

Her writing appeared in the New York Times, the Washington Post, New York Magazine, Salon, CNN and Newsweek. In a 2021 article for AARP, she wrote how her mother’s death inspired her to learn Sheila Ettinger’s favorite game: mahjong. She taught writing classes at Stanford Continuing Studies.

In 2017,  Penguin Random House published her memoir-cum-travelogue “Sweet Spot: An Ice Cream Binge Across America.” In it she wrote how she keeps “between fifteen and thirty dollars’ worth of ice cream in my freezer at all times” — not to eat, but as an “emergency backup system” in case one of her favorite shops or stores runs out.

Her follow-up story to her Washington Post article, titled  “I Have Little Time Left. I Hope My Goodbye Inspires You,” appeared on the newspaper’s homepage less than two weeks before she died.

“I am choosing to focus my limited time and energy on doing the things I love with the people I care most about. It’s a formula that works, I think, no matter where you are in your life,” she wrote.

In an article written after she died , her husband, the writer Dan White, wrote that she had dictated her last essay to him from a reading room at UC Santa Cruz with a view of a redwood forest. He said she had gotten hundreds of personal responses: A handful “unwelcome, including missives from ultrareligious people wanting my proudly Jewish wife to get saved to spare herself from hellfire,” but the vast majority saying Ettinger had inspired them to make the most of their lives no matter the cards they’d been dealt.

“Amy had no way of predicting that the lines she composed on the spot would be calls to action for readers from all over the United States, as well as Canada, Poland, France and Greece,” White wrote.

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An expert who has seen 30 solar eclipses made my first experience with one breathtaking

• My first solar eclipse experience was breathtaking thanks to advice from a seasoned eclipse-chaser.
• Fred Espanak has been to 30 total solar eclipses, and he told me how to make the most of my first one.
• Getting into the path of totality was worth the effort for me and others.

On Monday, I witnessed my first-ever total solar eclipse . And it was breathtaking.

I traveled to Burlington, Vermont to watch the moon's shadow blot out the sun over Lake Champlain. The weather was warm and clear, traffic was light on my journey into Burlington, and the whole city came together — plus thousands of visitors — to watch the eclipse unfold.

But what really helped make my first eclipse experience great was the advice I received from Fred Espanak , a former NASA astrophysicist and avid eclipse chaser.

Espanak has been to 30 total solar eclipses and has seen one on all seven continents — including Antarctica. He's seen so many that he earned the nickname "Mr. Eclipse," and it goes without saying that he has his eclipse-watching strategy down to a science.

In the weeks leading up to April 8, I reached out to him for advice on how to make the most of my first total solar eclipse experience. Here are the tips he gave me that turned out to be the most helpful.

Get to the path of totality

Millions of Americans traveled to the path of totality for Monday's eclipse, and Espanak would say they had the right idea.

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"While a partial eclipse might be interesting, a total eclipse is incredible," he said.

When I spoke with Espanak in February, I called from my apartment in Brooklyn, New York. New York City wasn't going to be in the path of totality, but would see the moon cover about 90% of the sun during the eclipse. Espanak encouraged me to leave the city and travel to the path of totality for the event.

So, I decided to take the train to Burlington, Vermont, to watch the event. And it was totally worth the seven-hour trip. In Burlington, I was able to see three minutes and 15 seconds of totality, which was unlike anything I had ever seen before.

Keep an eye on the weather

The weather can make or break your total solar eclipse experience. Cloudy skies or precipitation in the forecast can make it difficult to see and photograph the event — some eclipse chasers in New York learned this the hard way.

That's why it's important to keep your eye on the weather forecast during the week leading up to the eclipse, Espenak said, and be prepared to change your viewing location to find clearer skies if necessary.

"You have to be willing to change your plans a day or two before the eclipse based on the weather forecasts," Espenak said.

Vermont's weather in April can be unpredictable — ranging from snow, rain, and high winds to sun and blue skies. I checked the weather every day in the week leading up to the eclipse. Luckily for me, Burlington was sunny and warm for eclipse day, so I didn't have to make any last-minute changes to my viewing plan.

Espanak's tips made my first total eclipse experience unforgettable. And now, I'll be prepared for the next one in the US in 2044.

Watch: A small Australian town was treated to a rare hybrid solar eclipse

• Main content

Watch CBS News

How often total solar eclipses happen — and why Monday's was so rare

By Kerry Breen

Updated on: April 9, 2024 / 5:05 AM EDT / CBS News

On April 8, a rare total solar eclipse  drew a "path of totality" over North America , throwing swaths of the United States, Canada and Mexico into darkness in the middle of the day. 

A solar eclipse occurs when the moon passes between the Earth and the sun, blocking our view of the sun as it passes. It's called a total solar eclipse when the moon completely blocks the light of the sun. These events are rare, and can only be viewed in specific areas for short periods of time. 

The path of totality for the 2024 total solar eclipse stretched from Texas to the East Coast. Cities including Dallas, Texas; Buffalo, New York; and Burlington, Vermont, were among the areas with the best views.

How often do total solar eclipses happen?

Total solar eclipses are rare, and ones that are visible from the United States are even rarer.

The events occur every one to three years somewhere around the globe, but are often only visible from Earth's poles or from the middle of the ocean. 

A number of factors go into enjoying a total solar eclipse. Viewers need clear skies to ensure the phenomenon isn't blocked by clouds, and only those within the path of totality will see the full effect of the sun being blotted out. Those outside the path of totality can still observe a partial eclipse, when the moon covers some, but not all, of the sun, NASA said .  

When was the last total solar eclipse? 

The last total solar eclipse was in 2021 and was only visible from Antarctica. The period of totality lasted just one minute and 54 seconds, according to NOAA .

The last total solar eclipse visible from North America was in 2017 . Parts of the United States from Oregon to South Carolina were able to witness the rare phenomenon. Before that , the last total solar eclipse visible in the U.S. was in 1979, when just five states were in the path of totality. 

When will the next total solar eclipse be?  

The next total solar eclipse will be on Aug. 12, 2026, according to NOAA . This eclipse will be viewable from the Arctic, eastern Greenland, northern Spain and Iceland. 

Those looking to see a total solar eclipse in the United States will have to wait significantly longer. A total solar eclipse won't occur in the contiguous U.S. until August 2044.

Kerry Breen is a reporter and news editor at CBSNews.com. A graduate of New York University's Arthur L. Carter School of Journalism, she previously worked at NBC News' TODAY Digital. She covers current events, breaking news and issues including substance use.

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