Issue 37

It’s a Monday afternoon, and after getting home from school, you sit down at your desk. You have a lot of school to do if you don’t want to be up till midnight doing trigonometry. But even thinking about school is daunting after such a long day. You just need a break before you get to work. So you turn on your phone, and before you know it, start scrolling through reels.

Just a couple minutes and then you’ll get back to work. Before you know it, your mother is calling you down for dinner and you got nothing done this past hour. You look at yourself in the mirror and ask yourself: “What just happened? Where did I go wrong?”

It’s a situation that we all end up facing sooner or later. You have now contributed to the two hundred billion reels that are watched on Instagram and Facebook alone, every single day (Demandsage). This is one of the many reasons so many people struggle with paying attention and getting things done. It’s a scary reality that our attention spans now less than a third of what they were just twenty years ago (Microsoft). So with all of these distractions, what can we do? We can stare at a wall. Because yes, staring at a wall really can help your attention span.

Let’s back up. What is an attention span in the first place? An attention span is the amount of time you usually spend focused on a single thing before moving on. Microsoft once did a study on the average time spent on a website before moving on. In 2000, the average time was two and a half minutes. Now, it has dropped down to just forty-five seconds. So how then do we lengthen our attention spans? While there are many legitimate ways we can try to do so, one of the best is to stare at a wall for just five minutes a day. Yes, really. Staring at a wall clears your brain from the dopamine and stimulation that fills every part of our lives. As Ashley from Medium.com says “If you stare at the wall long enough without any input or variety from the rest of your sensory system, your brain will overcompensate and pay hyper attention to things going on within your mind and within your peripheral vision bubble,” This shows that staring at a wall can help you to understand and control what is going on inside your own head. Similarly, the psychologist Dr. K Healthy Ganer says “just stare at a wall for an hour… once you can train your mind to tolerate boredom, you no longer fall into the pull of these things, because then you don’t need to play video games because boredom is okay.” While staring at a wall is a bit over the top, it does show the benefit of putting yourself through something like this. Through this time of peace, away from the technology that has cluttered every part of our lives, we can get a new view of what it is that we are doing.

Staring at a wall once a day has been very helpful in my own life. When I’m exhausted and tired and know I still have work ahead of me, I can remind myself to take a break. A break that doesn’t involve social media, reels, or technology. But why can’t it involve technology? The problem is that everything on the internet wants your attention because that’s how they make their money. However, the one thing that isn’t asking for your attention is a wall. By staring at a wall we learn how to act and concentrate without any help from an outside source, specifically, technology. By removing ourselves from technology, we get used to being inside of our own minds.

Sometimes life gets busy and staring at the wall for five minutes can feel like a waste.

However it is in these busy times that this becomes most important. You truly don’t have time to waste. Because of that, clearing your mind of the dopamine and stimulation is more important than ever, because in five minutes, you can make the next five hours much more effective. If those five minutes make you five percent more productive, then in five hours, you’ll have gotten fifteen minutes more done. Instead of losing time by staring at a wall, you are actually gaining it.

So the next time you come home from school, tired and worn out, I want you to try something. Sit down, and make it a goal that no matter what happens, no matter how tired you feel, you will not stimulate yourself through your phone until dinner. To kick this experiment off, stare at a wall for just five minutes. While you could scroll through your phone for an hour and still feel tired and unready to work, in five minutes, while you may still feel tired, you will also feel ready. While you could waste your time, you will now be gaining it. The clarity and determination will have the power to override any weakening feeling that may go through your mind. Because with each action that you take, you are building your future. You can either build a hard working, determined person, or a lazy person who doesn’t know how to live without stimulation. The choice is yours, now it is your time to act. Even when pain is strong, our will can be stronger. In the words of Arnold Schwarzenegger, “Where the mind goes the body will follow.”

 

Works Cited

Ashley. “Things I Learned From Staring at a Wall.” Medium.com, December 2019. https://medium.com/@ashleyhayward/things-i-learned-from-staring-at-a-wall-c16 5aacd065d. Accessed 8 January 2025.

Mark, Gloria. “Regain Control of Your Focus and Attention with Researcher Gloria Mark.” Microsoft, April 2023.

https://www.microsoft.com/en-us/worklab/podcast/regain-control-of-your-focus-and-atte ntion-with-researcher-gloria-mark. Accessed 8 January 2025.

Williamson, Chris. “Could You Stare At a Wall For an Hour?” youtube, June 2023. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=noKzTAm6Jz8. Accessed 8 January 2025.

Kumar, Naveen. “How Many Instagram Reels are There? (2025 Statistics). Demandsage, January 2025. https://www.demandsage.com/instagram-reel-statistics/. Accessed 8 January 2025.

 

James DeGraaf is fourteen years old and loves reading and spending time outdoors with his Trail Life group as he learns and grows with his friends. When he has free time, he enjoys spending time with his seven older siblings, finding new ways to improve his life, and playing sports with his friends.

Maneuvering the tiny awl through the rock was a test of real patience, the layers of earth that had to gently be removed were hard and crunchy after being baked in the sun for millions of years. As the youngest team member at the Judith River Dinosaur Institute’s Snowy Mountain Dig, I learned more than I have in years of reading about dinosaurs. The act of digging is not for the weak. It requires industrial strength knee pads, brushes, knives, dental picks and awls. To sustain the long hours of crouching over the dirt, one must get creative, shifting the weight of the body to find that perfect low fatigue position. At times, I even experimented with the “lying on the belly move” arms extended in front of me, as if ground-flying toward my reward.

While there are no guarantees of discovering anything on a dig, I found it easy to keep my hope and curiosity alive. Dig sites are charged with possibility. We all felt it. And after four days of digging in the 110 degree weather, I heard that hollow sound and knew I hit something. Patiently, I brushed away the dirt and saw that beautiful brown/purple bone. While some team members had already found bones or bone fragments on the first few days, I had not. This was my moment, and my first fossil was not just any fossil. It was a Stegosaurus back plate. I looked down at the bone with pride and wonder, knowing I had uncovered an animal that hadn’t seen daylight in 150 million years.

My fascination with dinosaurs started when I was a little boy. Mornings watching Barney the dinosaur made me curious about other facets of ancient life. As I grew older, I moved beyond children’s shows, and my favorite documentary was Walking with Monsters, where I became enthralled with evolution. I was drawn to how organisms change, how they behave, and how they operate within their ecosystem. It is amazing to think about how different organisms today evolved from ones from the past.

My interest led me to search online for a dig in which I could participate, and when I found it, I jumped at the chance to experience the life of a paleontologist. This dig taught me that TV does not reflect what really happens on these digs and the different types of paleontologists. Some professionals specialize in geology, others lean more into the evolutionary biology aspect, but all of them play pivotal roles in the excavation of animals and the growth of scientific knowledge. I learned there are three types of paleontologists, the “hands-on” individuals who go out into the field, the lab paleontologists who then reconstruct and study the bones that come from the excavation, and the PhD paleontologists who take the evidence found in the fossils to create theories and publish their ideas. The most interesting thing that I learned on this dig was that as a paleontologist, you don’t have to have a formal education to make a discovery! The man leading the dig, Nate Murphy, is a well-known paleontologist who didn’t go to college! Instead, he honed his skills in the field and supported it by reading widely on the topic.

While my friends spent their summers on the beach, I am so grateful for the experience to dig in the dirt in Montana on a quest for discovery. Paleontology is difficult, tedious work but each person has the opportunity to make a discovery and contribute to the team effort.

 

 

Henry “Banks” Bourtin has had a life long fascination with paleontology. He had the opportunity this summer to go on his first dinosaur dig, where he unearthed a stegosaurus backplate. He is a 10th grader from Texas, and will earn Eagle Scout rank in May, 2025.

Let me be honest with you—I had absolutely no clue what I was getting myself into when I decided to climb Kilimanjaro. None. Zero. Zilch. But isn’t that how most great stories start? With an idea that seems just a little bit (or a lot) ridiculous at first?

I’ve always been the kind of person who craves a challenge. Growing up in Switzerland, surrounded by the Alps, I was that kid who begged to take the harder hiking routes, who secretly loved the burn in her legs after a steep ascent, and who never minded getting a little dirt under her nails. So when my school announced they were offering a highly selective half-term break trip to climb Mount Kilimanjaro, I didn’t just want in—I needed in. No hesitation, no second-guessing, just pure, reckless enthusiasm.

Of course, my excitement didn’t mean anything unless I earned my spot. Only twelve students would be chosen. The school wasn’t about to let anyone waltz up Africa’s highest mountain unprepared, and to prove we were serious, we had to train—hard. For three months, every Tuesday and Thursday, our group of twelve hiked through rain, snow, and whatever miserable weather Switzerland threw at us. We trekked at high altitudes, climbed with heavy backpacks, and pushed through exhaustion because if we couldn’t handle this, we sure as hell weren’t going to make it on Kilimanjaro. There were days when I felt invincible and days when I wanted to collapse in a heap and never put on hiking boots again. But quitting? That wasn’t an option.

I had no idea just how much all that training was going to matter. Because let me tell you—nothing could have fully prepared me for the reality of climbing this mountain.

~The Climb Begins~

Fast forward to our first day on the trail. I was practically bouncing with excitement, my backpack strapped tight, my boots laced up, feeling ready for anything. This wasn’t just any trip—this was Kilimanjaro, the tallest mountain in Africa, and I was about to climb it.

We had flown first to Amsterdam and then on to Tanzania on a six-hour flight, buzzing with anticipation the entire way. Our group was twelve people strong—my school class—on an adventure together during the half-term break. I had come with my good friend Erica, and though we were already close, this trip would bond us in ways I never could have imagined. We weren’t alone, though. Local guides, who seemed unfazed by the altitude, led us along the trail, constantly reminding us to go pole pole—Swahili for “slowly, slowly.” And they meant it. Every step was deliberate, every movement measured. At first, I found it funny. How hard could it really be?

Little did I know, Kilimanjaro had some thoughts about that.

As we climbed higher, the landscape shifted. The rainforest disappeared, replaced by rolling moorlands that stretched into infinity. The sun was relentless during the day, and at night? Oh, it was cold. Like, wrap-yourself-in-every-layer-you-own-and-hope-for-the-best kind of cold. My body ached, my lungs struggled to pull in enough oxygen, and my enthusiasm? Well, let’s just say it took a serious hit.

I’d love to tell you that I powered through every moment with unwavering determination, but the truth? There were times I wanted to quit. Times I questioned why I ever thought this was a good idea. But then I’d look around—the vastness of the mountain, the unwavering determination of my fellow climbers, the sheer magic of being so high up—and something inside me would reignite. I reminded myself why I was here. Not just for me, but for every young girl who’s ever been told she wasn’t strong enough, tough enough, or capable enough. I wanted to prove—to myself and to others—that we belong here, in these wild, untamed places.

~The Final Push~

Summit night was, in a word, brutal. We started our ascent under the cover of darkness—not sure out of a daredevil‘s whim, but out of pure necessity. The plan was to reach the top by sunset, ensuring that we had enough time to descend safely in daylight. Had we begun our climb in the morning, by the time we reached the peak the day would have given way to night, making the descent treacherous. We started climbing at midnight, in complete darkness, the cold biting through every layer I had on. The altitude was unforgiving —every breath felt shallow, every step impossibly heavy. My fingers were almost numb, my legs burned and the thought of turning back whispered in the back of my mind. But I refused to listen.

Then, just as I thought I couldn’t take another step, the horizon started to glow. Deep blues turned to fiery oranges, and the first light of dawn spilled across the sky. I can’t even begin to describe what that felt like—like hope, like possibility, like every ounce of exhaustion suddenly didn’t matter anymore.

And then, finally, Uhuru Peak. 5,895 meters. The roof of Africa. I made it.

Standing there, looking out at the endless sea of clouds below me, I felt something shift inside. This wasn’t just about reaching the top of a mountain. It was about proving to myself that I could do hard things. That even when my body screamed at me to stop, even when doubt tried to creep in, I could push through.

And if I could do this? What else could I do? What else could we do, if we stopped letting fear and doubt hold us back?

~Why This Story Matters~

I didn’t climb Kilimanjaro just for the Instagram photos (though let’s be real, they were pretty epic). I climbed it because I wanted to prove that adventure isn’t just for the strongest, the toughest, or the most experienced. It’s for anyone who’s willing to show up, put in the effort, and take that first step—even when it’s terrifying.

I want other girls to know that they belong in this space. That they deserve to take up space. Whether it’s climbing a mountain, starting a new sport, or chasing a wild, impossible dream—do it. Don’t wait until you feel “ready.” Don’t let the doubts of others define what you can or can’t do. Just take the first step.

Because here’s the truth: The hardest part of any adventure isn’t the climb itself. It’s deciding to go in the first place.

So if you’re reading this, and you’ve got a dream that feels too big, too crazy, too out of reach—I dare you to chase it anyway. You might just surprise yourself.

And who knows? Maybe I’ll see you on the next mountain.

 

Emilia is a sixteen-year-old adventurer, writer, and mountain enthusiast from Switzerland. At just fifteen, she summited Mount Kilimanjaro, proving that big challenges aren’t reserved for the experienced or the fearless—they’re for anyone bold enough to try. When she’s not climbing mountains, she’s chasing new adventures, pushing her limits, and inspiring others to do the same.

I stood in the kitchen, back pressed against the sink, facing away from the pile of dirty dishes. I knocked my feet together, watching the dust from my socks swirling in the air, only to settle again. I kept doing that—looking for something, a connection, a faith I hoped would bloom.

Suddenly, I thought of a friend I had when I was fifteen, mesmerized by the way muscles tensed and relaxed. I left those dirty dishes in the sink. I took thirteen paces back to my bedroom, opened my cherry red leather-bound journal, and on the fourteenth of February, I wrote a poem and sixteen reasons for it, while looking onto my seventeenth birthday.

The pages read:

Perfection misled us,
but we chose God to accept our flaws.
We have been angry like him too,
but his son was a man like us.
He still loved us fully and openly until his dying breath.

 My one wish is to love you proudly.
One day, I will look you in the eyes and say:

 You are the gift God brought me. I feel you without thinking, always,
because I feel God with you.
Like the rainbow after the storm, you stretched across my life, leading me toward light. You are my covenant,
whole and unbroken, written into His plan.

Writing those words was about holding onto a lifelong promise to love. In writing, I find my way back to my truest self–a way to make sense of what I can’t always express and a space to preserve what matters most.

My writing is an altar and a canvas, built on worship and devotion. My friend was my first poem. I crafted these pages into cathedrals, perfectly organized into gorgeous columns, pressing his smile into stained glass. I built him as a Michaelangelo, forever preserved in time, shut within the 115 wide-ruled pages of my journal. He lives as vividly in writing as he does in the world. Yet, I feel his resistance. I can hear him, wrestling among the pages, aching to climb out.

He whispers, “How dare you?”

“I’m sorry,” I think as I put my pen down.

I struggle. How do I explain that writing isn’t possessive? I just can’t contain him in an essay. It’s fleeting, and our essence survives more than what’s on the page. Every time I try to write it down, I just can’t get it all. I’m stuck.

This tension—the desire to hold on and the impossibility of complete preservation—is the bane of my existence. We fear being remembered only for our flaws, but as a writer, I believe my craft is devotion. Writing someone down is an honor. I capture a person as they are in a moment, as imperfectly unique as they are. Whether in an hour or a year, I freeze our connection in time, where words measure everything.

I write because I cannot speak. I can’t explain that to him. Honestly, by trying to honor him, I’m trapping him in my memory, as objective as I try to say my work is.

I write because it is the only way I can keep life in my grasp. If I blink, he’ll move.

I write to keep up with my world and how quickly it’s changing before my eyes. My pen is proof that I was here. I surrender to time: my pen is proof that I loved. I existed. I existed full of love, hope, and faith.

I write to give my love a home, even if it never had one in reality.

I write so when the love I dream of does exist, my wish won’t feel so out of reach anymore. I will love exactly as I said I would.

I write to document my emotional evolution, and how my perception of my people shifts over time. Even their absence becomes something dynamic–something that teaches me just as much as their presence once did. In my writing, they’re immortalized as lessons, not just people.

Even though they aren’t there in the same way, their presence still lingers in my growth and self-discovery.

I don’t write to hold onto anyone.

I write to hold on to what it felt like to know them.

I write because it taught me that love is never really wasted. Love shapes us, teaches us, and gives us new ways to see the world. When I write, I learn from everyone at my own pace. People leave marks on us that aren’t about romance or heartbreak, but transformation. As I move forward, I carry that impact in what I create. To me, that’s the most lasting kind of connection.

I write to know what growing up feels like. I’m a mosaic of everyone I’ve loved and had the privilege to love.

I write to navigate losing someone, something, and everything. My words are about carrying that loss with me in different ways, letting its influence shape my art. Anyone who hears me becomes more than an observer. They become participants in the emotions and lessons in my words.

I write to gain control over the uncontrollable. My emotions become tangible, something I can revisit when I’m ready. These words are my way out the labyrinth, instead of wandering through walls I can’t define. In my surrender to the labyrinth, to my spiritual mystery, I’m in charge of my own evolution.

I write because this is personal, but also universal. I know others can feel my truth. They can look at it and find it in their own lives.

I write because I know that the best writing is ephemeral. It captures fleeting moments, and intense emotions that come and go, and yet, in doing so, it becomes timeless.

I write so that someone reads my words and feels understood. When I transfer that power from my pen to the page, these aren’t just my thoughts anymore. My story becomes part of someone else’s understanding and experience.

I write to experience connection, not just expression.

Our shared humanity is why I write. I wish that a piece of me lives on in someone else, not just as something they read, but as something they felt. My words live beyond me. I become part of this long human story, hopefully, partly defined by my contribution.

In the end, as I grow into my cosmic self, transcending love, loss, and reality. I become ink and memory, frozen on paper—just as we all will be one day. And in that permanence, there is something undeniably poetic.

 

Rainey Reese is a Chicago teenager writing through growing pains. She was a 2024 Young Chicago Authors NextGen Intern and is recognized as one of the city’s upcoming youth writers. Her work has been published in Teen Ink Magazine, Blue Marble Review, and Write the World Review. Recently, she was awarded a 2025 Gold Key and American Voices Nomination in the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards.