There is no one specific place where I belong. I feel like I most belong wherever I am able to lay down and stare up at the stars. The night sky has always captured my attention, for as long as I can remember. I go outside, taking in the dark expanse of the sky and stand transfixed. I often choose a single star, or planet, or sometimes just the moon, to stare at, and it will simply mesmerize me. When I am able to stare at the night sky, it fills my mind, and everything else goes away. Any problems become simply background noise, as I marvel in the enormous expanse of the universe. I have learned to identify several different specific aspects of the sky, most predominantly among these is the planet Venus. I have always found a safe place in simply being able to look up and find these familiar objects in the night sky. It has always saddened me when I go into a city, to see the sky drowned out by the light they produce. I cannot say that my place is anywhere other than beneath the stars.
When I was in first grade, we would frequently have days where we would do various special things as a reward for good behavior in class. One Monday, we were scheduled to have a day where everyone in class would be allowed to wear their pajamas to school. I came into school that morning wearing my pajamas, and expecting everyone in my class to be doing the same, as had been scheduled to do. When I walked into the classroom, I was surprised to see that there were only three other people wearing their pajamas, and the rest of the class was wearing their normal everyday clothes. A few minutes later, my questions were answered when my teacher told the class that she had to postpone the day on which our class would be allowed to wear our pajamas, and that she had sent out an email to all of our parents saying this, but apparently a few of them had failed to receive it. At this point, the other three people who had worn their pajamas all pulled out pairs of everyday clothes from their backpacks, and went to change into them. As I did not bring a pair of backup clothes to change into, this left me as the only person still in my pajamas. For the rest of the day, I had to put up with people looking over at me and asking questions like, why was I wearing pajamas. Throughout the entire day, I had to explain what had happened repeatedly to countless different people. After that day, I learned to try to prepare for every eventuality, and make sure that I always have a backup, because nothing is fully certain.
My uncle is a fun and optimistic person. When people say that everyone has a fun uncle, he definitely qualifies. He has short, light brown hair, that is just crazy enough, but still controlled. His hair is a perfect allusion to his personality: just crazy enough to be fun and silly, but still a responsible person. My uncle is also slightly overweight. However, even this, like if you were to imagine a jolly Santa Claus, somehow, conveys to you that he is simply a happy person.
My name, if translated literally, means one who lays tiles and makes baskets. My first name, Tyler, comes from English, and unsurprisingly, means one who lays tiles. My last name, Wannamaker, comes from German, and means basketmaker. When taken completely literally like this, my name does not describe me at all: I neither lay tiles or make baskets. However, I do like my name. Layer of tiles, and basketmaker are not what my name means to me. Instead, to me, my name is a representation of who I am. Sometimes, when people first meet me, they will pronounce my name Taylor. However, I have learned to put up with this, as it is a surprisingly common mistake. However, I am always quick to correct them when they make this mistake. My name represents my personality, my connections to the people around me, and everything I have achieved in my life. My name is unique to me, and in just a few words, contains all the information about who I am.