The Handbook/ Chapter 19
Decisions
So where did they all get in?
We are more than the stories we tell, important though they are. All the soul searching, rambling conversations, discoveries, and confessions that go into creating them end up changing us. We know ourselves a little better. We’re more aware of our motivations and tendencies. That is certainly true of the individuals who shared their stories here. They would tell you themselves if they could— they grew up some.
You’ve read their offerings. What did you find memorable? Did anything stir up feelings? What sticks with you?
For me it’s Ella packing up her stuff, dropping the Aquaphor into her make-up kit. It’s the humility and grace she shows going about her life.
It’s Leon loosening his kerchief and, with it, his tight grip on life. The scout with mud hanging from his chin.
Toddler Yasmin staring at the ceiling counting the seconds. I can feel her future swirling and unspooling around her.
Miles’ sweat-soaked all-black outfit. His intensity. His composure creating at the sewing machine.
Jada and her friends crowding together in front of the bathroom mirror. Her marching beside her mother at a breast cancer rally.
It’s Billie’s yes and. Facing life with hope but maintaining a healthy skepticism. And humor.
Andre’s bubble. His wish he’d been more supportive of his tearful friend.
Sophie getting fired by her doctor, her healing and wanting to be seen again. Wanting to be seen at all.
Darius leading his band of six through the wilderness. Huddling together under the tarp. And bringing up the rear with Claire.
Terry’s two mothers. Italian ice.
It’s all in the details. What you see and hear, smell, taste and touch. Get all your senses involved. Make us feel what you felt and we will know you as the human being you are, a creature like ourselves, imperfect and full of desire. Admissions officers will advocate for those they remember best. So give them something to remember.
There’s a lesson to be learned in everything you read, providing it gets its claws into you. When you read something that does, try to figure out how the writer accomplished it. As an exercise, try to write something that mimics the passage. Go ahead and imitate. Not in your personal statement, mind you. For practice, imitate all you want. Every successful writer has at some point imitated their heroes, learning from what inspired them.
There are ten people behind those stories, all of them very real, living coast to coast and breathing the same air as you and I. Striving, failing, and starting over. They were applying to college when they wrote those stories. And they all eventually hit that big scary submit button. Yes, and?
They were all admitted to multiple colleges, half to their first choice. And they’re all quite content with the outcome. The list of colleges to which they were admitted are:
(in alphabetical order)
Columbia
NYU
NYU Tisch
Northeastern [2]
Stanford
University of Miami
Washington University St. Louis
Wisconsin [2]
Better still, there was financial aid awarded that ranged from generous merit aid to full-ride need based awards. I’ll insist that the two students headed for Northeastern and the two arriving in Madison, Wisconsin get together and tell jokes about their excitable and annoying counselor.
One of the bittersweet aspects of being a counselor is the inevitable parting at the end. After students get their admissions decisions and decide which offer to accept, they depart like new turtle hatchlings. They break out of their shells and immediately turn for the ocean. There’s never a fuss and seldom tears. They don’t look back. There isn’t time. There is a destiny to fulfill and you, dear counselor, are no longer a part of it. It sounds uncaring but really it isn’t. It’s just the way of things. I say Godspeed.
Break yourself open
Pour yourself out
Teach your sighs and whispers how to scream and shout
There’s an epic story only you can tell
Break yourself open
Come out of your shell
Then get swimming.
I will occasionally hear from a student after they start college but most times not. More often I’ll catch some news from their school counselor about a milestone they’ve passed or an award they’ve won. The ten who contributed their work to this book have maintained contact but soon they’ll be far enough from shore to have slipped over the horizon, and out of view. I feel great affection for them but no sadness at their leaving. One season ends and another begins. They finished their mission and now begin anew. I take the excitement of their success and let it fuel my enthusiasm for those who follow.
As I write this they have graduated and are weeks from commencing college freshman year. They are shopping, packing, and texting with future roommates.
The new rising seniors are now six weeks into writing and, I have no doubt, will be no less impressive in their self-evaluation and expression. My work is like that of a gymnastics spotter. I stand beside the tricky vault from high school to college. Should anyone go flying, I see to it they don’t break their neck. But they do all the training and strengthening.
And I get the best view in the house. Right at their side.
Now it’s your turn to shine. You may have already come up with a stellar topic. That is fantastic news if so. But it’s also possible you’re still searching. If that’s the case, perhaps what follows will help.
While I’ve shared and analyzed my students' stories and asked you to contemplate yours, I’ve never shared mine. In the next chapter, I’ll give it a go.
I took an unusual route to becoming an undergrad at Harvard in which luck played a part. I graduated and became a professional musician, singer and songwriter. I toured the US, Europe, and Asia, made and produced records. In my second career I became an admissions officer and a counselor. I’ll share those stories next but with a twist. Whenever a part of the story can be told in 650 words, when it has some discernible theme and lends itself to a beginning-middle-end structure, I’ll write it in the form of a personal statement.
Because you can’t read too many as you prepare to write your own. Eventually you begin to think in essay form, three interlocking sections each roughly 200 words in length. It takes practice. Reading is part of that practice.
My story is an unusual one. I’ve been terribly lucky. Some crazy stuff went down. I’ve nurtured my weirdness.