IceM
12-21-2010, 11:35 PM
Well, I wanted to experiment with my writing. I'm applying to a university (I won't say which) and I wanted to go for a homerun, either succeeding or failing to do so. I'm employing a stream of consciousness style. I hope you like it!
The prompt: Evaluate a significant experience, achievement, risk you have taken, or ethical dilemma you have faced and its impact on you.
The essay:
Writing is a beautiful thing. With a pen and paper and a few hours to spare, you can create limitless worlds filled with endless adventure. Everything is at your disposal, and the means through which you create your world reveals but a glimpse of the beauty that lives in your mind. It is a chance to free yourself of simple daily activities and voice that which deserves to be heard.
However, it too can be terrifying. In publicly displaying a work of art one is attaching their reputation to their work that can easily be criticized by the numerous anonymous. There is no sense of security; there is either success or failure, or even worse, rejection. It takes but one influential critic to discourage readers from approaching your work. Two negative reviews sink you. Because it is not the author who determines the fate of his work but instead those whom interpret it, your style can easily be dismissed because it makes the wrong impressions.
About this thing called first impressions; what do they even mean? It often seems as though what makes a great first impression is indescribable, but everyone can recognize it when witnessed. Unfortunately, this unknown process dictates many aspects of life. College admissions rely on how thoughtfully one can express oneself in a compact manner. Job applications and the development of rapport are typically subject to one’s emotions at any given instant. It is this unknown, inexplicable code of “good impressions” that is both beautiful and terrifying; beautiful for those whom have decrypted the codes of a language that transcends words; terrifying for those unfortunate enough not to have been able to do so yet. To leave such fundamental aspects of one’s life essentially to chance is an open application of Darwin’s evolutionary theory; the fittest will succeed while the floundering suffer.
Of course, people making tangible connections with other people have great advantages. The world of interpersonal relations can be swayed by humor, body language, and even physical appearance. Some people have that “look,” that indefinable aspect about their appearance that makes them likable. We can’t explain why that feature appeals to us, it just does. Maybe it’s instinct.
Writing a great impression is always more difficult than making one in-person. The greater the importance of the topic you’re writing of, the more pressure there is to seem revolutionary. You get this sense of doubt, that perhaps whatever it is you’re writing is not what is expected. The uncertainty in knowing what your audience is expecting is terrifying. You grow insecure, unsure of whether your reputation hangs on the next word, or whether it was decided by the one before it. A psychological paranoia sets in. Is my style appropriate? Was that rhetorical question necessary? Was that one? And from this psychological chess game you make no progress. You can’t appear to your audience as though you doubt yourself, but it’s too late. This pestilential, perpetual doubt—which is growing by the second!—is maddening. You quickly come to doubt whether this vastly uncertain image of yourself is good enough for your audience to accept you as an influence on your audience’s ideology.
I sometimes wish I could just write what I feel and be done with such a topic. Anything to rid me of this paranoia. But high school teaches structure, not how to write confessions. Concrete details are the unquestionable evidence that opinions are not. And I know better. Telling the world that I’m Steven Barker, a philosophical wanderer attempting to find everything but the intellectual identity I now have, a young man looking for hope and trying to find God everywhere, one whose studies have made him inextricably linked to the world and its’ issues, is not acceptable. Personal attachment to one’s writing appears immature. I realize I just attached myself. But forgive me; I’m still a novice at making first impressions.
What are those, again?
As the deadline approaches, your mind becomes more possessed with this nervousness that looms on obsession. There are days when, as the sun first crawls over the biomorphic belly of the world to when it is tucked in by its celestial parents, you will do nothing but work on your essay. The question of authentic representation of your character, previously a minor tremor in the distance, rumbles throughout your mind. There is no means of expression through writing that is genuine. My means of describing myself are limited to the terms I use to describe myself, and in labeling myself one thing, I instantly cannot be the opposite. And I’ll be honest, I don’t know how to describe myself. I’m still trying to discover what being myself means. My mind, it’s a laboratory of thought, a secret room in which experimental ideologies are frequently crafted and subsequently tested. I am not wholly one characteristic or a combination of others; I am everything at once. I am very uncertain, yet confident in my uncertainty; unprejudiced, yet prejudiced for even remotely insinuating that I do not have preferences. How do I convey this on paper? And even though I just tried to, I feel I did my mind a disservice.
It is during this phase when horrifying thoughts come to you. Schools accept those renowned for their voice. What about those still trying to find one?
It is the day before your essay is due. It seems all I have is insecurity these days. Yet from the rubble of your self-esteem, you rise again. There comes this temporary sense of confidence. You understand that this probably is not the best work essay you can write, nor does it capture your essence the best, nor does it even demonstrate why you belong to be read. It seemingly does everything you hoped not to broadcast when you typed that essay. But, that doesn’t matter anymore; because, with all the mythic rumors surrounding the college application process, the only known truth is that your reputation hangs on this essay. And you will be judged on it. Your admission will be judged by readers and regents whom, while perhaps never knowing you intimately—or even as an acquaintance—will judge your life’s accomplishments and the depth of your application; and from the series of first impressions you have made—an idea I am still trying to understand—your fate will be decided. Yet, in spite of your flaws, you still feel a sense of hope. Maybe this unknown, uncertain mind endlessly searching for an identity through his exposure to greater depths of study and greater diversifications of culture is exactly the mind this university needs. Feel the confidence swell inside of you. Feel the pride of knowing that, regardless of whatever has been written before these words, you are an individual, a unique mind, one who cannot be duplicated, regardless of whatever greatness lives beyond your understanding. Feel that confidence? That hope? That optimism? Let it grow, let it swell, and let it guide you to do the things you were once too afraid to.
You just hit the “Send” button.
Hello, my name is (hidden for online purposes), and the greatest risk I’ve ever taken is writing an essay about writing an essay about the inability to fully capture the essence of who I am as a person.
Hope you enjoy. :D
The prompt: Evaluate a significant experience, achievement, risk you have taken, or ethical dilemma you have faced and its impact on you.
The essay:
Writing is a beautiful thing. With a pen and paper and a few hours to spare, you can create limitless worlds filled with endless adventure. Everything is at your disposal, and the means through which you create your world reveals but a glimpse of the beauty that lives in your mind. It is a chance to free yourself of simple daily activities and voice that which deserves to be heard.
However, it too can be terrifying. In publicly displaying a work of art one is attaching their reputation to their work that can easily be criticized by the numerous anonymous. There is no sense of security; there is either success or failure, or even worse, rejection. It takes but one influential critic to discourage readers from approaching your work. Two negative reviews sink you. Because it is not the author who determines the fate of his work but instead those whom interpret it, your style can easily be dismissed because it makes the wrong impressions.
About this thing called first impressions; what do they even mean? It often seems as though what makes a great first impression is indescribable, but everyone can recognize it when witnessed. Unfortunately, this unknown process dictates many aspects of life. College admissions rely on how thoughtfully one can express oneself in a compact manner. Job applications and the development of rapport are typically subject to one’s emotions at any given instant. It is this unknown, inexplicable code of “good impressions” that is both beautiful and terrifying; beautiful for those whom have decrypted the codes of a language that transcends words; terrifying for those unfortunate enough not to have been able to do so yet. To leave such fundamental aspects of one’s life essentially to chance is an open application of Darwin’s evolutionary theory; the fittest will succeed while the floundering suffer.
Of course, people making tangible connections with other people have great advantages. The world of interpersonal relations can be swayed by humor, body language, and even physical appearance. Some people have that “look,” that indefinable aspect about their appearance that makes them likable. We can’t explain why that feature appeals to us, it just does. Maybe it’s instinct.
Writing a great impression is always more difficult than making one in-person. The greater the importance of the topic you’re writing of, the more pressure there is to seem revolutionary. You get this sense of doubt, that perhaps whatever it is you’re writing is not what is expected. The uncertainty in knowing what your audience is expecting is terrifying. You grow insecure, unsure of whether your reputation hangs on the next word, or whether it was decided by the one before it. A psychological paranoia sets in. Is my style appropriate? Was that rhetorical question necessary? Was that one? And from this psychological chess game you make no progress. You can’t appear to your audience as though you doubt yourself, but it’s too late. This pestilential, perpetual doubt—which is growing by the second!—is maddening. You quickly come to doubt whether this vastly uncertain image of yourself is good enough for your audience to accept you as an influence on your audience’s ideology.
I sometimes wish I could just write what I feel and be done with such a topic. Anything to rid me of this paranoia. But high school teaches structure, not how to write confessions. Concrete details are the unquestionable evidence that opinions are not. And I know better. Telling the world that I’m Steven Barker, a philosophical wanderer attempting to find everything but the intellectual identity I now have, a young man looking for hope and trying to find God everywhere, one whose studies have made him inextricably linked to the world and its’ issues, is not acceptable. Personal attachment to one’s writing appears immature. I realize I just attached myself. But forgive me; I’m still a novice at making first impressions.
What are those, again?
As the deadline approaches, your mind becomes more possessed with this nervousness that looms on obsession. There are days when, as the sun first crawls over the biomorphic belly of the world to when it is tucked in by its celestial parents, you will do nothing but work on your essay. The question of authentic representation of your character, previously a minor tremor in the distance, rumbles throughout your mind. There is no means of expression through writing that is genuine. My means of describing myself are limited to the terms I use to describe myself, and in labeling myself one thing, I instantly cannot be the opposite. And I’ll be honest, I don’t know how to describe myself. I’m still trying to discover what being myself means. My mind, it’s a laboratory of thought, a secret room in which experimental ideologies are frequently crafted and subsequently tested. I am not wholly one characteristic or a combination of others; I am everything at once. I am very uncertain, yet confident in my uncertainty; unprejudiced, yet prejudiced for even remotely insinuating that I do not have preferences. How do I convey this on paper? And even though I just tried to, I feel I did my mind a disservice.
It is during this phase when horrifying thoughts come to you. Schools accept those renowned for their voice. What about those still trying to find one?
It is the day before your essay is due. It seems all I have is insecurity these days. Yet from the rubble of your self-esteem, you rise again. There comes this temporary sense of confidence. You understand that this probably is not the best work essay you can write, nor does it capture your essence the best, nor does it even demonstrate why you belong to be read. It seemingly does everything you hoped not to broadcast when you typed that essay. But, that doesn’t matter anymore; because, with all the mythic rumors surrounding the college application process, the only known truth is that your reputation hangs on this essay. And you will be judged on it. Your admission will be judged by readers and regents whom, while perhaps never knowing you intimately—or even as an acquaintance—will judge your life’s accomplishments and the depth of your application; and from the series of first impressions you have made—an idea I am still trying to understand—your fate will be decided. Yet, in spite of your flaws, you still feel a sense of hope. Maybe this unknown, uncertain mind endlessly searching for an identity through his exposure to greater depths of study and greater diversifications of culture is exactly the mind this university needs. Feel the confidence swell inside of you. Feel the pride of knowing that, regardless of whatever has been written before these words, you are an individual, a unique mind, one who cannot be duplicated, regardless of whatever greatness lives beyond your understanding. Feel that confidence? That hope? That optimism? Let it grow, let it swell, and let it guide you to do the things you were once too afraid to.
You just hit the “Send” button.
Hello, my name is (hidden for online purposes), and the greatest risk I’ve ever taken is writing an essay about writing an essay about the inability to fully capture the essence of who I am as a person.
Hope you enjoy. :D