Tell me a story - through your college application

I love stories. I always have.  From Make Way for Ducklings to Blueberries for Sal to The Trolley Car Family, I have always been enthralled with books. I dreamt about life in colonial Boston with Johnny Tremain, and I’ve walked the moors with Jane Eyre. I almost majored in political science because of Advise and Consent, the first of Allen Drury’s political thrillers, and I loved the real-life drama found in biographies of Kit Carson and Catherine Graham. Stories, both real and fictional, make people come to life and help me see them in ways that often exceed my imagination (both good and bad).

A college application is itself a story, only it is the story of you.  Though some applications don’t require much more than name, address, and school name, many of them offer students a chance to connect with a reader on a different level.  At their best, college applications provide insight into who you are, what you value, what you might imagine your future to look like. It lets you color in the blank spaces that your transcript and test scores cannot communicate.  Yet telling your story, especially to total strangers (like an admissions rep), is difficult, because a good story also asks you to open up, to be vulnerable. 

Now, I’m not suggesting you tell colleges your deepest, darkest secrets, but there are several ways you can convey your story in an application.

Many colleges ask “why do you want to attend this college?” or something similar. A well-crafted answer can illustrate how much you know about the school, but it also allows you the opportunity to show the wide variety of your academic interests, or it lets you connect your quirkier side to a student group on campus.  You can describe how excited you were to sit in on a Politics of Global Immigration class during your visit junior year, or you can discuss how you would take advantage of their entrepreneurship program.  You can mention your immediate connection to your tour guide, or you can talk about people watching at the popular coffee shop just off campus. Perhaps you have already heard about the music professor that you must have before you graduate, or you can describe how overwhelmed you were the first time you attended Lessons and Carols in the college chapel. Tell a story about your visit, make it personal, make it authentic. One word of caution: if you can substitute any college name in your answer, then you’re not trying very hard, and this is not the place to tell them how good you look in their school colors.

“Describe one of your activities” is another common application question, and again, it is a chance to reveal something about yourself.  Yes, you take AP art, but do colleges know that about your passion for Tromp Loy, a style of pottery that means to fool the eye in French, and that this art form is what helped you learn to do everything with purpose?  Do they know how your afternoons at the local recreation center have taught you more about the value of community and shared space than any classroom lesson ever could?

Of course, your college essay is perhaps the ultimate opportunity to tell your story - the exact moment when you understood why you have been called to be a nurse, the conversation that showed you why your stubbornness wasn’t the positive attribute you thought it was, the relationship that taught you what it really meant to be lonely or afraid.  The college essay requires you to dig deep, to look past the obvious, to take risks, to examine what happened and why. Too many students lament that nothing has ever happened to them, but I’ve read moving essays on what it’s like to be the last one picked for a softball team or how it felt to realize for the first time that you did not share your parent’s political convictions.  I’ve read beautiful essays on the mystical connection between a student and a violin, the joys of backbreaking work in a garden, and a girl’s obsession with pajamas.  These were not life-altering events, but they were moments in time that had meaning.

We all have a story to tell, and more often than not, it is the little things, the everyday moments, that yield the best results. That’s the part of life we all recognize, and those are the stories that can make our hearts laugh or cry. And at the end of a good story, we’ve learned something about the writer and even perhaps ourselves.

So, what is your story? Whatever it is, don’t be afraid to tell it.  If it’s real, it will be good enough.

Will not announcing application numbers decrease the pressure?

Stanford University has announced that it will no longer publish their the number of applications they receive each year, but will it make a difference to students and parents? On one hand, I appreciate that they are trying to decrease the fascination and frenzy surrounding single digit admit rates, yet on the other hand, the information will still be out there.  Still, I applaud them for their efforts and hope that more schools will consider finding ways to dial back the pressure.

That said, if you are a data-driven sort of person like I am, you can search for college statistics at the National Center for Education Statistics.  They may help inform you as you go through the college search process, but I would also strongly recommend you speak with your college counselor in order to get a better understanding of how your high school fares at different colleges and universities.

You can read the entirety of Stanford's announcement here.

Letting Go of Rabbits (and Children)

     One of our neighbors up the street once owned a few pet rabbits, but at some point they either escaped or were let go.  Now, it's not unusual to come home to find a big black and white rabbit sitting on our front lawn, watching the world go by.  They're so comfortable that recently while I was working in the garden planters around our front door, one of them came so close, I could have reached out and touched it.  I didn't, and so she stayed there and watched me work.

     Now I know why.  Last week we discovered that the rabbit had made a nest in one of the planters and had given birth to four of the cutest, fluffiest bunnies you will ever see.  I am convinced that mama rabbit watched me work to make sure I left her children alone.

     Since our discovery, my daughter has put out a bowl of clean water, taking care to refresh it several times a day, and we've practically demolished our herb garden to make sure they had something to eat. Every morning we've watched as their mother comes back to nurse them, taking extra caution not to disturb her, and two of them are more than willing to be petted.  But this morning, I walked out to find that two of them had hopped down from the planter and were scampering among the bushes.  Staying close to the house, they hopped back and forth, nibbling the grass, all while their two siblings watched them from above.  I panicked.  What if the mother is not finished nursing them? What if our giant dog gets them? What if the fox we occasionally see in the woods attacks them?  Should we try to catch them and put them back in the nest?  I very much want our rabbits to make it in this world, and I'm concerned about their safety.

     And then it hit me. I am acting like a mother who is getting ready to send her daughter off to college.  

     It's a scary thing to let your children go.  What if they don't make friends easily? What if they don't get along with their roommates? What if they don't get the classes they want, the professors they want, the sorority they want?  Even worse, what if something terrible happens to them...one of those things we don't like to talk about but should.  What if they drink too much?  What if they are assaulted?  Who is going to be around to protect them from all the bad things in the world? What if, after graduation, they never come back home?

     Not unlike our children, two of our rabbits seem ready to hop away and explore the world, while two of them seem a little more reticent to leave their secure nest. But give them a few more days, and they will also be gone.  If I had my way, they would all stay in the nest, but I know that is not the way the world works. When it was time for my own daughter to leave for college - thousands of miles away - I had my own mantra that I repeated every time I got lonely or worried. 

"This is the way it is supposed to be."

     Our children are supposed to leave us.  They are supposed to spread their own wings, test their mettle, make their own mistakes. With every passing year, they are supposed to find their own path, one that is independent of their parents.  They are supposed to make their own lives, and for a parent, that's the best reward.  There's nothing quite like seeing your children become strong, self-sufficient adults, capable of handling the smallest and most significant details of life.

     I have lost sleep this week worrying about our bunnies. There are no guarantees, of course, and my daughter keeps reminding me about the circle of life.  So we will soon watch them all hop away and maybe, just maybe, we will catch a glimpse of them every so often.  Then again, perhaps they will find another neighborhood, one that suits them better.  All I know is that with rabbits or children, this is the way it is supposed to be.  

It is what it is.

After a year off, I've realized I've missed writing. A former teacher of mine used to say, "Susan, you sweat blood when you write," meaning of course, that it was hard for me.  So I know how my students feel sometimes. However, I also know that I can't help them, if I don't also write.  So with that said, it's time to start a new year with a new post.

     My niece has always been thin. Like “thin as a rail” thin.  It’s in her genes.  I, on the other hand, am not that thin. I owe my body shape to my genes too (thanks mom!), and like most people, I have obsessed about my weight and shape and size at some time or another. But when I start to worry too much, I remember the wise words of Oprah: at some point, you have to accept your body as it is.  Although I can make healthy food choices and exercise regularly, I will never be thin as a rail, and that’s okay.

     I’m thinking about this because we started our junior college classes last week, and my students must begin to acknowledge where they are.  Just like I will never be as thin as my niece, a GPA isn’t going to change all that much in one semester.  Don’t misunderstand: there are still things juniors can do. Grade trends are important, so being able to show growth in your English or math grade can make a difference. Taking a fourth year of Spanish can illustrate your willingness to challenge yourself. But at the end of the day, students have to start the search from where they are.  As we like to say, “it is what it is,” and that’s okay too.

     My students work really hard. They take a minimum of five classes a day, and most take six. They graduate with far more credits than required, and almost all of them spend their afternoons on athletic fields or the stage, and they volunteer at any number of local organizations.  They do research at our nearby university, they start poetry workshops, they advocate for human rights. They are photographers, dancers, entrepreneurs, daughters, and friends. They are amazing young women, and one of my favorite parts of my job is writing about them.

     As this new class of juniors begins their college search in earnest, I will help them package and present themselves through a college application.  But I also hope to help them understand that a GPA does not define who they are any more than their size does.  They have plenty of time to grow and develop, to try on different occupations and personas, to discover who they will be. Without damaging my own health, I can no more be as thin as my niece, then they can do it all.

     At the end of the day, I hope my students will look for colleges that fit the wonderful and imperfect young women they are, not the other way around. The future is waiting, no matter what size and shape it is.