Based on the results of the Common App survey, the 2020–2021 prompts are likely to be the same or at least similar for the next couple of years. Here are some suggestions that might help when you are considering what to write.
Many students develop effective essays by discussing their heritage. If your parents or grandparents come from disparate backgrounds and have different traditions or customs, the influence that has had on you growing up can make for an interesting story. Along those lines, you might write an entertaining tale about where you or your family originally came from—the rural South, the inner-city, or a foreign country. Likewise, if you have an unusual hobby, passion, or skill, you can write about that. But remember, the essay is not primarily about your family traditions, background, or hobby—you must explain what those things tell the reader about you. Be authentic. Tip: If you are writing about a talent, skill, or interest you developed at an early age, you should develop your essay around how it is related to your high school years. Don’t dwell on your early years.
I was in a new city, surrounded by a new team, competing in a new sport for my first time. Needless to say, I was distressed. My nerves took over, making me sick. I had learned to bench press only a mere three weeks before, and I was the lone female sophomore on the team. Why did I put myself in this situation? Two months earlier I was participating in preseason strength and conditioning with my softball team, when Coach Adams, the strength and conditioning coach, approached me randomly. First, he commented on my great squat form, then he asked me if I had any interest in powerlifting. Did I want to compete with the powerlifting team at Nationals? I agreed, without hesitation, because primarily I am a competitor. Little did I know that I had made a life-changing decision.
I worried everyday about this decision. I was terrified of competing by myself. I felt so unprepared, and I thought I might let everyone down. My softball season that year was, to say the least, underwhelming with a total of two wins, so I focused my energy and competitive drive on learning the skills for powerlifting. I fell in love with my newfound skills and the rewards it brought: powerlifting gave me confidence.
After growing up in three different countries and struggling to find where I fit in, having Coach Adams believe in me from the start meant a lot. To have that consistent support from the outset was an emotional relief that I had not felt anywhere else. Over the next two months, I trained by myself and started attending powerlifting club meetings. What I loved as much as the lifting was the community aspect of the club. Everyone was a part of a team with a common goal. Yet as I grew more comfortable with Coach Adams and the powerlifting club, I became concerned I might let them down. I’m a people pleaser, and these people had made me feel so at home in such a short time it would be devastating if I failed. The night before the trip to Nationals I never felt more alone.
I remember the ride to the airport vividly. I cried to my mom about how nervous I was. Every time my family moved to a different country, I experienced similar feelings but this time the nervousness and vulnerability felt worse. When we arrived in Oklahoma, weigh-ins were delayed. People were freaking out about not making weight. We all hung out and waited together. This was a small gesture, but to be accepted by the upperclassmen meant everything to me and helped ease my nerves.
I was the last person competing when it was my turn for the final deadlift. Deadlift is my favorite lift and it gives me a feeling like nothing else. I attempted a weight I had never even thought about trying before. I stepped up onto stage, shaking, and saw the whole team cheering for me. It hit me that it was worth it all; I had made a new family. My teammates’ support empowered me, and I lifted the weight with ease. I immediately ran over and hugged my coach. The satisfaction of making a new PR in deadlift was unmatched. The difference one team and coach made in my life is always something I will hold close to my heart, and it will guide me, as I make my way through adult life.
Powerlifting is not just a sport for me, it is a place where I can finally fit in, especially after being continually relocated. After Nationals, I assumed a leadership role in the club. I became more personable and learned a philosophy that I couldn’t get anywhere else. These skills transferred over into every aspect of my life, and I can honestly say that I am a different and better person now.
This is a wonderful essay. The writer never treads too close to cliché by using the relative novelty of being a female powerlifter (notice she does not dwell on the fact she is female in her essay). That would be an obvious approach, but not necessarily an effective one. Nor does she dwell on the outcome of what happened at Nationals—we learn she achieved her personal record but we don’t find out how her team did—because it’s not germane to the story. What she emphasizes is what any good Common App essay should: how it changed her and made her a better person; the team cheering for her and her discovery she had a new family; the difference her team and her coach made in her life; how she became more personable and learned a philosophy. The small details about how nervous she was, the drive to the airport, and the weigh-ins are just right. She adds them to give color to the story but she doesn’t belabor them: not too much, not too little. If you decide to select this prompt and you have an experience like hers, this is a good model.
When I was younger, family and friends gave me diaries as gifts. Now, dozens of books fill my shelves, except most only carry empty pages. On Christmas of my freshman year, I received a small leather book titled “Favorite Moment a Day.” Maybe it was the books in my room filled with lost potential, or the fact that I’d just started what everyone told me were the four most memorable years of my life that sparked a newfound fear: forgetting who I am now when I’m older. The idea of one day not remembering my dance recitals, sixteenth birthday, or favorite songs in high school seemed scary enough that I couldn’t risk losing a part of them.
Determined to take this journal seriously, on December twenty-eighth, I wrote my first entry: my family drove through northern Michigan into the town of Petoskey where my grandparents live. Through the droplet-speckled window, holiday lights covered the pines as we returned to my home away from home.
The “Favorite Moment a Day” journal quickly became a space to write everything down. It followed my life for the next year as I pressed dried rose petals from the corsage of my first high school dance and taped a torn Jack Johnson concert ticket to its pages. My family watched me take life in through words as I filled that first journal, and soon my mom bought my next journal. I searched more, observing the things and people around me. Sinking into the cushions of my cousin’s couch, I held his daughter for the first time. My aunt watched nearby, bearing an uncanny resemblance to my late grandmother. Through my writing I realized four generations of my family were visible that afternoon and how lucky I am to have them.
Some moments, though, take more than observation. Journaling proved to be a necessity as it was no longer just how I remembered things, but how I understood them. Moments in my life that are too hard to say aloud, or too personal to share, I save for paper and pen. During my sophomore year, my brother was severely depressed. Throughout his recovery, I lost touch with my own happiness, but felt selfish in my struggle. Day by day, page by page, our family healed. And through their love, friends’ support, and processing it all through asking and answering my own questions, I healed, too. Life’s tougher moments lay enclosed in my journals, shielding them from eyes that aren’t my own.
But for each page of hardship, there are dozens of happy ones. In journaling, I’ve learned to pick out the simple moments that spark inspiration. High Five Choir, a musical group for students of all abilities, connects peers through music and raises disability awareness. Each day, I spend forty minutes with some of my best friends and I’m reminded of how much good exists. Jenna is twenty-one with the sassiest comebacks but the sweetest heart. When I met her a year ago, she asked me what I love to do. I answered, “Dance.” She taught me “dance” in sign language, and now, whenever we see each other, we sign the word like it’s our little secret.
After three years, I still write often, but my fear has somewhat subsided. I’ve realized if you focus too much on capturing the future, you miss out on the now. On a wintry drive into northern Michigan, I found my favorite moment of the day. But now, these moments find me. A particularly vibrant sunset or times I laugh until I cry are mixed into observations, questions, and defining moments. Writing is therapeutic, poetic, and meaningful. It’s hilarious and sometimes embarrassing to notice my immaturity, but prideful to see my growth, and the understanding that my growth is just beginning. Journaling is no longer how I remember my life, but part of how I live it.
This is a nice reflective essay about keeping a diary. The writer takes important moments from her life and describes them in a way that really shows the reader about her personality. After reading this piece, you not only get a picture of what kind of person she is but you can also see how she has learned about herself. The line “but now these moments find me” is especially effective. There is a minor technical problem with this essay: the word “prideful” in the last paragraph is misused. Prideful, while meaning proud, generally connotes excessive pride, even to the point of arrogance, which is not what the writer intends to convey (and in some sense is the opposite of what the writer wants to say about herself). The sentence would read better as “It’s hilarious and sometimes embarrassing to notice my immaturity, but I am proud to see how I’ve grown and realize I am just beginning.” Many college readers are willing to overlook this type of misused word because they want the student’s “true voice.” However, we believe this is one of those situations where a careful edit can make the piece clearer and even better.
The point of this “adversity prompt” is to emphasize your personal growth, rather than the specific setback you encountered. Students commonly concentrate too much on the obstacle or hardship and not enough on how they learned from it. There are other pitfalls in this prompt. Some students want to write about the first time they got a bad grade. It’s hard to craft an interesting essay about a bad grade you received and how it made you a better student, unless it contains an interesting hook, like a teacher who inspired you. Essays on athletic injuries that derailed your career or a relative who suffered an illness can be effective, but you must emphasize the positive rather than dwelling on the negative. Whatever the challenge or setback, this is a good prompt to show the reader you are a resilient person. Tip: It is OK to be vulnerable. Vulnerability can show strength. The strength comes from how you react to the situation. Make sure not to overshare the adversity of your story. This prompt is also about risk. High school students hear about risk all the time. They are encouraged to “take risks,” but what does that mean? Smart risks, not foolish ones. Rule of thumb: Is this something you would tell someone on your first meeting with them?
January 19th, 2018, will be the first annual Penguin Awareness Day at my high school. Designated students will greet all 2,000 pupils with smiles and penguin stickers as they enter school. I was responsible for putting together Penguin Awareness Day, in the hope the effort will be worth it if we brighten even one student’s day. Why did I do this?
It started freshman year when I was captain of our undefeated freshman football team. In our last game with tensions running high, something happened to me. After the game when I got on the bus, my coach noticed I was staring at him blankly, and he sent me to the hospital. I don’t remember it, but apparently during the game I sustained a concussion.
Most concussions resolve quickly, but mine lasted five months—the absolute worst period of my life. I constantly felt foggy, had throbbing headaches, and my balance was off. Everything was hazy, and I couldn’t distinguish reality from dreams. To make matters worse, my beloved grandfather suddenly passed away, and I was devastated. He was the one person I could always talk to about anything.
Because I couldn’t concentrate, my grades slipped. I lost my passion for playing the piano, my way of escaping life’s problems and living in the moment. I had enjoyed the piano since I was four years old, and now it was gone.
My symptoms eventually subsided, and I regained my ability to focus. I stopped feeling helpless and began to realize I could be happy again. But it was up to me. The outcome of the struggles I faced was the next chapter of my story.
Two years later, I now believe that surviving my post-concussive symptoms has shaped me into the person I am today. During my miserable period, I learned much about myself and others. By speaking with other teens with similar issues, I learned that everybody has a story, and I decided not to judge people quickly before hearing their stories. I have become more sensitive to others’ problems and struggles. It’s important to hear their perspective.
The pain of losing my grandfather made me understand the importance of family. I realize how fortunate I am to have a loving family, something that didn’t occur to me much in my younger years.
Between the times of sorrow and pain, I learned that the small acts of kindness people showed me are what count. I always make sure to stay levelheaded. Stressing over the small stuff is never worth it—just appreciate the little things and never take anything for granted. I’ve come out of my shell, become more open, and less afraid of what others think.
Two years after my concussion, I think my personality can be summed up basically in two words: compassionate and happy. My positive attitude is a direct result of the time I spent in a negative place. I always try to send out positive vibes by doing things like wearing goofy clothes or anonymously slipping notes in peoples’ lockers that say, “Have an amazing day! ♡” I want to make people smile.
I think of myself as perseverant, and I am on a mission—to add some happiness to a stressful school environment. Whether it is complimenting someone or having a memorial for lost socks, I want to brighten somebody’s day. I don’t want to see others in the position I was in, and it makes me happy to see them happy, especially if I’ve played a role.
I took my mission to Student Senate, where I came up with the idea for Penguin Awareness Day and other initiatives. My experience has made me more perceptive—just because people look fine doesn’t mean they are not going through tough times. And when you come to school, getting a penguin sticker just might make you feel a little better.
One bit of advice students receive is that they should make their essays unique (but not “very unique”; see chapter nine, “Special Usage Rules II,” p. 88). Unfortunately, it’s not always easy to make your essay unique, especially if it is a “challenge to overcome” essay. When students write about a health challenge, they often detail a sports injury and the response can be predictable—initial depression, a long period of recovery, and finally a return to competition. Nothing unique about that, and college readers must go through hundreds of similar essays. This essay could easily have turned out the same way and, in fact, it skirts the edges of the predictable. However, the writer actually did something unique by creating “Penguin Awareness Day,” and it turns a mundane essay into a memorable one. The other lesson here is to avoid making your essay depressing. Essays about injuries can quickly turn dismal, and a reader is likely to stop reading a dismal essay. It’s true every student won’t have as good a story as this one but no matter what challenge you overcome, try to tell your story in an uplifting fashion. That’s what this writer did with his penguin story (which he later crafted into his valedictory graduation speech). One of the interesting things is why the writer chose penguins. He doesn’t give the reason, which makes the essay more intriguing. It leaves a reader wondering about the writer, and that makes it stand out.
Clean tights and dirty floors are the mantra of the ballet world. As a child, you see only the clean, pink tights hugging a ballerina’s perfectly sculpted legs under a sea of bright stage lights. But as you grow up you see the dirty floors and futile quest for perfection. Thriving in an atmosphere of grit, zeal, and sacrifice, I’ve never been afraid of dirt. However, the promise of achievement isn’t necessarily the ultimate goal.
Crammed in a musty room with 80 dancers seeking acceptance into Boston Ballet’s Summer Dance Program, I shared my space at the barre with my younger sister, Laura. After the audition, an instructor approached my sister, whose face lit up. She smiled and squealed with delight, “The lady said she would try to get me a scholarship to go this summer!”
“Oh my gosh, Laura, congrats. That’s awesome,” I exclaimed, trying hard to match her level of excitement.
Although my sister and I are very close and I was happy for her, it was hard not to feel jealous. It was even more difficult to hide my disappointment when I received notification the following month I was rejected from Boston Ballet’s Summer Intensive. My little sister was not only good enough to attend, but good enough to receive a scholarship. At family gatherings, Laura, who merely considered ballet fun and a casual activity, would announce she had been admitted into the program and I would have to admit that I had not. I, who arrived half an hour early before every class to warm up and kept a dance journal tracking my goals and progress.
Back then, my value and self-worth were so wrapped up in my achievements as a dancer, I felt that if I failed, my identity would be stripped away. Were all the sacrifices I made to pursue a professional career worth it? Would I ever be good enough? How did something that brought me so much joy turn into constant self-criticism and pressure?
I was utterly embarrassed and totally devastated. My inner core was rattled and torn. If I wasn’t good enough to get into Boston’s program, would I ever be good enough to go professional? Why did my sister, who never took dance as seriously as I did, get in while I hadn’t?
After feeling sorry for myself, I returned to class. My mind was clear and open. I recognized I had to return to the roots of why I originally started dancing. On the dirty, shoe-scuffed floors stood a girl who smiled for the first time in a long time. This was my moment; I decided to make the most of it. Living in the moment felt as freeing as leaping into the sky. With this freedom came improvement. Instead of worrying about the placement of every tendon and ligament, I landed a triple pirouette effortlessly. I marveled at the moment without worrying about the next audition.
Being denied from Boston Ballet’s Summer Intensive was the best thing that could have happened to me. I learned what truly brings happiness is not necessarily quantifiable achievement. Becoming too focused on success, I lost the happiness I first found in dance. I had been continually chasing success, ultimately an unfulfilling endeavor.
This experience prepared me to lose a close race for Student Council Vice President. It was a little embarrassing, but not devastating. I recognized there would be other opportunities in the future and I refused to be defined by failure.
Ironically, I saw the tangible results of this mindset the next year when I was accepted into Boston Ballet’s Summer Intensive and elected Secretary of Student Council. There is an element of luck, whether it is acceptance into dance programs or winning an election. I learned it is a mistake to get too consumed in your achievements. You must have a more well-rounded perspective about who you are.
This is a great example of something mentioned elsewhere—failure can be a more compelling story than success. This story is really about the futile quest for perfection and learning about yourself. The third paragraph from the end is especially strong—you want to read that over carefully. (In fact, the final two paragraphs are almost anticlimactic, but not quite.) There is also a story within a story (this is known as a “frame narrative”): the writer’s relationship with her sister. That makes the piece even more readable. Writing this essay made the writer more introspective.
Students who choose this prompt usually feel passionate about a belief they have questioned or challenged. This often makes for a strong essay because you can demonstrate your passion about your subject to the reader. These essays tend to come from the heart; they are sincere. There is a potential hazard, namely, that if you are writing about a controversial subject, your reader might not agree with your position. That doesn’t mean you should not take a stand in your essay, but you should avoid the trap of coming off as dogmatic or arrogant, an easy trap to fall into. When you write this essay, your skill will be obvious if you can show yourself as committed to your convictions but reasonable in your approach. Tip: Don’t write an essay where you are questioning something that is illegal, like drug use or alcohol. For instance, don’t write about why you think the drinking age should be lowered to eighteen. It might sound self-serving and that you are trying to justify illegal behavior.
Throughout my life, I’ve always felt it is important to stand up for what I believe. Although this sounds like a cliché, I can say that one of my strengths is that I truly live by that statement.
An example of this took place when I lived in Korea and attended Seoul Foreign School (SFS), an international school with firm Christian beliefs, which required all the teachers to be Christian. One day in advisory, my adviser was discussing religion. She asked everyone in the class to raise their hands if they believed in evolution. My classmates looked indifferent to the question, as if just the thought of answering “yes” to this question was alien to them. After a moment of self-conscious hesitation, I raised my hand. My adviser looked at me, almost incredulously, and started asking me questions.
“So,” she said in a mocking tone, “if you believe in evolution, you believe that if I gave it enough time, this water bottle could turn into this folder?”
I stammered, “No, of course not, and attempted to justify my position to her. However, I was caught off-guard, and it was difficult to stand up to my teacher in front of my whole class. She made it uncomfortable for me and I could tell she was trying to make me look silly. But I stood my ground, and refused to back down. I did not argue but I made my point respectfully. It makes me angry looking back on how my teacher treated me, but I am also proud that, even at that age, I was able to stand up for myself. I think it speaks to who I am as a person that I stood my ground and didn’t succumb to her when she started making fun of my beliefs.
This adviser was dogmatic about her beliefs and would not listen to other viewpoints. She refused to understand that people have different opinions and not everyone shares the same views she does. That particular day always comes to mind when I recall the times that I have stood up for my beliefs.
I’m not an extremely extroverted person, but when I see someone belittling me or another person’s values, I don’t hesitate to defend myself and others, no matter what. If I don’t agree with how I or someone else is being treated, I will not be passive about it. It’s easy to go through life not making your voice heard, but I have found that you feel more empowered as a person when you stand up for yourself and for others, regardless of how people may react. This has served me well in many different situations and I am glad I possess this characteristic.
It was daunting to speak up in front of my whole class, none of whom agreed with me, but I have no regrets. It is important in life to be confident in your values and proud of what you stand for, and this is a quality of mine that I hope to take with me as I go through the world.
This is an excellent answer to a prompt that students are often reluctant to select. At 520 words, it is concise, clear, and direct. In the last paragraph she ties an incident that happened to her years ago to her personality today. She is telling the school things about herself that the school would not otherwise know from her resume. That’s an important aspect of the Common App essay.
This “problem-solving” essay is the one where you may be able to write about something unique because your problem may be one no one else has ever imagined writing about before. It can be trivial or it can be serious, just be sure to concentrate on why the problem is important to you and how you will solve it. Also, don’t take on more than you can handle. Suppose you select a global problem like the coronavirus or climate change. You should consider several things: Many students are likely to write about it, and it is a complicated topic. It can be difficult to explain your solution and tell much about yourself in the allotted word count. You can still write about climate change but consider limiting your essay to giving your take on some specific aspect of climate change. Tip: It is easy to overload this essay with facts and have it become a research paper at the expense of your story. Keep your facts to a bare minimum.
“Persuade your neighbors to compromise whenever you can”—Abraham Lincoln, 1850
I have always been interested in current events—sports, politics, international news, pop culture, and everything in between. As I have matured and I routinely check the news on a variety of different sites, I have been exposed to a greater range of articles and stories, and politics has taken center stage.
I should have seen this coming. When I was in grade school, I memorized the order of the presidents of the United States before I understood anything about domestic or foreign policy. Simultaneously, from my parents and teachers, I learned certain core values such as respect, honesty, and listening before understanding their importance. These values have been ingrained in me since I was little, and now I realize the critical role they play in society. However, I have come to realize that American politicians exhibit few of the key values that I hold so dear.
As someone who has followed elections for years, I care deeply about the past, present, and future of this country, and hope that America can change its current divisive trajectory. Our Founding Fathers envisioned a country based on the principles of a republic, where power is vested in the people, who express that power through their elected representatives. Today’s America has deviated from those goals, and my generation’s dilemma will be to reunite the country based on the core values it was founded on and the values my parents instilled in me. While it is naïve to expect a perfect government based on grade school morals, our country must attempt to get started.
Our politicians must learn to disagree without being disagreeable. Every American has the fundamental right to his or her own opinion, but I am wary of the future when our politicians continue to disagree about every issue just to spite their opposition. However, there are ways to unite our ideologically divided country, and they begin with the values I take pride in. Each party fiercely blocks every piece of legislation, criticizes every speech, and undermines everything said or done by the opposition. Instead, politicians should listen to each other, analyze the specifics they disagree with, and try to work together to get both sides what they want.
When compromise is impossible on a particular issue, then I believe the best approach is to step back, take a break, and try to compromise later. Understandably, the world’s pressing problems cannot always wait for compromise. But when politicians slander each other on national television simply because they disagree about something trivial, this only widens the gap between the two sides and exacerbates the problem. When leaders display their stubbornness, their followers emulate them. If I were to become a politician, which has always been a possible goal of mine, I would defend my ideological positions, but I would always strive to be honest and morally sound. While morals don’t always win elections, my generation’s collective morals can help start this trend.
Overall, American citizens must take a step back, examine each issue, and imagine not only what they want in a perfect world, but also what they would settle for. If everyone, male and female, rich and poor, black and white, urban and rural, cannot find some common ground on the issues standing in the way of national unity, our country’s future looks grim. However, I believe in my heart that every American can put differences aside to encourage our leaders to do what is morally right. While each person has a unique set of beliefs, which makes doing what is “morally right” even more complicated, there are some morals that everyone can agree with. I know that I can exhibit good morals, and I hope my values can be of some help to the future of our country, in the spirit of compromise and kindness Abraham Lincoln advocated.
The best thing about this well-done essay, both in its tone and its message, is that it is not strident. The writer could have easily lapsed in a dogmatic political diatribe, which might reflect badly on him and turn off the reader. Rather, he takes a calm and measured approach. The reader should come off with a good impression of him. Notice also how he introduces his essay with a quote (it’s a good approach, but only if you can find an appropriate quote) by Lincoln in this case, and he circles back to it effectively in his conclusion. That stylistic point, when done well, usually strengthens your conclusion.
The key to this essay is usually telling the story of acquiring newfound maturity. It can be where you describe a volunteer project, a summer job, a vacation, or a competition—athletic, dance, music, speech, or scientific—anything that made you a more mature person. Helping other people, interacting with others in a work setting, or winning and losing can all be character builders. Don’t make the mistake of confusing this with your resume—that’s where detailed descriptions of your volunteer projects and awards belong. Where you finish in a competition is not important here; the details of how you competed are. This essay is to show the way those things have helped you grow and understand yourself better. Tip: Stay away from bar mitzvahs, confirmations, winning state championships, and so on, unless you can find a special take on them. They have been done to death. Don’t use the phrase “I will always remember this” or its equivalent, “I will remember this all my life.” Clichés.
“The Chinese government is coming to take you away!”
While it’s fairly normal for siblings to exchange petty insults like “Mom and Dad love me more,” and “I wish you were never born,” my older sister’s taunts were strangely political.
As little girls living temporarily in China with our parents, we were both acutely aware of the country’s strict one-child policy, but somehow my sister terrorized me into thinking my mere existence was a crime.
The Chinese government never came to take me away, but I did internalize a sensitivity to abandonment from a very young age. I knew that hundreds of Chinese babies, especially girls, were discarded in alleys and trash cans every day.
Walking the polluted streets of Qingdao with my mom one afternoon, I remember spotting a gaunt girl with sunken cheeks holding a cardboard sign with the words 没有家 or “no home” written in chicken scratch. My mom ushered me along the sidewalk, but as I turned my head, I felt her eyes glued to me, silently screaming “Take me home!”
From that moment on, the idea of adopting a younger sister dominated my thoughts. I imagined becoming a hero and molding this lost little person into an amazing human being. So, two years later, when our family moved back to Chicago, I formally launched my relentless adoption campaign, printing pictures and biographies of little girls who needed a home until my parents were completely on board. In 2013, after years of excessive forms, permits, and waitlists, our family finally received the call about Kiara, a four-year-old foster child from the South Side of Chicago. We eventually learned that Kiara had suffered horrific physical and emotional abuse, but it was years before I fully understood the depth of her trauma.
Almost immediately after her arrival, Kiara and I became locked in an ongoing power struggle. With Kiara mired in behavioral issues, I was constantly trying to control everything she did and felt frustrated by her inability to listen. After months of door slamming and stuff grabbing, the friction between us became unbearable. I realized I had to pull back and discard the naïve, big-sister rescue fantasy I’d constructed in my head. I realized I couldn’t singlehandedly erase or heal Kiara’s problems. I could only be her older sister, day in and day out, building love and trust over time with small acts of sisterhood, like sitting in the front row of her school plays and french braiding her hair every morning. It was putting aside my homework to deejay her weekend modeling performances so she could strut down the hallway “catwalk” between our rooms, wearing my clothes.
Last summer, when the day finally arrived to legally adopt Kiara, my family headed downtown to the courthouse, feeling nervous and excited. With Kiara’s sweaty hand wrapped snuggly in mine, I could sense her fear. I sent her three squeezes, our secret handshake, and Kiara’s deep dark eyes looked up at me as if to silently say “I love you, too.”
The judge glanced around the barren courtroom. Sensing Kiara’s hesitation, the judge asked a simple, get-to-know-you about siblings. Usually, when prompted with this question, Kiara would chatter excitedly about her nine half-siblings, all born to the same mom, but with six different dads. This time, Kiara told the judge she only had two older sisters, one who lets her sit in the front seat and the other who plays songs with swears in them. Reaching up and locking her fingers with mine, Kiara squeezed my hand three times, sending me a secret but undeniable message: we’re not perfect, but we’re family.
I now know that when it comes right down to it, an older sister doesn’t have to be a hero or even an amazing role model; sometimes, she’s just a hand to hold.
This piece illustrates how an effective essay can come from a good story. The opening quote grabs the reader and helps set up the story, actually two stories. If there is a criticism of this piece, it is the writer could have made the transition between the two stories smoother. The older sister gets lost in the second story; it might have been better had she earned a mention. But these are small points. The essay does a good job of holding the reader’s attention, and the ending is excellent. Perhaps the writer’s older sister should get a follow-up mention, but the touching portrayal of Kiara more than makes up for it. One effective strategy is telling the reader about yourself through your relationship with another person. In a few sentences, the writer does a masterful job of telling the reader about Kiara—and about herself as well. The essay is supposed to be about you, but when you can tell the reader about yourself through another person, as she does here, it’s often quite successful. Granted, not everyone can write about growing up in one-child Communist China, but the writer takes advantage of her personal story. (Note: The Common App may not accept foreign language and other special characters.)
At 14, I stood in the back corner of the room, quivering at the sight of the beautiful, confident dancers wearing extravagant hairstyles and neon crop tops that highlighted their well-defined stomach muscles. I had abandoned my rigid dance studio for the summer intensive of Lisa Douglas, whom I had admired for years. But as I looked around, I knew I was in over my head.
After several days, I started growing comfortable with the new dances—contemporary styles and movements that challenged me physically and mentally. However, I still feared being judged by the talented dancers around me. On the final day, Lisa Douglas watched me in my hiding place. When the music stopped, she asked me to perform in front of everyone. With nerves jangling, I performed onstage. Minutes later, there was a roar of applause and the formerly intimidating dancers shouted words of praise. That moment changed my attitude, providing me confidence to perform and confirming that my hard work was paying off.
I fell in love with dance when I was three, and it gradually continued to boost my spirits, giving me escape from stressful nights when my mind would race wildly. For fifteen years, the joy of movement, release of tension, and satisfaction resulting from my efforts kept me coming to class every week for hours on end.
But that was internally; externally, it was different. As a freshman, I was riddled with insecurities; I dreaded the spotlight for fear of being judged. At the back of class, I worked hard but avoided attention. However, this insecure mindset was impractical for someone aspiring to become an accomplished dancer.
After my experience in Ms. Douglas’s class, I entered a world of competition designed to expose my vulnerability and lack of confidence. My new teachers encouraged me to confront uncomfortable experiences. The first small steps were standing in front of class or demonstrating an exercise to everyone. Eventually, my confidence grew, and I began accepting more demanding challenges. I agreed to partnering classes, where I was swept off my feet by college-level male dancers, and was thrown into improv circles, forced to make humiliating animal noises in front of strangers.
Soon, my instructors began dragging me to public auditions. At first, these auditions were epic failures: I would forget choreography, stumble over my feet, and freeze during the improvisation section. However, the embarrassment in front of experienced dancers pushed me to change my approach to auditions. I had to figure ways to increase my confidence.
Fortunately, my enthusiasm for dance was growing. I was proud of learning to manage my time more efficiently. As high school work ramped up, my work ethic and dedication were tested. Spending 20+ hours at the studio and then coming home to hours of homework was mentally exhausting, but I was managing it all.
Besides the injuries, getting cut from auditions, endurance issues and exhaustion, the competitive world of dance presents a continuing challenge because of the constant comparison with others and the resulting self-doubt. Dance taught me to focus on my own improvement rather than obsessing over other dancers. I started applying this approach to my school career, paying less attention to my academic “competition” and concentrating on my personal development.
Throughout my dance and school careers, my resilience has increased and my failures have helped me grow. I perform with a joy that reminds me of the feeling I got when I was three. I overcame many self-imposed obstacles, and I now am a stronger person physically and mentally. I see now, more than ever, how the lessons I learned from dance have carried over into my personal life. I have more confidence in class, a better work ethic in school, and I respond to failure in a positive manner. Every day, I thank my years of dance and my experience with Lisa Douglas’s class for my personal development.
Beautiful essay. You can almost envision her gaining confidence. Notice how she sets up her answer to the prompt—this is one of the few times you’ll see that it is better not to answer the prompt immediately (and she does answer it in the second paragraph). The story that introduces her to the reader is perfect in illustrating her personal development. It was much better than had she started with “dance increased my confidence . . .” and then told her story. Also notice how there is no mention of any particular successful dance competition. Dance is only the backdrop; the story is really about her. When you are writing your essay, keep that in mind.
The things that captivate you tell the reader about you and your motivation. This is a fairly straightforward prompt, and in some respects it is similar to the first prompt. Except that this prompt requires you to go into further detail about your interest—how you acquired it, how you pursue it, and any mentors you might have. You might talk about your musical interests, interests in art or architecture, business, science, fashion, the environment, and the like. This gives the reader some indication of your intellectual and academic curiosity. Tip: If you want to demonstrate your intellectual curiosity, it’s probably not a good idea to write about binge-watching Netflix. If you want to write about something like playing video games, be sure to make it compelling.
The Big Cheese
One crisp afternoon after cross-country practice, I sidled into the weight room. I drank in the metallic clinks of the iron plates, the enormous linemen, their torn shirts smeared with textual inspiration. “NEXT BREATH,” they told me. “LION PRIDE,” they screamed. In the midst of this bedlam, a small voice whispered in my ear, “How much do you like cheese?”
Let’s back up. I’m very involved in my school. I’m the guy who runs meetings, scribbles outrageous plans on blackboards, calls, speaks, builds. People come to me, and I help them. But cheese?
I wheeled around, and leaning on a rusting machine was Mr. Cooley, a history teacher. Cooley is a renaissance man, and a fabulously eccentric one at that. I always pictured him as a youngster on Christmas Eve, praying Santa would bring him that anthology of French poetry or that killer make-your-own cold fusion kit he had his eye on, and maybe, just maybe, if he got lucky, there would be some glass tins of caviar clinking sweetly together at the bottom of his alpaca wool stocking.
Cooley stood there, waiting for my answer. I cautiously spoke up, “Well, I do love my Camembert . . .” Before I could continue, he cut in—“Fabulous. Just what I wanted to hear.” He easily read the confusion in my face. “Here’s the beef—I’m thinking of starting the Cheese Club. I’m looking for fromage enthusiasts like yourself. Whaddya think?” I paused. Cooley is a man whom I respect deeply. He is an athlete, a scholar, a gentleman. Initial shock aside, this might be something I would like. I nodded my affirmation, and replied, “I’ll noodle it over.”
That night, I indeed pondered the bond between myself and cheese. Cooley chose me because he knew I was eccentric enough, bold enough, crazy enough to put myself out on the limb and say, “I’m the president of Cheese Club!” I would take to the halls, posting bills, crying, “Stilton Saturday! Bring your own wheel, and bring a friend!” Suddenly, I smelt an idea. I tip-toed upstairs, pilfered a dusty volume from my mom’s library of cookbooks, and slid it into my backpack for tomorrow.
The next morning, I stopped by the social studies department. Each teacher is a busy bee with their own honeycomb, a personal hexagon sporting scale models of the Coliseum and bumper stickers wondering “Iowa—Is This Heaven?” A life-sized bust of Aristotle frowned at me in his pensive way as I walked up to Cooley’s desk. He did a full three spins on his desk chair before he came to rest, looking up at me. “Yes?” “I slept on the whole Cheese Club thing, and I have this for you.” I unzipped my bag and whipped out my mother’s copy of A Cheese Primer. Its girth registered a resounding smack on the desk, with enough gusto to send Aristotle himself wobbling on his thin marble pedestal. Cooley looked from the book to Aristotle to me, and nodded silently. “Profound,” he breathed. Our eyes met, and Cheese Club was born.
A nice, humorous essay that shows that you don’t have to use all 650 words to create a good piece. This one is only 511 words, but it accomplishes its goal. The writer might have used his last 140 words to give us some follow-up to what happened with the Cheese Club, but he may have felt this was as far as he could go with this idea—don’t pad unnecessarily. (Common App essays don’t have to be 650 words, but you can rarely make the impression you want in fewer than 400 words.) This essay gives you a sense of the author and his relationship with his teacher, who has obviously made a lasting impression on him. There is no challenge or setback that was overcome here, but the writer has still accomplished something by creating a new club. The essay is light and breezy, never too serious. A piece like this can also satisfy any number of prompts. It is a good illustration that you don’t have to take the prompt or the assignment too seriously. In fact, if you do, sometimes you come up with a ponderous, unreadable essay. It’s not bad to lighten up.
We generally discourage students from selecting this prompt. You can usually tailor your topic of choice to one of the other six prompts. Consider what you want to write about and see how it fits with another prompt; the first prompt—background, identity, interest, talent—usually works. If you decide to select this prompt, understand that is both easier and harder than the others. Easier, because it does not require that you answer a question, but harder in that you must provide your own theme. If you choose to write an essay of your choice or you decide to design your own prompt, demonstrate focus in delivering your message; the Common App essay is not just a creative writing exercise. Tell the reader something about yourself that is not in your application. Alternatively, write about something you love—or something you hate. Either way, do it with feeling.
Do you know any Muslim girls who like square-dancing? Now I am not remotely a dancer, but I love t-shirts. In freshman gym class, I wasn’t excited for the square dancing unit, but the best square dance team in class would win a t-shirt. At that point, I didn’t care that the unit was about some dance based on old-fashioned rural and White European mountain-community barn dances, I just wanted that t-shirt and nothing would stop me from getting it. I was motivated to win, and I was determined to motivate my group to win.
The first few days I learned promenade and do-si-dos with students who were complete strangers to me. The unit wasn’t a class favorite and most of the groups couldn’t care less about square dancing. I became the leader of my group—students, some of whom probably looked at my skin and automatically thought I was a terrorist. With the incentive of winning this t-shirt, I told them my goal and got their support in achieving it.
Meanwhile, other groups would roll their eyes and just go through the motions; our team would skip and add a Texas Twirl at the end to give the dance a little more flare. We goofed off less at practice and added our own style to the dances. When it came to the singing parts, we all sang so loudly that our voices echoed throughout the school. Our energy and passion for square dancing followed us all day. When we saw each other in the hallway, we would do some quick dos-si-do before heading to class. Led by the Muslim girl who asked so many questions in class, our group actually enjoyed square dancing and our passion spread to other groups. Suddenly, there was serious competition as everyone tried to top us. I just told our group we just had to work even harder. In the semi-finals, our team didn’t make a single mistake. Then came the finals and I encouraged our team to be even better.
We were flawless, so good that we would have qualified for the square-dancing Olympics if there was one. We Alabama-lefted our partners and though our palms were sweaty as we clapped, it was the best performance we had ever done. When it came to announce the winner, everyone knew it was us. That day I led my team to the square-dancing championship at my high school.
We won the shirts, and we wore them with pride. At that point, my goal was accomplished; I added another t-shirt to my collection. But this was just the beginning of my square-dancing journey. I realized this contest was bigger than some t-shirt that I wanted for my closet. I might not be able to put a square dancing championship on my resume but I could apply the hard work and passion I put into this goal into anything I do.
I learned from this that anything is possible and you should always strive to do more, even if you reach your goal. I also learned that if you can lead a group into supporting you and give your utmost, you will always succeed in some way. If I could do this with square dancing, I could do this with anything.
People see me as many things: the girl who works so hard to learn how to write a DBQ, the girl who fills her summer up with endless tasks such as summer courses and internships, the girl who stays up all night trying to understand bank curves in physics. What they don’t see is that I am also what square dancing has made me—a professional square dancer. And I will continue to use the valuable skills I acquired in my classes and my life. I may even try to teach some of my Muslim friends to square dance—it’s really fun!
This essay might have answered either of the first two prompts. It’s a particularly compelling story with a great question for a lede. Who wouldn’t want to read on after “Do you know any Muslim girls who like square dancing?” And she follows through with a story that is both interesting and informative about the writer. It’s incidental that they happened to win the championship, but in this case, it makes for a better essay.
Rowing? Yes, rowing as in “Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream.”
Every time I tell people from my neighborhood that I am a rower, I am forced to sing this song; most inner-city Hispanics have no idea what crew is or what an incredible sport it is! I grew up in Little Village, a predominantly Hispanic community in Chicago, part of a family of six. My parents, who only completed grammar school, emigrated from Mexico more than twenty years ago. They sought a better life, which included opportunities for their children to become educated. In my family we value education and hard work above everything else. I have watched my parents work tirelessly to ensure that my siblings and I get an education so we can avoid the hardships that they experienced. My parents have always told me that their greatest accomplishment is that all of their children work hard and appreciate the opportunities they have been given. My parents are the main reason I strive to excel in my education and why, for the past eight years, I have dedicated myself so completely and passionately to rowing.
I am part of a rowing training center, which provides underserved kids who would not be able to participate due to the cost, the opportunity to train for free. Rowing has taught me the most important lesson in life: there is no limit to what you can do as long as you have motivation and discipline, a lesson I have applied to my education. Years ago, people would tell me that I could not receive a good education because the schools in Little Village were low-performing academically. Yes, this is true, but that was no obstacle for me. It simply made me work harder. When the time came, instead of enrolling in my neighborhood high school, I applied to private high schools and for scholarships to help my parents pay for my tuition. My hard work was rewarded with a scholarship to St. James Academy.
Last year, my dad was unemployed and with tuition payments due it was hard for our family. However, I used my rowing experience to encourage my family to work together. Like rowers stroking together to move the boat, my family moved forward as a team. My mother found a part-time job, and my brothers and I helped with the chores at home while my father worked on finding a job. Ultimately, we were stronger than ever, and I am eternally grateful for this challenge because together we as a family worked harder than I ever thought we could and we succeeded. For me, it was a lot like having a rocky start in a race—everyone must work together to regain balance in the boat. If rowers cooperate to settle the boat and then pull extra hard, there is always a chance for a come-from-behind victory.
Rowing has also helped me put my education in perspective. I choose the most rigorous classes and challenge myself to work as hard as I can, which is why I take classes like AP Calculus and have a GPA above a 4.0. I think of it as training. My finish line will be to attend a prestigious college where I can earn a degree that will provide me with career opportunities. Attending St. James means waking up two hours earlier than I normally would to get ready for school and riding the bus for more than hour. But it also means new opportunities that I will take advantage of to make my parents, and the others who have supported me throughout my rowing and school career, proud. I know that hard work and determination in my studies, in rowing, and in every aspect of my life, will help me achieve any goal I set.
This is another essay that could have answered either of the first two prompts. In essence, it’s a personal growth essay, Although the author lists her rowing accomplishments in her resume, and it is generally not desirable to duplicate your accomplishments in your essay, here it is not so much about how well she did but what rowing meant to her. You can’t help but think she will do well in college, and if you have conveyed this in your essay, you have done a good job.