Undergraduate / Stanford "Intellectual Vitality" Essay about Dementia [4]

"Stanford students are widely know to posses a sense of intellectual vitality. Tell us about an idea or experience you have had that you find intellectually engaging."

I stared keenly into my grandmother's age-wearied eyes, puzzled by the uncommon sense of unfamiliarity I found within her hazel gaze. She feigned a smile to veil her confusion - no, her insecurity. "It's your grandson Spencer!" I loudly vocalized to ensure that I was audible. Instantly, her nearly toothless grin became genuine and the fog clouding her memory dissipated. Recognition had set it in. My grandmother was still in there; I only had to search harder to overcome the gripping effects of Dementia.

At the site of my grandmother's familiar face, I'm instantly reminded of my childhood. I fondly reminisce about visiting her house each day after elementary school and rummaging through a chestnut wicker basket stocked with an assortment of wooden blocks and arches and brass knick-knacks. I'm reminded of the war-worthy fortresses, modern skyscrapers, and grandiose palaces I constructed from the apparent pieces of junk. These are memories that I cherish - memories that I know she can't recall, memories Dementia has stolen from her.

As I look into her eyes, I wonder what she is thinking or trying to think. I consider how she must feel to be the pawn of her own mind at times, eliciting little control over voluntary thought. To be eroded by the natural, uncontrollable ebb and flow of her memories? What causes her brain to slowly shrink, tainting her memory? Dementia's clutch on the brain is truly surreal. It's my grandmother's irrepressible time-machine, transplanting her instantly from her carefree days as a teenager to her plight in today's harsh reality. I'm fearful of my grandmother's disease. Fearful of losing control. Fearful of losing her. Then, she smiles again and I'm reminded that she's not completely gone.

Thanks for reading my essay. I'm unsure if it shows intellectual vitality or if it is just too personal for this prompt

Undergraduate / "my pursuit of elusive perfection" - Common App Activity and Main Essay [3]

It was time. The principal's voice echoed through the speaker's static. The results were in. The entire school was listening, including my classmates standing in a single-file line behind me. I sighed deeply. Although the wait seemed immeasurable, instantly, it was over. "The winner of Student Council President is Blake Stokes." Not me. The election results reverberated through my head, cutting deeper wounds. I tried to suppress the growing knot in my throat unsuccessfully. The liquid glaze that coated my eyes ruptured and tears rolled down my cheeks. I buried my head in my fourth grade teacher's embrace and thoughts of self-doubt flooded my mind. I wasn't accustomed to defeat - to failure. I wasn't prepared for defeat either. My naïve perception of the world was shattered. I guess this is what they meant by life isn't fair. But never, I vowed, would I be the cause of these pangs of disillusionment.

So began my pursuit of elusive perfection.

My newborn fear of failure spawned a new journey in my life - one centered completely on being flawless. Throughout middle school, my goal seemed within reach, but with the onset of high school I encountered greater obstacles. I found myself burdened by the exhausting duo of harder school courses and morning swim practices. In order to achieve in these two important aspects of my life, I made other sacrifices. I was motivated to study during meals, forgo hours of sleep (but never morning practice), and stay home Friday or Saturday night to remain ahead in school (or to recuperate from the grueling week). What was my source of motivation? My coercive fear of failure. I studied to assure myself that I wouldn't miss an answer in class - to assure myself that I wouldn't be subject to the jeers of disbelief among my classmates when I was wrong. But was there really anything to be embarrassed about? I realize now that I was still naïve.

After four years of high school I have realized that perfection isn't simply elusive, it's unattainable. In retrospect, my goal of sheer excellence was too lofty and misguided. What is perfection? Does it even exist? Everyone's perception of flawlessness varies. In pursuing perfection, I sought an imaginary standard always beyond of my grasp. I placed false expectations on myself - expectations I couldn't fulfill. My motivation was based on the artificial presumption that I was supposed to be perfect. I expected it of myself - others didn't, I only believed they did. My struggle towards the acme of achievement imposed an unnecessary, encumbering pressure on me, and compelled by this pressure, I strove to achieve at the expense of other opportunities. At times, the strain of expectation became overbearing, but in retrospect my apparently unsuccessful chase can be viewed as fruitful.

In pursuing perfection I have ingrained a compelling desire for excellence within myself. I've learned not to place limits on my goals or dreams because they may be seemingly impossible. In searching for perfection, the most valuable idea that I have learned is not to be compelled by my faults, but motivate myself with my aspirations. For now, I'm content with myself - individually and imperfectly.

My muscles tense as I dive from the starting block and immerse myself in the chilling water. I unrelentingly disrupt the water's calm - forcing my arms through the undulating waves, kicking my legs furiously. As I swim my mind wanders to my reflection moving along the glossy black line below, but I divert my attention back to the race. I carefully devise my race strategy and visualize myself finding the wall first. Fatigue begins to set in and my muscles ache, yet I continue to force myself through the resistant water. I rely on the hours of training I dedicated to prepare for this moment; I rely on my teammates' support and cheers; I rely on myself. The black line disappears as my fingertips embrace the wall. I gasp for air at the finish - my heart pulsating, but there is no more pain. I find only self-satisfaction in the moment.

I'm not sure if I like the first essay, but I'm also crunched for time. Should it be considered as an experience and its impact on me or a topic of my choice? The short answer is about swimming and is supposed to be my thought process during a race.Thanks for reading and commenting!

Spencer