Undergraduate / "double-major in History and Economics" - Georgetown University Essay #2 [4]

So I'm applying early action to Georgetown, and as the deadline approaches (Nov. 1) I was hoping to try this website to get some last minute advice on my essay. If you could take a minute or two to read my essay and post any comments or criticisms, i would greatly appreciate it.

Sincerely,
Boyohboy17

PROMPT: Please relate your interest in studying at Georgetown University to your goals. How do these thoughts relate to your chosen course of study?

For most teenagers of seventeen, life is a mess. Amid the towering stacks of college applications, the infinite troubles between boyfriends and girlfriends, and the continuous popularity contest known as high school, kids can easily loose their heading and enter the next stage of their lives disoriented and scared. Mothers and fathers can do their best to re-orient these hobbledehoy organisms with words of encouragement and their sometimes-constructive criticism, but in the end, the only thing that matters is the compass teenagers use to steer their life in the right direction.

My plan is to double-major in History and Economics, with a focus on American History and Macroeconomics. History is my passion. Biographies of men like Abraham Lincoln, John C. Calhoun, and, my favorite historical figure of all time, Theodore Roosevelt line the bookshelf in my room. The elementary question I ask of anything and everything, "why?" provides all the passion I need to devour such historical texts; my necessity to constantly be learning keeps me from ever becoming complacent. AP European History taught me to think like a historian, and AP U.S History converted me into one. Georgetown, just 5 minutes away from Washington D.C, is at the heart of America's past. As the oldest Catholic and Jesuit University in the nation, there is no better place for an inspired student to learn about the most powerful and influential nation in history.

Economics applies the principals and theories of natural science to the concepts and logic of mathematics. An understanding of economics means an understanding of the primary force that drives not only our nation, but also the entire world. My ultimate desire is to start my own business. As the president and founder of the Food Critics Club at Mira Costa High School, I know the feeling of creating something out of nothing, and seeing that something grow and mature. It is a feeling of both exhilaration and maturity unmatched by any other experience. To see my club grow from three members, to ten, and now to twenty five is a sight well worth all of the effort I have put in. Although a food critics club is a lot different than a business, the feeling of creation is the same, and it is a feeling that I will pursue well after college. Undoubtedly, a degree in economics from Georgetown will provide an incredibly strong foundation for my future commercial endeavors.

Since my sophomore year, Georgetown University has been my dream school, and I was luckily able to visit this past summer during a soccer camp hosted by the Hoya Soccer Team. I stayed in the New South dormitory for three nights and was able to briefly experience what a life at Georgetown would feel like. Although classes were out of session and students were home for the summer, chills still ran down my spine as I strolled the campus grounds in between practices. When I first passed the school cemetery, the deafening music produced by the cicadas and the awe-inspiring sense of tradition emanating from the school overwhelmed my senses. It was at that moment that I knew Georgetown was the school for me.

For most teenagers of seventeen, life is a mess- but not for me. I know where I am going; my heading is strong and my determination stronger. My goal is to enroll in Georgetown College and double major in history and economics. My goal is to emerge from Georgetown as an adult, prepared for the future and prepared for life. My goal is to start my own business, and experience that incommunicable feeling of creating something from nothing. My goal is to be a lifelong learner, to never stop questioning the world around me. My goals for the future serve as my compass, guiding me through uncertainty and disorder in proper direction.

Most teenagers of seventeen don't know where they are going. But I do.

I'm going to Georgetown University.

Undergraduate / "History, a need to understand the world" - Personal Statement- Topic of your Choice [3]

Please let me know what you think. It's a bit long, so bear with me.
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I've always been a bit different. My parents frequently tell stories to friends and family about how overwhelming my curiosity was as a toddler. They reminisce of the times when we would go down to the beach and walk along the bike path. I would regularly stop bike riders and skateboarders and ask them questions. Questions like "where are you going?" or "when are you coming back?" seemed to evoke only blank and stupefied looks. Even when just walking down the street with my nanny, questions constantly hummed in the back of my brain. Like the insistent buzzing of a fly trapped in a room during the night, the questions I had drowned out all my other thoughts and desires, making me unable to focus on anything but the buzzing. After passing an interesting house, I would quickly retract my hand from my nanny's grasp and dart to the door that had become the center of my universe. I didn't care that she was yelling at me from the sidewalk in Spanish, because, weather she liked it or not, I had to know what was hiding behind that door. I was a bird. I was a plane. I was superman; not even kryptonite could stop me as I flew to that barrier shielding me from the unknown. After ringing the doorbell, I would stand there and wait for someone to come out. I had to know what was behind that door. I had to find that fly that was buzzing in my head.

I looked up at the door. The low drone of curiosity was always loudest when I thought of Mr. Beals. He was an old, crusty man of about sixty who lived in my neighborhood and who seemed to be at odds with the world. Kids were convinced that he was secretly an alien from Jupiter, sent on a mission to observe and report on the human race. He lived in "The Alamo House," dubbed by the children of the block due to its eerie resemblance to the Alamo. It had a door with grey wood and a black, wrought iron doorknob, and two windows that were perpetually covered with a thin coat of dust- they seemed to watch at you as you walked by on the sidewalk. It was that door that captivated me.

I am a history addict today. The bookshelf in my room is lined with biographies of men like Abraham Lincoln and Theodore Roosevelt, of former Secretaries of state and power-hungry dictators. These men interest me, but their ideas captivate me. Ideas are fickle things. They can hide in the farthest reaches of the mind or they can jump to its forefront; they can be ideas of humanitarian endeavors, or they can be ideas of egocentric, individual glory. However, no matter how different or controversial they may be, ideas are what define the world we live in. Lurking within the confines of biographies, petrified by the ink of a pen, are the ideas of some of the greatest minds to have ever walked this earth. It is my obsession to search for these creatures that play such crucial roles in the grand scheme of things. Although my doorbell-ringing craze ended twelve years ago, the constant buzzing of curiosity continuously drones on in the back of my brain.

I rang the doorbell. I would have dreams of space ships and aliens emerging from the Alamo House, of Mr. Beals asking me if I wanted to go with him to Jupiter. They were never scary dreams; I never woke in the middle of the night in a cold sweat like in the movies. If anything, these dreams drove my curiosity. One day, while walking by the Alamo House, the droning of the fly in my head became unbearable. I sprinted up Mr. Beals' redbrick steps that led to the Count-Chocula like door and I rang the doorbell.

Life as a senior has not been as grand as I was previously led to believe. I grind through the endless school week that pushes me to the boarder between sanity and insanity; the classes I take ensure that I get no more than 6 hours of sleep per night. My Saturdays are then usually spent driving to the middle of nowhere for a soccer game or two. By the time I get home, I usually have enough time to get a bite to eat with some friends down by the beach, or watch a Will Ferrell flick before I pass out from exhaustion. My Sunday mornings, however, are different- providing a respite from the all the stress and exhaustion that come with being a teenager. I wake up, warm a cup of hot cocoa, play some Bach of Schubert on the speakers in my room, and then choose a book to read while lying in bed. I see the works of Johann Sebastian Bach and Franz Schubert as riveting masterpieces that evoke sharp emotions and images within the mind's eye- yet they are also gentle lullabies, perfect for my Sunday mornings. The books I choose to read vary greatly. They can be my any one of my beloved historical biographies, a good Michael Crichton thriller, or even one of my childhood favorites- Harry Potter. No matter which book I choose to read or which concerto I decide to listen to, the simple fact that I am perusing my own intellectual pleasures always makes my heart smile.

I waited. The world around me went silent. I was a prisoner of my own thoughts. Filled with pictures of aliens and firefighters, secret agents and evil masterminds, anticipation of who would answer the door overwhelmed my senses. As I stood there in my Velcro sketchers and Power Rangers t-shirt, the anticipation of an alien opening the door did not frighten me- it exited me.

I have a need to understand the world around me, a drive that cannot be satisfied by the bare minimum. I have to go above and beyond to be fulfilled, and once I get there, I have to keep going. My intellectual curiosity keeps me from ever becoming complacent, but I would have it no other way. I am the five year old that has questions for everyone and everything and who rings doorbells no matter what people say. I am the five year old who is not scared of aliens, of the unknown- of the future. I am the five year old who is searching for the endless droning of a fly.

The door opens

Undergraduate / "My intellectual curiosity, Doorbells" - Personal Statement [6]

This is my Common app personal statement. It is topic of your choice, so it was really vague. If you post any criticisms/thoughts on my essay, i promise that I will read yours as well. Thanks

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I've always been a bit different. My parents frequently tell stories to friends and family about how overwhelming my curiosity was as a toddler. They reminisce of the times when we would go down to the beach and walk along the bike path in my hometown of Manhattan Beach. I would regularly stop bike riders and skateboarders and ask them questions. Questions like "where are you going?" or "when are you coming back?" seemed to evoke only blank and stupefied looks. Even when just walking down the street with my nanny, questions constantly hummed in the back of my brain. Like the insistent buzzing of a fly trapped in a room during the night, the questions I had drowned out all my other thoughts and desires, making me unable to focus on anything but the buzzing. After passing an interesting house, I would squirm free from my nanny's grasp and dart to the door that had become the center of my universe. I didn't care that she was yelling at me from the sidewalk in Spanish, because, weather she liked it or not, I had to know what was hiding behind that door. I was a bird. I was a plane. I was superman; not even kryptonite could stop me as I flew to that barrier shielding me from the unknown. After ringing the doorbell, I would stand there and wait for someone to appear. I had to know what was behind that door. I had to find that fly that was buzzing in my head.

I look up at the door.

The low drone of curiosity was always loudest when I thought of Mr. Beals. He was an crusty old man of about sixty who lived in my neighborhood and who seemed to be at odds with the world. Kids were convinced that he was secretly an alien from Jupiter, sent on a mission to observe and report on the human race. He lived in "The Alamo House," dubbed by the children of the block due to its eerie resemblance to the Alamo. It had a door with grey wood and a black, wrought iron doorknob, and two windows that were perpetually covered with a thin coat of dust, which seemed to watch you while walking on the sidewalk. However, it was that door that captivated me.

I ring the doorbell.

I would have dreams of space ships and aliens emerging from the Alamo House, of Mr. Beals asking me if I wanted to go with him to Jupiter. They were never scary dreams; I never woke in the middle of the night in a cold sweat like in the movies. If anything, these dreams drove my curiosity. One day, while walking by the Alamo House, the droning of the fly in my head became unbearable. I sprinted up Mr. Beals' redbrick steps that led to the Count-Chocula like door and I rang the doorbell.

I wait.

The world around me went silent. I was a prisoner of my own thoughts. Filled with pictures of aliens and firefighters, secret agents and evil masterminds, anticipation of who would answer the door overwhelmed my senses. As I stood there in my Velcro sketchers and Power Rangers t-shirt, the anticipation of an alien opening the door did not frighten me. It excited me.

I wait.

As a seventeen year old about to make the transition to college, I find myself looking back on my childhood more and more often. I am amazed at how much I have changed- how the freckly little kid with a bowl cut has grown into a 6'6'' adult. Yet I am more amazed at how little I have changed. I have kept all of the habits that I had as a five year old. In my Calculus class, for example, I still count with my fingers, and at restaurants I still make my mom cut my cheeseburger in half. The curiosity that permeated into my soul as a kid, that made me ring Mr. Beals' doorbell, has never really gone away. It manifests itself today in my addiction to history. Men like Abraham Lincoln and Theodore Roosevelt fascinate me, but their ideas captivate me. Ideas are fickle things. They can hide in the farthest reaches of the mind or they can jump to its forefront; they can be ideas of humanitarian endeavors, or they can be ideas of egocentric, individual glory. However, no matter how different or controversial they may be, ideas are what define the world we live in. Lurking within the confines of historical biographies, petrified by the ink of a pen, are the ideas of some of the greatest minds to have ever walked this earth. It is my obsession to search for these creatures that play such crucial roles in the grand scheme of things. Although my doorbell-ringing craze ended twelve years ago, the constant buzzing of curiosity continuously drones on in the back of my mind.

I have a need to understand the world around me, a drive that cannot be satisfied by the bare minimum. I have to go above and beyond to be fulfilled, and once I get there, I have to keep going. My intellectual curiosity keeps me from ever becoming complacent, but I would have it no other way. I am the five year old that has questions for everyone and everything and who rings doorbells no matter what people say. I am the five year old who is not scared of aliens, of the unknown, of the future. I am the five year old who is searching for the endless droning of a fly.

The door opens