Undergraduate / 'being helpful from just being offensive.' - The Art of Persuasion; Common App [5]

The Art of Persuasion
In fifth grade I realized life is pointless. I remember the moment vividly. My class was volunteering at an old age home overseen by a jaded program head, who had made it clear she had better things to do. She had oddly chosen The Circle Game by Joni Mitchell as the perfect song to cheer up the geezers. From the melancholy music I picked up on the chorus:

"We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return we can only look
Behind from where we came "

Though everybody was singing, I must have been the only one listening to the lyrics. Done chanting the song long before my tiny young friends and their (ironically) tiny old counterparts, I realized that my friends, my family, everyone I knew - even I - would die. It suddenly became clear that any accomplishment or failure of mine, any victory or defeat, would be remembered and known for but the smallest portion of time. My prepubescent self was suddenly and terrifyingly confronted with its own mortality. Worse, with its own insignificance.

At such a young age, I was ill prepared for my first existential crisis. I wasn't quite sure how to deal with it. But, rest assured, being the mature, idealistic, well-spoken ten-year old I was, I informed the program head exactly how "incredibly stupid" her song choice was. The director told me that I was wrong; it was a happy song. What began as a scholarly exchange of ideas quickly deteriorated. When I opened my mouth to retort, she shushed me with a dismissive wave of her hand, examining her fingernails in the same flourish. More than frustrated, I let loose a string of insults and profanities that I felt sure would win me the argument. Another classic day at the old age home.

My epiphany over the purposelessness of life was not the first view I had unsuccessfully tried to share with others. In fact, my tendency to argue my views ever so tenaciously has infuriated the people in my life more than a few times. After reading that story, I fear that even you, admissions officer, have misinterpreted my desire to critically analyze what people say and give mindful feedback that furthers discussion, for a desire to simply argue for the sake of arguing, or worse, for a desire to show off. I was a very nice kid on the whole, even winning the citizenship award upon graduating elementary school. It's that when you're getting constructive criticism, it's easy to mistake a crane for a wrecking ball. It's even easier when the crane is a stubborn little kid who's still learning to distinguish being helpful from just being offensive.

But I had bigger ideas than my small stature would suggest; ideas that demanded to be shared and challenged and sharpened by debate. I just needed a way to cultivate the skills and gain the venue necessary to express them with.

In high school I found it. I am a devoted debater, a tournament champion. People I compete against have no choice but to listen to me! Debate has honed my speaking skills so that I can contribute intelligently in each of my classes without coming across as rebellious or elitist. It has given me the confidence to not have to curb my answers to align with my teacher's views. I never miss the opportunity to discuss an idea or disagreement with a teacher or the class, and they respect me for it.

Remember that program head? On our next visit to the old age home a week later, she pulled me aside and admitted she had come around to my view of the song. I was ten, and already learning the power of words, already learning how people might be persuaded, already learning I was good at persuading them. Today, I'm six-foot four, and my ideas are still no match for my size. Now, when Joni Mitchell croons that "we can't go back", I look forward.