This is my best shot at the common app essay. Please take a look and critique as harshly as possible...
Prompt:Evaluate a significant experience, achievement, risk you have taken, or ethical dilemma you have faced and its impact on you.
On my bookshelf, between Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead and JRR Tolkien's The Hobbit, lies the only book I have refused to read, aptly titled Listening: The Forgotten Skill. The self-help guide was a "gift" from my Dad, which meant that he secretly put the book on my bookshelf, hoping I would stumble upon it and read it. Stumble upon it I did. Read it-well, that never happened.
My family has always considered me the loquacious child, too talkative for his own good. In fact, I didn't know the meaning of a phrase like "shut up" until at least the fourth grade. Little did I know music was going to change all of that-listening rather than speaking was going to become a crucial part of my life, as a musician, as a debater, and as an individual.
In the 5th grade I was introduced to the clarinet by my band teacher. I knew instantly that instrument was mine. To me, playing the clarinet was just like speaking, except with Beethoven, not my flesh and blood friends. Interestingly, however, I liked playing by myself, which meant I was a musical "loner," though I was a social butterfly. But, my lonesome clarinet world was soon shattered; I was chosen as a member of the Sacramento Youth Symphony.
On the first day of rehearsal, I felt very nervous, knowing that the pieces I had rehearsed so diligently by myself now needed to be integrated with the rest of the orchestra. My fingers went numb and my mouth seemed to fill with cotton as I struggled to perform with the symphony. I couldn't help, but feel disappointed after the rehearsal. I felt like my clarinets speech was incongruous with the speech of the orchestra. They would "speak" a beautiful solo and I would respond in a cacophony of nonsense. I didn't know it then, but the medicine I required was readily available-listening, my forgotten skill.
Week after week I struggled, but gradually improved. "Speaking" through my clarinet was a skill that took dedication and practice, but playing in an orchestra required constant and attentive listening - a completely foreign skill to me.
As I matured I increasingly began to understand the value of listening in an orchestral setting. Performance, like speaking, is interactive. You have to respond to the pizzicato of the violins with a gentle staccato on the clarinet, you have to feel the tuba's angry forte and respond with a fervent fortissimo, and you must understand and respond to the feeling, the music, and the art. But my orchestra experience was only a first step; the next step began as I learned to truly listen to people.
Whereas in the symphony the need to perform with others forced me to listen, debate seems to be totally different-actually, they're quite similar. Between writing cases and the pandemonium of the argument, debate is as much about listening as it is speaking. I daresay, I have always found speaking easy, but as I learned to listen I opened up a whole new world. While I was getting by speaking, the more I listened the more privy I became to the logical fallacies of my opponents. But, the plastic trophies I won in debate cannot compete with the social surprises listening pampered me with.
By improving my listening, I noticed myself making stronger connections with my friends, family, and even strangers. As a member of my school's "Culture Club" I worked with foreign exchange students by listening to them explain the barriers they have to face just to communicate as I readily do. Listening added to my perspective by showing me the interactive relationships I could create with people who could not speak the language I was accustomed too. Listening also gave me its finest gift, a dream for the future. I am now set upon teaching, a profession that requires listening as a foundation. It is my dream to become a better teacher and listener, and it is my hope that they are one and the same. But until then, I will shamelessly admit I still have never read the book Listening: The Forgotten Skill, but I believe that I likely arrived at its meaning sitting wedged between a row of clarinet players, fingering the notes of Beethoven's 5th, and listening, yes me, listening.
Prompt:Evaluate a significant experience, achievement, risk you have taken, or ethical dilemma you have faced and its impact on you.
Social Culture Club - Listening or Speaking?
On my bookshelf, between Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead and JRR Tolkien's The Hobbit, lies the only book I have refused to read, aptly titled Listening: The Forgotten Skill. The self-help guide was a "gift" from my Dad, which meant that he secretly put the book on my bookshelf, hoping I would stumble upon it and read it. Stumble upon it I did. Read it-well, that never happened.
My family has always considered me the loquacious child, too talkative for his own good. In fact, I didn't know the meaning of a phrase like "shut up" until at least the fourth grade. Little did I know music was going to change all of that-listening rather than speaking was going to become a crucial part of my life, as a musician, as a debater, and as an individual.
In the 5th grade I was introduced to the clarinet by my band teacher. I knew instantly that instrument was mine. To me, playing the clarinet was just like speaking, except with Beethoven, not my flesh and blood friends. Interestingly, however, I liked playing by myself, which meant I was a musical "loner," though I was a social butterfly. But, my lonesome clarinet world was soon shattered; I was chosen as a member of the Sacramento Youth Symphony.
On the first day of rehearsal, I felt very nervous, knowing that the pieces I had rehearsed so diligently by myself now needed to be integrated with the rest of the orchestra. My fingers went numb and my mouth seemed to fill with cotton as I struggled to perform with the symphony. I couldn't help, but feel disappointed after the rehearsal. I felt like my clarinets speech was incongruous with the speech of the orchestra. They would "speak" a beautiful solo and I would respond in a cacophony of nonsense. I didn't know it then, but the medicine I required was readily available-listening, my forgotten skill.
Week after week I struggled, but gradually improved. "Speaking" through my clarinet was a skill that took dedication and practice, but playing in an orchestra required constant and attentive listening - a completely foreign skill to me.
As I matured I increasingly began to understand the value of listening in an orchestral setting. Performance, like speaking, is interactive. You have to respond to the pizzicato of the violins with a gentle staccato on the clarinet, you have to feel the tuba's angry forte and respond with a fervent fortissimo, and you must understand and respond to the feeling, the music, and the art. But my orchestra experience was only a first step; the next step began as I learned to truly listen to people.
Whereas in the symphony the need to perform with others forced me to listen, debate seems to be totally different-actually, they're quite similar. Between writing cases and the pandemonium of the argument, debate is as much about listening as it is speaking. I daresay, I have always found speaking easy, but as I learned to listen I opened up a whole new world. While I was getting by speaking, the more I listened the more privy I became to the logical fallacies of my opponents. But, the plastic trophies I won in debate cannot compete with the social surprises listening pampered me with.
By improving my listening, I noticed myself making stronger connections with my friends, family, and even strangers. As a member of my school's "Culture Club" I worked with foreign exchange students by listening to them explain the barriers they have to face just to communicate as I readily do. Listening added to my perspective by showing me the interactive relationships I could create with people who could not speak the language I was accustomed too. Listening also gave me its finest gift, a dream for the future. I am now set upon teaching, a profession that requires listening as a foundation. It is my dream to become a better teacher and listener, and it is my hope that they are one and the same. But until then, I will shamelessly admit I still have never read the book Listening: The Forgotten Skill, but I believe that I likely arrived at its meaning sitting wedged between a row of clarinet players, fingering the notes of Beethoven's 5th, and listening, yes me, listening.
