Swings have always been my favorite playground apparatus, but I've never been able to pin down the exact reason why I like them. In the beginning, I thought it was the sensations of swinging: the wind blowing against my face, the soothingly constant pendulum-like swoops, the rhythmic squeaks of rusty chains and protective plastic sleeves. After I started dreaming, I began to think that maybe it was the feeling of freedom at the peak, like I was about to fly up out of my seat and into the sky. My dreams were dominated by visions and sensations of flying high above the ground, swooping and soaring, never anchored to the ground.
Only recently, when I sat on a swing for the first time in nearly two years, did I understand precisely why I had always loved swings. Accompanying the familiar rush of wind and weight of gravity was a sense of accomplishment. Years ago, I did not understand the meaning of real achievement. When I was younger, my parents always gave me boosting pushes to help me rise in the air. They stood behind me, making sure that if I fell, they'd be sure to pick me back up; I did not know what it was like to be the only one responsible for my actions and the only one to take any tumbles. However, once I grew old enough for my legs to touch the ground, I learned to give myself starting scrapes and to work hard, pumping my legs to go higher. As I grew older and began to understand the importance of independence and self-motivation, I also took the first steps to take charge of my own decisions and to push myself on my own swings.
My parents used to push me sometimes to go to taekwondo practice two or three times a week. I didn't see how it was terrifically valuable, aside from providing some physical exercise. I never told any of my friends about it, thinking that it was something to be ashamed of, something that they would make fun of me for. I was sure that if I mentioned that I studied taekwondo, I would promptly find myself amidst a teasing crowd of kids making ninja noises and pretending to pick a fight with me, something that would certainly lower my "cool" factor.
However, over the years, my initial reluctance gave way to maturity. There was something extremely cathartic about a good physical workout, but our instructor, Master Khanh, made sure that we understood the deeper benefits of studying martial arts as well. Though we were an odd bunch, a mixture of the young and the old, we all came for the same thing: fortification of both our physical and mental health. Amidst the solid thuds of targets being struck were firm words of encouragement, steeped in belief and lending in strength. As I slowly realized the importance of the life lessons I learned and cultivated during each class, I cherished the brief time I had each week to learn about respect, discipline, and honor.
In the end, it's all my own work that carries me into the sky. During my childhood, someone was always there behind me, my parents or my brother, lifting, pushing, standing behind me. When my family encouraged me to start to make my own decisions, I have to admit I was scared. I didn't want to because I was afraid of negative consequences, mistakes, and failures. Nevertheless, I discovered the key value of self-motivation to help me overcome my fears and reluctance. Eventually, I learned to push myself on my own swings, to take initiative and to appreciate what I could do for myself.
615 words - to be honest, i'm not at all a huge fan of this essay. what do you think? it's the only commonapp one i have, but i think it needs a lot of work. the only other option i have is a ridiculously crazy essay i wrote for UChicago at 3 am. people love it but i think it's way too risky, it reads like i'm on an acid trip =___= super creative i guess...?
if you'd like, could you also take a look at my Northwestern supplement? it's titled Purple in the thread :)
Only recently, when I sat on a swing for the first time in nearly two years, did I understand precisely why I had always loved swings. Accompanying the familiar rush of wind and weight of gravity was a sense of accomplishment. Years ago, I did not understand the meaning of real achievement. When I was younger, my parents always gave me boosting pushes to help me rise in the air. They stood behind me, making sure that if I fell, they'd be sure to pick me back up; I did not know what it was like to be the only one responsible for my actions and the only one to take any tumbles. However, once I grew old enough for my legs to touch the ground, I learned to give myself starting scrapes and to work hard, pumping my legs to go higher. As I grew older and began to understand the importance of independence and self-motivation, I also took the first steps to take charge of my own decisions and to push myself on my own swings.
My parents used to push me sometimes to go to taekwondo practice two or three times a week. I didn't see how it was terrifically valuable, aside from providing some physical exercise. I never told any of my friends about it, thinking that it was something to be ashamed of, something that they would make fun of me for. I was sure that if I mentioned that I studied taekwondo, I would promptly find myself amidst a teasing crowd of kids making ninja noises and pretending to pick a fight with me, something that would certainly lower my "cool" factor.
However, over the years, my initial reluctance gave way to maturity. There was something extremely cathartic about a good physical workout, but our instructor, Master Khanh, made sure that we understood the deeper benefits of studying martial arts as well. Though we were an odd bunch, a mixture of the young and the old, we all came for the same thing: fortification of both our physical and mental health. Amidst the solid thuds of targets being struck were firm words of encouragement, steeped in belief and lending in strength. As I slowly realized the importance of the life lessons I learned and cultivated during each class, I cherished the brief time I had each week to learn about respect, discipline, and honor.
In the end, it's all my own work that carries me into the sky. During my childhood, someone was always there behind me, my parents or my brother, lifting, pushing, standing behind me. When my family encouraged me to start to make my own decisions, I have to admit I was scared. I didn't want to because I was afraid of negative consequences, mistakes, and failures. Nevertheless, I discovered the key value of self-motivation to help me overcome my fears and reluctance. Eventually, I learned to push myself on my own swings, to take initiative and to appreciate what I could do for myself.
615 words - to be honest, i'm not at all a huge fan of this essay. what do you think? it's the only commonapp one i have, but i think it needs a lot of work. the only other option i have is a ridiculously crazy essay i wrote for UChicago at 3 am. people love it but i think it's way too risky, it reads like i'm on an acid trip =___= super creative i guess...?
if you'd like, could you also take a look at my Northwestern supplement? it's titled Purple in the thread :)
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