Some students have a background or story that is so central to their identity that they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story.
The more I tried to dry my hands, the clammier they became. Pent-up excitement churned in my gut as I walked through the doors of the mansion ballroom. I took deep breaths to channel my inner calm, but my heart was racing and I felt a ridiculous grin plastering itself across my face. For the past two weeks, the Neon Disco had been a sponge for my lofty sophomore aspirations and-I could hardly believe myself-it was finally here.
But the Neon Disco didn't quite turn out how I had hoped. Standing on the dance floor brought back memories of my first cross-country race. I was a newcomer to the sport then, and the thought of being watched by hundreds of spectators made me feel naked (and to an extent, minimally covered in a sleeveless jersey and short shorts, I actually was). I felt similarly vulnerable at the dance, and I struggled to determine whether I would chance ridicule for the opportunity to have fun. In the end, I avoided dancing as much as possible, instead taking extra trips to the water fountain and smiling uncomfortably as I rejected my friends' offers to join them.
A year later, I returned to the mansion ballroom for the Neon Disco 2.0. To avoid a repeat experience, all I had to do was dance. My insecurity was as potent as ever though, and I had enlisted another reason not to throw caution to the wind: I would be racing in the 5K Chieftain Classic the next morning. Even though Chieftain was a pre-league race, Coach Caruana's warning not to overstrain myself repeated in my head. Coach Car thought I should be careful with my body and I wholeheartedly agreed with him.
So I sank into the old pattern, taking my place in the far corner of the ballroom, smiling my tight-lipped smile. But I was smiling to conceal my unhappiness. I wasn't content to just blend in with the background; I was at the dance because secretly, I wanted to dance. As I watched the Neon Disco 2.0 pass me by, I thought about Coach Car's warning. I was being too careful, looking over my shoulder a little too frequently, and I realized that I'd have to take a risk to enjoy myself.
Fifteen minutes in, I closed my eyes.
Then I danced.
I stumbled and jumped too, and yelled until my voice became hoarse. My friends, including those who were awkward bystanders like me, joined in and we saddled up next to the DJ's speakers, jumping around, laughing in delight, and pumping our fists for the rest of the night.
My fears, once obstacles to cower from, had become hurdles to leap over. Since the Neon Disco 2.0, I've found that many of my most memorable experiences come not from being cautious, but from taking risks. Working as a teaching assistant at Bridge, a summer school for underprivileged middle schoolers, I risked ridicule to become the role model that my students needed. I told embarrassingly corny jokes to my advisees, danced alone on-stage, and wailed at the top of my lungs during class cheers. And when my students witnessed serious me become silly outside of the classroom, they realized that it was acceptable-moreover admirable-to be spirited and outrageous.
Although I finished last on the varsity squad in the next day's race, exhausting my cardio reserve and leg muscles on the dance floor was a decision well worth the consequence. As I began my drive home, half deaf from dancing too close to the speakers, I was surprised at the daring I exhibited that night. I surprised a lot of people at the Neon Disco 2.0-not just myself-and while I'm not sure what the future has in store, I know that I will continue to surprise.
The more I tried to dry my hands, the clammier they became. Pent-up excitement churned in my gut as I walked through the doors of the mansion ballroom. I took deep breaths to channel my inner calm, but my heart was racing and I felt a ridiculous grin plastering itself across my face. For the past two weeks, the Neon Disco had been a sponge for my lofty sophomore aspirations and-I could hardly believe myself-it was finally here.
But the Neon Disco didn't quite turn out how I had hoped. Standing on the dance floor brought back memories of my first cross-country race. I was a newcomer to the sport then, and the thought of being watched by hundreds of spectators made me feel naked (and to an extent, minimally covered in a sleeveless jersey and short shorts, I actually was). I felt similarly vulnerable at the dance, and I struggled to determine whether I would chance ridicule for the opportunity to have fun. In the end, I avoided dancing as much as possible, instead taking extra trips to the water fountain and smiling uncomfortably as I rejected my friends' offers to join them.
A year later, I returned to the mansion ballroom for the Neon Disco 2.0. To avoid a repeat experience, all I had to do was dance. My insecurity was as potent as ever though, and I had enlisted another reason not to throw caution to the wind: I would be racing in the 5K Chieftain Classic the next morning. Even though Chieftain was a pre-league race, Coach Caruana's warning not to overstrain myself repeated in my head. Coach Car thought I should be careful with my body and I wholeheartedly agreed with him.
So I sank into the old pattern, taking my place in the far corner of the ballroom, smiling my tight-lipped smile. But I was smiling to conceal my unhappiness. I wasn't content to just blend in with the background; I was at the dance because secretly, I wanted to dance. As I watched the Neon Disco 2.0 pass me by, I thought about Coach Car's warning. I was being too careful, looking over my shoulder a little too frequently, and I realized that I'd have to take a risk to enjoy myself.
Fifteen minutes in, I closed my eyes.
Then I danced.
I stumbled and jumped too, and yelled until my voice became hoarse. My friends, including those who were awkward bystanders like me, joined in and we saddled up next to the DJ's speakers, jumping around, laughing in delight, and pumping our fists for the rest of the night.
My fears, once obstacles to cower from, had become hurdles to leap over. Since the Neon Disco 2.0, I've found that many of my most memorable experiences come not from being cautious, but from taking risks. Working as a teaching assistant at Bridge, a summer school for underprivileged middle schoolers, I risked ridicule to become the role model that my students needed. I told embarrassingly corny jokes to my advisees, danced alone on-stage, and wailed at the top of my lungs during class cheers. And when my students witnessed serious me become silly outside of the classroom, they realized that it was acceptable-moreover admirable-to be spirited and outrageous.
Although I finished last on the varsity squad in the next day's race, exhausting my cardio reserve and leg muscles on the dance floor was a decision well worth the consequence. As I began my drive home, half deaf from dancing too close to the speakers, I was surprised at the daring I exhibited that night. I surprised a lot of people at the Neon Disco 2.0-not just myself-and while I'm not sure what the future has in store, I know that I will continue to surprise.