Sample Essay #1:
I have learned a great many things from participating in varsity football. It has changed my entire outlook on and
attitude toward life. Before my freshman year at [high-school], I was shy, had low self-esteem and turned away from
seemingly impossible challenges. Football has altered all of these qualities. On the first day of freshman practice, the
team warmed up with a game of touch football. The players were split up and the game began. However, during the
game, I noticed that I didn' t run as hard as I could, nor did I try to evade my defender and get open. The fact of the
matter is that I really did not want to be thrown the ball. I didn' t want to be the one at fault if I dropped the ball and the
play didn' t succeed. I did not want the responsibility of helping the team because I was too afraid of making a mistake.
That aspect of my character led the first years of my high school life. I refrained from asking questions in class, afraid
they might be considered too stupid or dumb by my classmates. All the while, I went to practice and everyday, I went
home physically and mentally exhausted.
Yet my apprehension prevailed as I continued to fear getting put in the game in case another player was injured. I was
still afraid of making mistakes and getting blamed by screaming coaches and angry teammates. Sometimes these fears
came true. During my sophomore season, my position at backup guard led me to play in the varsity games on many
occasions. On such occasions, I often made mistakes. Most of the time the mistakes were not significant; they rarely
changed the outcome of a play. Yet I received a thorough verbal lashing at practice for the mistakes I had made. These
occurrences only compounded my fears of playing. However, I did not always make mistakes. Sometimes I made great
plays, for which I was congratulated. Now, as I dawn on my senior year of football and am faced with two starting
positions, I feel like a changed person.
Over the years, playing football has taught me what it takes to succeed. From months of tough practices, I have gained a
hard work ethic. From my coaches and fellow teammates, I have learned to work well with others in a group, as it is
necessary to cooperate with teammates on the playing field. But most important, I have also gained self-confidence. If I
fail, it doesn' t matter if they mock or ridicule me; I' ll just try again and do it better. I realize that it is necessary to risk
failure in order to gain success. The coaches have always said before games that nothing is impossible; I know that now.
Now, I welcome the challenge. Whether I succeed or fail is irrelevant; it is only important that I have tried and tested
myself.
Sample Essay #2:
It took me eighteen years to realize what an extraordinary influence my mother has been on my life. She' s the kind of
person who has thoughtful discussions about which artist she would most want to have her portrait painted by
(Sargent), the kind of mother who always has time for her four children, and the kind of community leader who has a
seat on the board of every major project to assist Washington' s impoverished citizens. Growing up with such a strong
role model, I developed many of her enthusiasms. I not only came to love the excitement of learning simply for the sake
of knowing something new, but I also came to understand the idea of giving back to the community in exchange for a
new sense of life, love, and spirit.
My mother' s enthusiasm for learning is most apparent in travel. I was nine years old when my family visited Greece.
Every night for three weeks before the trip, my older brother Peter and I sat with my mother on her bed reading Greek
myths and taking notes on the Greek Gods. Despite the fact that we were traveling with fourteen-month-old twins, we
managed to be at each ruin when the site opened at sunrise. I vividly remember standing in an empty ampitheatre
pretending to be an ancient tragedian, picking out my favorite sculpture in the Acropolis museum, and inserting our
family into modified tales of the battle at Troy. Eight years and half a dozen passport stamps later I have come to value
what I have learned on these journeys about global history, politics and culture, as well as my family and myself.
While I treasure the various worlds my mother has opened to me abroad, my life has been equally transformed by what
she has shown me just two miles from my house. As a ten year old, I often accompanied my mother to (name deleted), a
local soup kitchen and children' s center. While she attended meetings, I helped with the Summer Program by chasing
children around the building and performing magic tricks. Having finally perfected the " floating paintbrush" trick, I
began work as a full time volunteer with the five and six year old children last June. It is here that I met Jane Doe, an
exceptionally strong girl with a vigor that is contagious. At the end of the summer, I decided to continue my work at
(name deleted) as Jane' s tutor. Although the position is often difficult, the personal rewards are beyond articulation. In
the seven years since I first walked through the doors of (name deleted), I have learned not only the idea of giving to
others, but also of deriving from them a sense of spirit.
Everything that my mother has ever done has been overshadowed by the thought behind it. While the raw experiences I
have had at home and abroad have been spectacular, I have learned to truly value them by watching my mother. She
has enriched my life with her passion for learning, and changed it with her devotion to humanity. In her endless love of
everything and everyone she is touched by, I have seen a hope and life that is truly exceptional. Next year, I will find a
new home miles away. However, my mother will always be by my side
Sample Essay #3
I tighten my fists and narrow my eyes at the invisible enemy in front of me. The sweat drips from my face and soaks
through my crisp white gi. I struggle to breathe as I have been taught - in through the nose and out through the mouth -
and bounce to the music, anticipating the instructor’s shout.
“Move!”
My body springs into action. Backfist, reverse punch, front ball kick, hook, uppercut, double palm heel to the ribs. On the
last strike I kiai with the rest of the students. Our yells fill the room, louder than the traffic outside and louder than the
din from the stereo. The sound pounds inside my head. Drawing back, I assume the on-guard position. I am ready.
Karate has been a part of my life since 1994. My mom had been encouraging me to take up martial arts ever since she
realized that my tiny size would make me an easy target, but it wasn’t until seventh grade that I felt physically
threatened and decided to sign up for karate classes. Although I no longer feel in danger at this school, karate has not
gone the way of figure skating, horseback riding, and piano. It has stayed with me and become a part of my identity. I
have paid for my brown belt with sweat and occasionally blood, with anxiety before tests, and with hours of exertion
and exhaustion. My training has given me the ability to defend myself, a necessity for a four-foot-ten, slightly built
woman entering the twenty-first century.
But karate has left me with more than aerobic and defensive abilities. Because of my physical limitations and my ,
defending against an attacker does not come easily to me. I cannot count the number of times I have been unable to
evade the plastic knife wielded by my opponent or the number of bruises I have received from fists, feet, and knees. My
aversion to failure and reluctance to trying unfamiliar things are obstacles I face in other aspects of my life, obstacles
that my experience with karate has helped me to overcome. It has taught me that when you get knocked down, you get
up again and keep fighting in . Karate has boosted my confidence too. I have sparred with a professional body-builder,
and there’s nothing like the rush I get from bringing a 200-pound man to the floor!
As we kneel and meditate before each class, the teacher instructs us to clear our minds and leave our problems of work,
school, and family outside the dojo. At first I don’t think it’s possible to, for an hour, avoid worrying about the freshmen
adn their I need to tutor, the science project that isn’t finished, or the 6:45 AM flight I need to catch for this weekend’s
debate tournament. But somehow, every time, I forget these concerns. For one hour, I am only a karateka, a warrior.
Sample Essay #4:
It was an average day of class, that Tuesday, I thought so anyways. Then I discovered there would be an assembly, I
moaned in grief, for every assembly was the same, a never-ending ramble from the principal and a quick introduction to
the season’s sports teams. We entered our gymnasium, the lights were dimmed and a huge screen was placed against
the wall. I realized this would be something different, because of the indescribable feeling of sereneness I felt while
entering the building.
I took a seat on our creaky wooden bleachers and waited anxiously not knowing what to expect. A young well dressed
man introduced himself, and turned on a video. It was about Rachel Joy Scott, a young seventeen year old girl who was
the first victim of the Columbine High School shooting on April 20, 1999. For the first time in my life my eyes truly
awakened. I had heard of the massacre, but never comprehended the impact it had on our society. That day, April 20,
thirteen innocent lives were taken through anger and hatred.
Two people were all it took, two people full of hate to affect thousands of people, and it only took them about an hour.
At that moment I realized that kindness was stronger. That video was only about fifteen minutes long, but it brought our
school together. For those fifteen minutes there were no cliques, no insecurity, and most importantly there was no
hatred. We were one. Rivulets of tears began to flow down my face during the last seconds of that video. For the first
time I was not ashamed of my tears, because they were honest. I glanced around to see something beautiful; all of my
peers had crying eyes as well.
The Columbine High School massacre will forever be engraved in my heart. Along with Rachel Scott who started a chain
reaction of kindness throughout the world. In the end only kindness matters.
Sample Essay #5:
I could identify the four types of sonnets as Shakespearean, Edwardian, Spencerian, and Petrarchan, elaborate on the
Modernist works of Fitzgerald and Hemingway, analyze the epic poems of the ancient Greeks and recite the great Walt
Whitman, but on my first day of choir class I learned of my illiteracy.
Sharps or flats, bass clefs or treble clefs, rhythms or rests, half notes or whole notes- I wouldn’t know the difference if
it tapped me on the shoulder.
The art of language consumed me from childhood. I wrote poetry on the sidewalks with colored chalk, etched couplets
into my school desks when no one was looking, but learning to read and understand music introduced me to a set of
vocabulary entirely new to my ears. I struggled through, but I learned it. I’m still learning.
My love for music and literature revealed to me perhaps the most vital knowledge on my quest to finding myself: I
stand on a precipice, in one direction lies the artistic ambiguity which shapes me- a limitless, irrational, often quixotic
outlook on life; and in the other direction I plunge headfirst into the callous boundaries of structure and formula and
deadlines. In balancing my two passions, I find equilibrium.
As a student, I initially thrived on structure. I knew all the essay formats I needed to know; I knew the quadratic
formula; I knew the law of conservation of matter and energy. As a junior and vice president of the choir program I
conducted rehearsals, held officer meetings, and reveled in the successes of our concerts and competitions. As a
senior and editor of the school newspaper I know all the rules of AP style, how to invent gripping headlines and hooks,
and I meet the required deadlines.
However, I have realized that mastering routine cannot equal following my heart’s instincts. So I try and take comfort
in rebellion, in song and the written word. And in the midst of mundane procedure, I try to liberate my soul from my
mind, pick up a pen, hum a familiar melody. I try every day to trace my roots back to when writing meant scribbling
in notebooks, and not desperately typing away in a word processing program at eleven at night, to when I didn’t care
to identify the key of a song or the style in which it’s intended and I just sang. True artistic freedom- when I sang just
to sing and wrote just to write.
So the confused freshman in the choir classroom grew up. I not only learned the rules, but more importantly, when to
break them. I found my voice on paper and I found it again in an auditorium full of people. Whether it’s the language
of music, the English language or the language on a college campus, I am fluent, and I am more than ready to apply
my self-knowledge and my high school experiences to my impending adulthood. I’m not only ready to progress, I’m
ready to crescendo into a new stage of my life.
Sample Essay #6:
Growing up little kids have different ideas of what they want to be when they grow up? The biggest ones seem to be
Nurses and Doctors, Firemen and Ballerina's. I knew when I was younger I wanted to be a teacher, of what I was
never quite sure? But at the time of the Idea of teaching and telling people what I wanted them to learn and do
sounded nice. As I got older one thing always seemed to stay in my mind. I would tell my mom I wanted to be a
Nurse and help sick people feel better again. It wasn't till a few years ago when I thought about joining the Navy and
fulfilling my dream of always being a Nurse. Actually when I was about 9 my family and I went to Hawaii for a family
vacation. On one of the days there we went to the Pearl Harbor Memorial. I remember seeing the big ships in port and
thinking how awesome would that be? Traveling almost like on a big cruise ship but with less leisure. Over the next
few years I watched movies and commercials on TV based about the Navy. I believe that after I had moved here and
met people who were not only in the Navy but different branches of the military that I really thought of it as more of a
career. After hearing how much they loved the service and some the perks of joining I really began to see the Navy in
my near future. After bringing the idea up to friends, they at first seemed a little resistant. After a while they got used
to the idea. About a month ago a close friend and me were talking about plans after high school. She was talking
about how her and another friend were going off to college for Interior Design and all the joys of college. We were
joking about college life when the conversation kind of died. She stopped and asked if I was still thinking about joining
the Navy? I looked down and nodded expecting to hear,"why"? Why wasn't I joining college? When she didn't say
anything after awhile, I looked back up, but when I did I saw a look that I cant really explain. It was a mixture of
pride and happiness with a little bit of respect. She told me how she was truly proud of me for even thinking of joining
and how much respect she had for me. She also said that she always wanted to join but never had the nerve. Hearing
all of that meant so much to me and assured me that I was making the right decision about joining. I've actually had
a couple of inspirational talks with friends and family with their thoughts about going into the Navy. Another person
who talked with me was my Mom. She asked what I was thinking of doing after high school. I told her about the Navy
and we talked about how it would be a good experience. We talked about other family members that were in the
service. She told me quite a few stories of Grandpa's and Uncle's that had joined and how much they loved and
learned from it. At the end of it all she told me that no matter what I decided to do the family would be behind me
100%.
Sample Essay #7:
What’s it like to be a twin? People often ask me if my twin sister and I look alike, think alike, act alike. Mi-ae and I
were born a minute apart: me first, her second. As we grew up, we constantly bickered over little things like who sat
in the front seat of Mom’s car, or who carried the pink umbrella on rainy days.
Even though people around us know we’re twins, they often ask, “Where is your other half?” or “Which one are you?”
or – most ridiculous of all – “Is one of you smarter than the other?” If I had a dollar for every one of these absurd
questions, I would be rich.
When I was little, I hated, more than anything else, being forced to be one of a pair, a copy of someone else; a
“Twin.” I never enjoyed the reactions (“Aww, how cute!”) when my mother dressed us in matching outfits. So I
always wore different styles and colors, joined different circles of friends, played different sports, and even attended
different schools.
Because I worked so hard to be different, we have grown up to be two different people. Mi-ae is great at math. She
has won awards at her school and in national math contests. She is introverted and studious. She always earns good
grades. She’s good with directions and at fixing broken MP3 players. I, on the other hand, am good at drawing
pictures and at composing music. I am active and sociable unlike my sister. I love learning foreign languages,
especially English. Unlike Mi-ae, I am terrible with directions and I do not know the first thing about what to do with a
broken MP3 player. We each have our own values and personalities and each distinguishes us from each other.
But having a twin does come with some advantages. Since we are about the same size, we share the closet and wear
each other’s clothes. More than once, we “shared” our homework assignment. Having a twin is living with a best
friend (most of the time). We finish each other’s sentences, share the same thoughts, dream the same dreams, and
speak the same words at the same time.
At times, when we were younger, we hated each other. We were so obsessed with the idea of being treated as
separate people. Back then, I thought I could be the center of the attention if Mi-ae were not there. But now I see
that, without her, I would be incomplete. Even though I still hate it when people cannot tell us apart, I cannot imagine
life without my sister. She is my friend, my family.
Sample Essay #8:
Peering inside the small, dark space, I saw only bills. Our plain white mailbox had received the majority of my
attention for nearly three weeks, as my 11th birthday approached. The envelope I was going to receive would arrive
any day, bearing its emerald ink and curvy handwriting. My name wasn’t Harry Potter, but I was expecting my letter
of acceptance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to read similarly to his.
For years I felt like an outcast; I didn’t know who I was, or who I was supposed to become. Set apart from the kids I
knew at school by my mismatched socks and unkempt hair, I was an outsider--even to myself. I was different, and as
a result, I was ashamed. Uncomfortable in my own tan skin, I spent my summers in the fictional world J.K. Rowling
created, a world I undoubtedly belonged in. I wanted to be in a place where it was ordinary to see a flying car or a
three headed dog, where the eccentric and strange were normal, the weird and the extraordinary acceptable. It would
mean that everything I embodied and everything I stood for was okay.
As Harry’s story progressed, so did my self exploration. His lightening-bolt scar became a beacon of hope for the
wizarding world, and for me as well. He didn’t hide the jagged wound branded on his forehead; it was a mark of
character and strength. Things weren’t easy for Harry--Voldemort made sure of that, but the scar never faded. Slowly
I became acquainted with myself, my dreams and my talents. I loved my red cowgirl boots and my purple leggings; I
loved that they made me me. I learned to face the pressures of school, proudly wearing my lucky socks in gym and
eating tomato sandwiches at snack time. I embraced what set me apart--my unrelenting geekdom. Rowling helped
me find myself through Latin-based spells and bubbling potions, but it was Harry who sustained me through my
gawky adolescence. I learned not to hide who I am because my spirit was a gift. What set me apart became a pivotal
part of my character, and people learned to love it.
As my high school transcript clearly demonstrates, my letter never came. Instead, Hogwarts sent me a sense of self. I
was empowered by my own desires and imagination ignited by cauldrons and quidditch. Now, I am decisive in my
decisions and firm in my beliefs, which will allow me to grow into a proud, responsible member of society. I’m lucky I
found all of this for myself--a Hogwarts post-owl would never have been able to carry it all the way from London.