FunkMastaFlex
Member
Hello Everyone, I'm working on this admissions essay I've posted here before, and I wanted one last set of opinions before I have an english professor finalize the grammar and I send it in.
I'm sorry for taking up so many people's time.
Question
"Fear," it has been said, "is a great motivator." What is the most afraid you have been, how did you conquer it, and how did it contribute to making you who you are today?"
My Essay
I always laugh when people tell me you have to drink at college. I didn?t touch a drop of alcohol until I was of legal age. Back then I thought it was a respectable achievement, but I?ve since realized I abstained for the wrong reasons. If I?d had something to drink earlier, I would?ve learned that it?s never a good idea to allow fear control over your life. And I refused to drink because I was afraid.
Alcohol isn?t the reason I despise my uncle. Rather, I despise his sneaky behavior. Even at Christmas dinner, a shot of Jack Daniels would find its way into his coke, or the blender filled with some mixed drink would suddenly vanish. For most of his life, he?s gotten his nerve from a bottle, lacking the courage to live life on its own merit. Then again, maybe he just appreciates that he?s alive. Not everyone is so lucky.
Three weeks before I left for college, my friend Pat stumbled in front of an oncoming truck and was killed instantly. Patrick was a huge man, a college football player, and he drank more than anyone I?d ever seen. Despite this, it?s still difficult for me to imagine him drinking so much he would stumble onto a highway. It?s even harder to imagine his parents coming in and identifying his body at three in the morning. I heard that Pat?s father, sober for fifteen years after a battle with alcoholism, grieved his way back into the bottle the night after Pat?s funeral.
As I looked at the massive dent in the fender of that old truck, I swore that I would never touch alcohol; both for my sake and in memory of those I?d lost. Although I respected what alcohol could do, I wasn?t afraid of drinking. I was afraid of losing control. The accident was a convenient excuse.
For all of high school, I kept my word, and never touched a drop of alcohol. Although my face was often an impassive mask, it was silent torture being ostracized from everyone. All of my friends drank, and I generally wound up accompanying them. Although I hated parties, being with my friends was infinetly preferable to being alone. I used to dread being the focus of attention, and even walking into class late, getting my bike fixed at a shop, or finding a seat in the cafeteria made me uneasy. These gatherings were worse. Whenever someone asked, I claimed I didn?t drink because of Pat. The truth was, I was afraid of interacting, of putting myself out there, and I knew alcohol might make me do exactly that.
A year and a half into college, I finally did start to drink. It would take a novel the length of War and Peace to describe how much hurt and pain I was in the day I started. Regardless of my reasons, that night my friend invited me over for a small get together, and I drank. I drank a lot. After coming home, I collapsed on my couch, and slept for some time. When I woke up, I was horrified at what I had done. In a single night I had thrown away everything, and questions raced through my mind; Had I done anything stupid? What were people going to say? What would they think? The promises I?d made had evaporated because of a moment?s weakness.
After I got through berating myself, I ate lunch with the very same friends as the night before. To my astonishment, nothing had changed. Aside from a little meandering conversation, that night might as well have never happened. No one tossed me the sidelong glances of contempt or pity that followed my uncle. A lot of the shame and sadness I?d associated with alcohol vanished that day. I?ve always been responsible, and one night isn?t going to change that. The flashes of self reproach still occaisionally arise, and I still detest crowded parties, but alcohol doesn?t have enough power to make me hide myself anymore. Instead of feeling vulnerable and over anxious, I can simply relax, drink responsibly, and enjoy the company of my friends.
In my mind, fear is a negative motivator, a hindrance to personal growth. My uncle drinks because he is too afraid to face the world. I didn?t drink because I was too afraid to face myself. Replacing doubt with confidence, fear with trust, and gaining a measure of inner peace has helped me in almost every aspect of my life. I?ll always be sad that these realizations never came in time for Pat, and probably won?t come in time for my uncle. I?ll always be thankful that they came in time for me.
I'm sorry for taking up so many people's time.
Question
"Fear," it has been said, "is a great motivator." What is the most afraid you have been, how did you conquer it, and how did it contribute to making you who you are today?"
My Essay
I always laugh when people tell me you have to drink at college. I didn?t touch a drop of alcohol until I was of legal age. Back then I thought it was a respectable achievement, but I?ve since realized I abstained for the wrong reasons. If I?d had something to drink earlier, I would?ve learned that it?s never a good idea to allow fear control over your life. And I refused to drink because I was afraid.
Alcohol isn?t the reason I despise my uncle. Rather, I despise his sneaky behavior. Even at Christmas dinner, a shot of Jack Daniels would find its way into his coke, or the blender filled with some mixed drink would suddenly vanish. For most of his life, he?s gotten his nerve from a bottle, lacking the courage to live life on its own merit. Then again, maybe he just appreciates that he?s alive. Not everyone is so lucky.
Three weeks before I left for college, my friend Pat stumbled in front of an oncoming truck and was killed instantly. Patrick was a huge man, a college football player, and he drank more than anyone I?d ever seen. Despite this, it?s still difficult for me to imagine him drinking so much he would stumble onto a highway. It?s even harder to imagine his parents coming in and identifying his body at three in the morning. I heard that Pat?s father, sober for fifteen years after a battle with alcoholism, grieved his way back into the bottle the night after Pat?s funeral.
As I looked at the massive dent in the fender of that old truck, I swore that I would never touch alcohol; both for my sake and in memory of those I?d lost. Although I respected what alcohol could do, I wasn?t afraid of drinking. I was afraid of losing control. The accident was a convenient excuse.
For all of high school, I kept my word, and never touched a drop of alcohol. Although my face was often an impassive mask, it was silent torture being ostracized from everyone. All of my friends drank, and I generally wound up accompanying them. Although I hated parties, being with my friends was infinetly preferable to being alone. I used to dread being the focus of attention, and even walking into class late, getting my bike fixed at a shop, or finding a seat in the cafeteria made me uneasy. These gatherings were worse. Whenever someone asked, I claimed I didn?t drink because of Pat. The truth was, I was afraid of interacting, of putting myself out there, and I knew alcohol might make me do exactly that.
A year and a half into college, I finally did start to drink. It would take a novel the length of War and Peace to describe how much hurt and pain I was in the day I started. Regardless of my reasons, that night my friend invited me over for a small get together, and I drank. I drank a lot. After coming home, I collapsed on my couch, and slept for some time. When I woke up, I was horrified at what I had done. In a single night I had thrown away everything, and questions raced through my mind; Had I done anything stupid? What were people going to say? What would they think? The promises I?d made had evaporated because of a moment?s weakness.
After I got through berating myself, I ate lunch with the very same friends as the night before. To my astonishment, nothing had changed. Aside from a little meandering conversation, that night might as well have never happened. No one tossed me the sidelong glances of contempt or pity that followed my uncle. A lot of the shame and sadness I?d associated with alcohol vanished that day. I?ve always been responsible, and one night isn?t going to change that. The flashes of self reproach still occaisionally arise, and I still detest crowded parties, but alcohol doesn?t have enough power to make me hide myself anymore. Instead of feeling vulnerable and over anxious, I can simply relax, drink responsibly, and enjoy the company of my friends.
In my mind, fear is a negative motivator, a hindrance to personal growth. My uncle drinks because he is too afraid to face the world. I didn?t drink because I was too afraid to face myself. Replacing doubt with confidence, fear with trust, and gaining a measure of inner peace has helped me in almost every aspect of my life. I?ll always be sad that these realizations never came in time for Pat, and probably won?t come in time for my uncle. I?ll always be thankful that they came in time for me.
