Hello Everyone, I'm working on this admissions essay I've posted here before - people said that talking about alcohol in an admissions essay like this was taboo.. I'm hoping it's not....and I wanted one more set of opinions!
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 had 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. Despite his fondness for alcohol, 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, of having people see who I really was. 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 even though I detested parties, being with my friends was infinetly preferable to being alone. They enjoyed my company, and I was always the designated driver, the responsible one. I accepted this responsibility with reluctance, but I saved several people from injury (or worse) in high school simply because I was sober at the time. People used to ask me why I didn?t drink, and I claimed it was because of Pat?s death. The truth was, I was afraid of interacting, of putting myself out there, and I knew alcohol might make me do exactly that.
Eventually, I did have something to drink. It would take a novel the length of War and Peace to describe how much hurt and pain I was in that particular day. I relented because I simply felt tired. Tired of lying about why I didn?t drink; tired of having to hide myself from others, and tired of being responsible for cleaning up other peoples mistakes.
That next morning, it was difficult to digest what I had done; the promises I had made evaporated because of a moment?s weakness. Initially, I berated myself, mad that I had allowed people to see me drinking. I changed my mind when I ate lunch with my friends from the night before. Aside from a little meandering conversation, that night could have never happened; I was surprised that no one tossed me the sidelong glances of contempt or pity that followed my uncle, and much of the shame and sadness I?d associated with alcohol vanished that day. I have always been responsible, and alcohol can?t, (alcohol won?t) change that. I am at peace with my decision, and I am in control of my actions. I now understand that I have a choice; I can choose to drink, but I don?t have to drink. I'm not going to end up like my uncle, and conversely, I?m not going to walk around scared of my own shadow anymore.
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 had 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. Despite his fondness for alcohol, 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, of having people see who I really was. 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 even though I detested parties, being with my friends was infinetly preferable to being alone. They enjoyed my company, and I was always the designated driver, the responsible one. I accepted this responsibility with reluctance, but I saved several people from injury (or worse) in high school simply because I was sober at the time. People used to ask me why I didn?t drink, and I claimed it was because of Pat?s death. The truth was, I was afraid of interacting, of putting myself out there, and I knew alcohol might make me do exactly that.
Eventually, I did have something to drink. It would take a novel the length of War and Peace to describe how much hurt and pain I was in that particular day. I relented because I simply felt tired. Tired of lying about why I didn?t drink; tired of having to hide myself from others, and tired of being responsible for cleaning up other peoples mistakes.
That next morning, it was difficult to digest what I had done; the promises I had made evaporated because of a moment?s weakness. Initially, I berated myself, mad that I had allowed people to see me drinking. I changed my mind when I ate lunch with my friends from the night before. Aside from a little meandering conversation, that night could have never happened; I was surprised that no one tossed me the sidelong glances of contempt or pity that followed my uncle, and much of the shame and sadness I?d associated with alcohol vanished that day. I have always been responsible, and alcohol can?t, (alcohol won?t) change that. I am at peace with my decision, and I am in control of my actions. I now understand that I have a choice; I can choose to drink, but I don?t have to drink. I'm not going to end up like my uncle, and conversely, I?m not going to walk around scared of my own shadow anymore.
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.
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