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Common App Essay Example #1

On a hot day last summer, my brother ran his bike into the mailbox. He skinned his knee, but was less worried about that and more worried about the chipped paint on his new red bike. Tears welling in his eyes, he rubbed the chip with his finger and even more paint flaked off.

“Wait,” I said. “Wait here for just one minute.”

I had taken my brother outside because my mom was sleeping after a chemo treatment, but I ran upstairs as quickly and quietly as I could to get my box of paints. It’s a wooden box, smudged with charcoal fingerprints and streaks of acrylics. I hadn’t always been an artist, but when my art teacher noticed the designs in my notebook margins and asked if I wanted to come to an art club meeting, I decided to try it.

At that first meeting, my teacher taught us how to create a mountain sunrise. As the painting took shape, I marveled at the techniques–using my thumbprint to create the sun, crafting shadows with surprising colors, creating different effects by applying varying types of pressure to my brush. I was also surprised that focusing on my piece felt so meditative–it was the first time since my mom’s diagnosis that I hadn’t been preoccupied with whether her treatments would work or what I was going to cook my brother for dinner.

“What do you want on your bike?” I asked my brother. “Instead of the scratch.” I opened up my box and pointed toward his bike. His eyes widened.

“Anything I want?” he asked.

He chose a baseball bat, and crouched next to me as I painted. When I was done, he said, “Can you paint a baseball, too? Over here.” He pointed to the other end of the bike.

“I’ll show you how.” I dipped his thumb in white and pressed it on the bike’s frame, then showed him how to use my thinnest brush to add curved red stitching.

Word spread quickly about my bike designs. My brother’s friends stopped by the house with pictures of designs that they wanted, and my neighbor’s little girls shyly approached when I was outside with my brother, asking for butterflies. I started carrying my paints around just in case. The kids always gave me something–a shiny rock they’d found, a few quarters, a special feather. It makes me smile when I look out the window and see those bikes pedaling around the neighborhood, my brother’s among them. It makes my mom smile, too. I asked what she would want painted on her bike if she had one, and she said a sunflower. I painted one on our mailbox, cheery and yellow, its stem curling around the handle and down the post.

There are always new techniques to learn and improvements to strive toward, but I feel that art is about trying to create meaning within a chosen medium. There’s so much I can’t control, but what I can do is create beauty in my life and in the lives of others. It’s why I started teaching an afterschool art class at my brother’s elementary school, why I’m currently working on a wall mural in the children’s room at the library, why I’ve taught myself graphic design skills to create posters for art club events and shows. Also, my mailbox paint creations gained so much popularity that my entire street commissioned me to do their boxes. I donated the money to cancer research, but more importantly, the designs are a beacon of support to my mom each day that she feels strong enough to walk outside and check the mail.

Although college will bring new challenges, I also know it will bring a new collection of scratched-up bikes and bare mailboxes, waiting to be painted with brightly colored designs that allow me to express myself and impact others.

Common App Essay Example #2

By some people’s standards, my grandma might be considered a hoarder. When I say there is stuff everywhere at our house, I mean it: broken crystal glasses from a hundred years ago, old watch straps, a shockingly large collection of thumbtacks. Three coffee makers that haven’t worked since before I was born. A broom no one uses because it doesn’t actually sweep anything up.

Whenever I make a motion to throw something out–an empty spice jar for example, or socks with holes in them, my grandma acts personally insulted. (She has also been known to survey the trash can for offending items.) She’ll take it from me grouchily and remind me of its potential uses–spice jars can be cinnamon and sugar shakers! Socks are free dusters! Sometimes, though, she doesn’t have a reason beyond “I might need it someday.”

At first, I thought this statement was weird. What could we possibly need a cracked Tupperware container for? But then I learned that her attitude stems, in part, from growing up on a rural farm. Everything was repurposed, and it was common to keep things that may not have direct uses, knowing you’d likely find one at some point or another. For example, a large plastic container with a broken lid could be turned on its side and stuffed with hay for the cat in the winter, or plastic bread bags could be used to pack school lunches. Dried-up markers? Homemade watercolor paint. Egg cartons and dryer lint? Fire starters. Chipped bowl? Bird bath.

Her attitude made me interested in our collective willingness to sentence an item to the trash before finding a reuse for it. We buy cheap clothes knowing they might only last us a year. Single-use plastic still dominates, even though the vast majority of it heads to the landfill instead of being recycled. Old jeans are tossed instead of patched up and used as gardening pants, like my grandma does. The worst part is that we do all this knowing that our planet is undergoing irreversible shifts as a result of climate change. The world we’re heading toward is a world none of us can possibly be prepared for.

But what if people could be convinced to adopt my grandma’s mindset? And what would it take to inspire such behavioral changes on a large scale? I started learning about the field of neuroeconomics through books, podcasts, and a summer course at our local college, and became fascinated with the neuroscience behind decision-making. Could principles of neuroeconomics influence environmental policy? What factors could help people make long-lasting, environmentally conscious changes, and how we might facilitate them? These are massive, long-term questions. For now, was there a way to inspire my friends to start being more mindful of their consumption? To start reusing spaghetti jars and dusting with hole-y socks? And what might people be willing to donate or repurpose when there was a community effort to do so?

So, me and my grandma started advertising our services, and the response was unlike anything I could have possibly imagined. We now have a garage full of items that we either donate, sell, or repair, everything from antique dresses that my grandma soaks the stains out of to custom-patched jeans to dressers and wooden toys that need a quick sanding and fresh coat of paint. Our yard sales have become legendary and I’m the go-to kid when people have an old end table with Buzz Lightyear on it that they don’t know what to do with. “Drop it off at my grandma’s,” I say, and they do. Until I can figure out how to effect the kind of large-scale change I’d like to make, I’ll start small and keep going, hopeful that I’m making a difference one revitalized sock at a time.

Common App Essay Example #3

My life has always been punctuated by my father’s military deployments, like periods placed in the middle of sentences. I often measured time in relation to them: before, during, or after, holding my breath for my father’s departure or homecoming, for the inevitable extensions and sporadic phone calls, for the unexpected emotions and responsibilities. By the time I was in high school, my father had been gone for more of my childhood than he had been present, and in tenth grade, my parents decided to divorce.

Until then, I had always been surrounded by friends who also had an active duty parent. We didn’t have to explain to each other what the ups and downs felt like. We just knew. I knew that when Mariela’s father’s deployment got extended, she could use a trip to the beach, her favorite place, knew that one of the most painful parts of the whole deployment cycle was the anticipation, and would check in with my friends more frequently during that time, knew that the first week often felt the most discombobulated, and was usually when my mom would offer to drop off meals or help ferry kids to after-school activities. That first week was also the time when things usually went wrong: a burst pipe, a dead car battery, a broken washing machine. Murphy’s Law, my mom always said.

I had spent my entire life existing within this predictably unpredictable cycle. So, when my mom and I moved right before my junior year to a small condo ten minutes from my grandparents but 2,000 miles away from my father’s last duty station, I assumed it wouldn’t be that much different from other moves. I’d join new clubs, make new friends, get to know our neighbors.

But I was immediately confronted by a sense of otherness in a community of kids who had known each other since kindergarten. Explaining where I’d lived before–and why–either solicited shocked reactions “You’ve moved six times?” or prying questions “Why didn’t you stay with your dad?” Mentioning a deployment received a blank stare.  I felt like the previous version of me, the way I’d always thought of myself–as a military kid–was no longer true, or had somehow evaporated into thin air.

Then, last spring, I had an unexpected breakthrough. My chemistry lab partner struggled with some of the steps. As I explained them to her, she visibly relaxed and shot me a thankful smile. I grinned too, because in that moment, I felt more like myself than I had in months.

Later that week, I applied for a peer tutoring position and was accepted. I feel passionate about trying to make personal connections with my students so that I can try to understand and anticipate their needs. I notice whether some students like to brainstorm ideas aloud before writing them down, or prefer when I use pictures to explain concepts. Some students appreciate small talk for a few minutes before we get started, and others need to be more efficient, trying to squeeze in a tutoring session before their after-school job. Not only that, but as I got to know my fellow tutors, I found friendship and connection. When Sophia’s brother was in the hospital, I picked her up for an afternoon movie. On the night of my piano recital, Olivia and Mary were in the front row cheering me on.

I’ve come to understand that my previous identity is still part of me, even though I now live a very different lifestyle than I did several years ago. Sometimes, I still miss being a military kid. But all the lessons I learned from that time in my life–the importance of a supportive community, empathy, kindness, and anticipating others’ needs–are always with me, informing everything I do.

Common App Essay Example #4

The scent of crushed garlic permeates the air, mingling with tamari and sesame oil. The nutty smell of brown butter hits my nose next, followed by earthy sage. Something sweet and spicy—sweet potatoes tossed in cinnamon and gochujang.

Most Saturday mornings, the kitchen counter is a mess of ingredients, whisks, and hot pans with my parents shuffling around in the middle, kneading bread or marinating meat. They’re rarely home for dinner during the week, but Saturdays are when we try our hand at everything from my Italian great-grandmother’s tomato-stained lasagna recipe to new dishes like bulgogi, potstickers, and garlic naan.

Often, the recipes fail miserably the first time. A few months ago, our naan dough was so sticky that it was difficult to knead and then impossible to flip in the pan. Our raviolis split open when we dropped them in boiling water; our lemon curd always broke. Without fail, though, there was some special trick we were missing. My mom’s best friend, who gave us the naan recipe, showed us how to oil our hands before kneading the dough and brush the back of each naan with water before dropping it into the pan. The result? Perfectly chewy and easy-to-flip bread. YouTube tutorials fixed our ravioli problem—turns out we needed to turn down the heat and avoid overloading the pot. (We’re still figuring out the lemon curd.)

I always write down the adjustments in the margins of our recipe notebook, adjustments that are sometimes happy accidents, like when we successfully thickened a soup with cashews instead of butter or accidentally added cinnamon to a chocolate chip cookie recipe. It made me embrace the mindset that whatever problem we were facing could always be creatively solved.

It was this sense of possibility that helped me navigate new territory last year. After extensive testing and many years of chronic stomach problems and headaches, I was diagnosed with a gluten intolerance. I felt both relieved and nervous as I wondered whether our cooking Saturdays would be more difficult. My mom, however, seemed undeterred and immediately started researching gluten-free substitutes and flours. We quickly found that there were an overwhelming number of flour possibilities—tapioca, rice, coconut, almond, oat—all combined in various ratios and used for differing purposes.

We decided to test the flours one by one, quickly finding that coconut flour cannot be directly substituted for regular flour, almond flour naturally creates a chewier cookie, and gluten-free flours almost always need more moisture than regular flour. Every time we successfully modified one of our “old” recipes, I felt both energized and encouraged that I didn’t have to give up foods I loved just because I was gluten-free.

My experiences have made me realize that food inclusivity can be an underrated yet simple way to show kindness to others. After multiple events and birthday parties where I brought my own snacks or avoided the food table, I’ve become more mindful of people’s food traditions and considerations. For example, one of my Indian friends eats exclusively vegetarian while my Muslim friend doesn’t eat pork. My cousin has an anaphylactic peanut allergy, and my neighbor recently became vegan for environmental reasons. When they come over to study or hang out, I love the smile I get when they realize they can eat whatever snack or baked good I’ve made (especially if it’s brownies).

In addition to empathy, all those Saturday mornings cooking with my parents—and the food knowledge I’ve gained from our friends and family—have encouraged my adaptability. Instead of focusing on what might go wrong, I focus on how I can always learn something new if I’m open-minded enough to do it. Making perfect ravioli might just mean turning down the heat, unsticking my naan might just require a little sprinkle of water, and finding new friends in college might just take a warm plate of nut-free, vegan, gluten-free brownies.

Common App Essay Example #5

I’ve always been obsessed with the ocean. Bioluminescent plankton. Killer whales. Alien-like creatures that only exist in the abyssal zone, a place less explored than outer space. As a child, I spent summer beach days observing tide pools and writing down what I saw in a notebook. I learned about scientists like Eugenie Clark and Sylvia Earle, fearless crusaders who explored the ocean through scuba diving and deep-sea expeditions. Although many jobs within marine biology don’t require diving ability, I dreamed of being the type of scientist who boldly investigates underwater caves and cascades down to the bottom of the ocean in a submersible with bizarre and never-before-seen fish flashing past the tiny windows.

Even though the cold waters near our home weren’t exactly a diving mecca, I didn’t care. All I wanted to do was learn. I started saving up money to pay for lessons and was so excited when I finally had enough to take an introductory course. The class started out in a pool, and once we mastered a certain set of skills, we’d be able to do our first open-water dive.

Since I loved the ocean so much, I thought diving would come naturally to me. However, this couldn’t be further from the truth. I managed to keep up until it came time to work on clearing our masks underwater, which is when you rinse the inside of the mask while you’re diving rather than have to re-surface every time the glass fogs. However, whenever I loosened my mask to flood it with water, I couldn’t push away the nagging sense of panic. I kept sucking water up my nose instead of blowing out and would immediately need to surface, choking and gasping.

I tried again. And again. And again. Over and over, the mask clearing went sideways: I’d press on the seal, tilt my head up, and attempt to blow through my nose, only to inhale instead of exhale or become overwhelmed by the water clouding my vision. After several weeks and little improvement, my instructor sat me down to discuss taking a break.

Honestly, rather than feeling a sense of failure, all I felt was a sense of relief. However, as soon as I got home, that instant relief was replaced by intense disappointment. Diving was my dream, and I couldn’t let myself give up that easily.

I knew that there must be something mentally preventing me from enjoying diving and being able to complete certain skills. To figure out what that “something” was, I started talking to both beginning and experienced divers on online forums, who were quick to share their own experiences of struggling on their first dives. They emphasized water comfort as well as mindfulness techniques, such as yoga and meditation. Instead of diving, I started heading to the pool multiple days per week, doing laps and getting more comfortable in the water, in addition to taking a yoga class and meditating every morning.

Several months ago, I went back to my diving class with renewed purpose and confidence. I successfully cleared my mask underwater and quickly mastered the next set of skills. And two weeks ago, when I lowered myself beneath the surface of the ocean on my first open-water dive, it was nothing short of magical.

Diving is about more than my childhood dream—it’s about my confidence in myself. Although it was a longer journey than I anticipated, I’m proud of myself for committing to my goal. Rather than allowing myself to believe that my fears can’t be overcome and that I have to live with limited opportunities, I choose to embrace the belief that having fears—and confronting them—will only make me a stronger diver and a more resilient scientist.

Common App Essay Example #6

It happened quickly. One minute, I was wide open, waiting to catch a throw during my family’s annual Thanksgiving football game. The next minute, I was being tackled to the ground by my cousin and felt something pop.

At first, I thought the pop was something benign. Air cracking through a joint, maybe. I rolled over to stand up, but my right leg gave out beneath me as soon as I tried to put weight on it. My cousin helped me limp inside and my mom piled frozen corn bags on my knee. Within an hour, it had swelled to the size of baseball and I was in too much pain to move.

Several specialists and an MRI later, I was diagnosed with an ACL tear and scheduled for surgery. This news would have been difficult enough without the fear that now ballooned in my mind: what about soccer?

I’d been a competitive soccer player since I was three, and I loved the game. Actually, I didn’t just love it, I lived and breathed for it. Singularly focused on my dream of becoming a professional athlete, I dedicated multiple hours per week to improving my skills on and off the field.

But the ACL tear changed everything. It would be at least nine months before I could play soccer again, and I was terrified about what that would mean. Would I now be passed over during the college recruiting process? Was this the beginning of the end?

I felt sorry for myself for several weeks before deciding that I had a choice in how the next steps played out. College soccer or no college soccer, my team now was important to me. While I was recovering at home, I convinced my coach to send me videos of soccer practices so I could stay up to date on our team’s strategy, and I was disciplined about physical therapy as soon as I could after the surgery.

However, I also started pouring my extra time into an unexpected place: history. I’d always been interested in the Cold War, and had listened to a few podcasts about it, but digging in even further made me obsessed with McCarthyism as well as the psychological manipulation that occurred at various levels of government during that time. I wondered: how does peer pressure influence adults, particularly at the highest levels of government? How do people perceive threats to their political survival? Is it possible for politicians to sacrifice themselves on the altar of their morals, or is it more likely that they’ll always act in their own best interests? I could even see these same questions playing out in the political landscape today.

When I went back to school post-surgery, a new ritual began: before hobbling over to the field to watch my team’s soccer practice, I’d be in my AP History teacher’s classroom, picking his brain about whatever topic had claimed my attention that week. He ultimately recommended me for a summer program at a local college that investigated political ethics, where I found a group of friends who shared my interests. To this day, we’re constantly sharing political articles in our group text and discussing them together spiritedly.

Giving myself the space to go in new directions, and to learn more about who I am now, changed everything. I realized I had never challenged my dream of being a professional soccer player, never asked myself if that was what I really wanted until I had to. I’ll always love soccer, and always bring my all to any field I’m on. But I love other things, too, and I now am looking for a space where I can be curious, ask new questions, and push what I think I know in new ways. Where will my current interests lead me? I can’t wait to find out.

Common App Essay Example #7

Beep. As the cashier passes each item over the scanner, she rolls it in my direction, where I have a growing collection of produce, soup cans, and chip bags. Beep. I sort through the heap, automatically stacking cans and moving eggs and bread to the side. Beep.

“Paper, plastic, or reusable?” I ask.

I started my job as a grocery bagger last summer, and at first, it seemed like it would be easy money. However, on my first day, I quickly learned that bagging groceries was part art, part science.

How hard could this be? I assumed the goal should be to load each bag with as many items as possible, and so placed three jars of spaghetti sauce, canned vegetables, and a half-gallon of milk in one bag, confident that I was being efficient.

Wrong. So, so wrong.

As soon as I lifted the bag toward the cart, the handles ripped off and the entire thing crashed to the floor. The cans rolled in multiple directions; the milk skidded across the tiles in what seemed like slow motion.

No spills. Phew.

I breathed a sigh of relief about those glass jars of sauce…until I picked up the bag. The inside was now a crime scene of tomatoes and broken glass. The cashier rolled her eyes at me and other customers stopped to crane their necks and see what was happening. I wanted to disappear.

“Hey, kid.” An older man limped over to where I was standing and took the bag from my hands. “Why don’t you go grab this lady some new sauce?”

I scurried off to the spaghetti sauce aisle, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. How could I have messed up something as simple as bagging groceries?

I got the sauce and went back. Gerry—as I would soon come to know him—was standing at my bagging station, patiently sorting the customer’s pile of food. When he saw me, he gestured me over.

“Now,” he said. “Here’s what you do. Cans on the bottom, around the outside, see? But only a couple.” He watched me load some in. “No, no, that’s too many.” He took one out. “You should be able to easily lift it, see?” He picked up the bag with one hand.

“Cans around the outside. Good. Now glass in the middle. Take one of these—” he took a spaghetti sauce jar out of my hands and deposited it snugly between the cans. “Good. Now, what else we got? Put the boxes and crushable items on top—look, she’s got granola bars, popcorn. Yep, just like that.”

Gerry supervised me for the rest of the week, teaching me how to handle all kinds of bagging conundrums, like fresh meat (put it in a separate bag); cleaning supplies (don’t put them with the food, in case they leak); recently-misted produce (put another plastic bag over it to keep it from getting the rest of the groceries wet); and eggs (either on top of a mid-weight bag or at the bottom of a light bag. Oh, and tell the customer which bag the eggs are in!).

I’ve quickly learned our customers’ bagging preferences, and cashiers now often request me as their bagger. I’ve also learned that these interactions mean a lot to people, as properly bagged groceries make it easier for people to transport their food home efficiently and in one piece. Most importantly, Gerry taught me that nothing is more essential than your willingness to learn and do your best, no matter what job you find yourself doing.

Gerry retired last month, but I think of him whenever I’m training a new bagger or navigating ripped-bag catastrophes. And when I see a jar of spaghetti sauce coming down the conveyor belt, I can’t help but grin as I place it safely between a few cans.

Common App Essay Example #8

I needed a four-letter word for “angry” that started with R, a type of eagle most commonly found in the Western United States, and a movie from the 1980s that featured characters named Allison, Brian, and Claire. I tapped my pencil on the side of my father’s hospital bed and then tried a few possibilities. “Rude”? No, the second letter needed to be A. “Rash”?

With my father on dialysis, my mother and I spent hours with him at the treatment center. Several days a week, I’d go straight there after school and do my homework in his room. Once, when I arrived, he had a small crossword puzzle book sitting on the bed and handed it to me with a weak smile.

He fell asleep halfway through the first one, but in the chaos and noise of beeping machines and nurses filtering in and out, and of my brain working overtime wondering how much the treatments would help, the crosswords were a simple yet challenging way to keep me busy. I’d often solve as many clues as I could and then save a few for when he woke up, particularly ones about bands from the 80s, old actors and TV shows, or comic book characters.

The crosswords soon infiltrated every area of my life. I’d work on one on the bus on the way to the hospital, between classes, while I was eating lunch. At first, my friends eyed me strangely, but they caught on to the addictiveness soon enough. There would usually be a group of us crowded around a half-solved puzzle at lunch, shouting out answers and penciling in possibilities.

Unexpectedly, crosswords also became a way to learn more about people I loved. A “Dubai” answer led one of my friends to excitedly share that she had been born there. Another friend enjoyed strategizing which section to attempt first. And I also noticed that my dad had an endless knowledge of politics, recalling past presidential candidates with ease. When I asked him how he could remember all of that, it led to stories about his younger days, doing door-to-door campaigning for local candidates. I was surprised because we’re both introverts, and I would feel so nervous to knock on doors. I asked him if anyone ever got upset about his political beliefs.

He took a minute to answer. “In my experience,” he said slowly. “If someone was upset, it meant that they cared. And if they cared, it meant we had something in common.”

After that conversation, I realized I should be pushing myself past what I thought I was capable of, both in and outside of my puzzles. I now try to take risks that I wouldn’t have taken otherwise, talk to people who I may not have tried to be friends with, and sign myself up for new experiences. In all of these situations, I do my best to learn about other people, just like my father did. It’s my goal to continue doing that in college.

Common App Essay Example #9

Last summer, I worked as a camp counselor, and by the last week, I could navigate multiple issues with ease. Between lost shoes, runny noses, and separation anxiety, I felt like I could handle anything that came my way. It hadn’t always been like this, though.

When I first started working as a summer camp counselor, I thought my main objective was to make sure that the campers were always having a positive experience. “Don’t cry!” I would say. “Your mom will be back to pick you up later!” Or “Why are you sad? We’re going to have so much fun today!” But it rarely helped. Sometimes, my advice would only make the kids more upset. Other times, they would look at me accusingly as if I couldn’t possibly have any idea what they were experiencing. I struggled with why my efforts to connect were falling flat.

With the help of my sister, I finally realized that trying to empathize with my campers instead of trying to make them feel happy all the time allowed me to connect with them on a deeper level. I was able to do this by thinking about my own summer camp experiences, and trying to remember how it felt to miss my mom or struggle during a certain activity.

Dealing with our own feelings—and other people’s feelings—is complicated and sometimes doesn’t make any sense. By approaching my campers, my friends, and my family members with empathy and a goal to try to relate to them, I am doing my best to create stronger relationships.

Common App Essay Example #10

For my seventh birthday, my parents got me a chia pet. (I had been asking for a dog, but no such luck.) The chia pet came in a cute gray pot that looked like a hedgehog, and once you planted the seeds and they sprouted, the grass was supposed to look like hair. My parents said if I took this responsibility seriously I could potentially get a more interesting pet (maybe not a dog, but a fish or a Venus flytrap was on the table) so seven-year-old me dove in head-first.

I planted the seeds, set the pot on my windowsill, and spritzed it dutifully with a small spray bottle daily. If you’ve ever grown chia seeds, you know that they sprout like crazy. Before I knew it, my chia pet needed a haircut every other day, and my parents were instantly regretting their promise to upgrade my pet roster.

But now, I didn’t want a fish or a dog. I wanted more plants. Soon enough, my windowsill was covered with plants, and I’ve spent the past ten years growing my collection even larger. I’ve taken my efforts outside, too, redoing my family’s garden and teaching my friends and family about how to choose plants for their yards.

My seven-year-old self merely wanted a pet to take care of, and had no idea that my first chia pet would lead me to where it has today. I still remember the excitement I felt about the possibility of expanding my collection, an excitement that I continue to feel as I learn about plants.  In college, I want to major in horticulture, with an emphasis on sustainable spaces. I’ve found that a lot of people want to make changes to their space and be more sustainable, but they’re not sure how to do that. If I could be the one who teaches them how, I’d absolutely love it.