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PERSONAL STATEMENT EXAMPLE #1:
Ivy League Essay Examples
Some students have a background, identity, interest, or talent that is so meaningful they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story.
“Whom do you look more like – your mother or your father?” Many people who meet me ask that question, yet I had never given it much thought. It ended up becoming an inside joke with my dad that I was lucky I hadn’t inherited his large nose.
I understood why people were curious about what happens when very different people like my parents come together. My grandparents emigrated from Spain to raise my mom in Venezuela, and my dad is Norwegian, making me half Venezuelan and half Norwegian with a dual Spanish citizenship in the mix. I thought that was all there was to my background. Simple enough.
Things got complicated during high school. When asked about race on set after set of standardized tests, I filled only the Hispanic circle, because I’d always felt a pull towards the rich culture and language on my mom’s side. I grew up greedily listening in on my grandma’s phone calls to my mother in their rapid-fire Spanish and gorging myself on her paella during visits to Spain.
Yet when various affinity groups at Andover warmly invited me to their discussions on ethnicity, I let the emails sit at the bottom of my inbox with a pang of guilt. I imagined a sea of faces staring at me in those meetings, wondering what a girl with blonde Norwegian hair could possibly know about being Hispanic.
Then, I took a class in my junior year about Latin-American immigration. I’d never viewed my mother as an immigrant, except for her trademark accent that I’ve always prided myself on imitating. When I interviewed her for a paper, however, hearing her feelings forced me to reconsider my identity and the responsibilities it holds. All it took was one sentence: “What I regret most about being an immigrant is not doing a better job teaching my daughter my language and culture.”
The guilt I once felt about being a Hispanic impostor was replaced with guilt for never considering the duty I owed my parents as a first-generation American to honor their sacrifices. I took for granted my materialization in the United States, giving no thought to the struggle my parents endured and the feelings of displacement they still feel.
I don’t yet fully understand what being first-generation means. Maybe it’s watching my parents’ eyes light up as they connect to their families in Norwegian and Spanish. It’s receiving photo albums from my grandparents’ weathered hands that are portals to a very different life. It’s unwrapping a thick Norwegian sweater for Christmas and wearing it as I drag my cross-country skis up the hill behind my dad, imagining the 18 words to describe snow in Norwegian. It’s dancing merengue next to my mom and slipping into Spanglish mid-conversation.
It also has a deeper significance. Certainly my love for singing in the shower, venturing onstage in coffeehouses, and always being the first on the dance floor comes from my Norwegian aunt who can play any song that’s requested on the piano. I owe my passion for tennis to my grandmother, who still sends me animated text messages when Nadal wins a match. Seeing my grandfather and my mother start companies in foreign countries sparked my own entrepreneurial spirit, inspiring me to start a nonprofit to help abused children I met in Costa Rica. My sociable personality must come from knowing firsthand that people who seem outwardly different can share many things in common. I attribute my newfound love of history to my interest in piecing together my family’s legacy.
This legacy gives me immense purpose to work my hardest while carrying on the cultures and values that have been cultivated inside our home. So with this, I’ll seek out the immigration stories of those around me, I’ll delve deeper into Spanish and maybe even Norwegian, and on the next standardized test, I’ll fill in two circles. I will do it proudly.
Common App Essay Prompt #2
The lessons we take from obstacles we encounter can be fundamental to later success. Recount a time when you faced a challenge, setback, or failure. How did it affect you, and what did you learn from the experience?
The most rewarding experience of my life has likewise been the most frustrating one. It’s the one where I failed the most, cried the most, laughed the most, and questioned the most. It all began with three words uttered on a neglected, dusty road of Costa Rica – “amigas por siempre?”
As part of an 8th grade trip, I visited a safehouse in Limon where abused children are placed by the government. The kids flooded me with their stories: one 14 year old was pregnant from her uncle, a little boy was covered in scars from beatings. Their warm smiles and trusting hands masked their traumatic pasts. I promised one new friend, Idania, that I would return vowing that, yes, we would be “amigas por siempre.” Three summers and three visits later, after we had raised $30,000 that went towards constructing a learning center equipped with a bilingual library, educational games, and a computer lab, three more words stopped me in my tracks: “she can’t read.” I was talking to our Costa Rican tour guide about Idania, stumbling over my words in Spanish as I laid out what this bilingual library would do for the kids. I expressed how it would give them hope for the future and how my friend, Idania, could become a doctor like she dreams – even though she currently can’t read. I was shocked and dismayed when the tour guide informed me that Idania’s severe dyslexia had forced her to drop out of school.
I had believed I could save the children from a future of poverty, crime, and drugs. I thought that by building a gleaming learning center, the kids’ futures would be as bright as the pink butterflies we painted on the walls. The harsh reality was that I had failed not only the kids and the donors, but also the group of 30 people I brought down with my idealized dreams. That night, I curled up in my mattress shrouded by a mosquito net and cried. For the next few days, I was really bitter. I was bitter towards the people in my group who smiled and high-fived each other for “making a difference.” I was bitter towards another looming school year that would wedge thousands of miles and hours between the children and me. I was bitter that Idania would soon age out of the home with nowhere to go. On our last day together, we read for two hours, her fingers tracing each word as she read with increasing confidence. Turning the last page with a sigh of accomplishment, she hugged me, her eyes shining with tears. That was the last time I saw her, finding out in an email months later that she had run away.
It was hard to return last summer and muster up the same enthusiasm. I experienced a feeling of dismay as I searched the many unfamiliar faces as we pulled up to the safehouse, knowing I wouldn’t be greeted by Idania’s bright almond eyes. Yet I found comfort in the glistening eyes of the other kids, their arms reaching up for hugs, their quiet smiles expressing gratitude. I knew I had to redirect my vision. I found and hired tutors and workshop leaders to work in the learning center, teaching vocational skills like jewelry making and nail painting, and educational courses including Rosetta Stone. Now, we employ three tutors and workshop leaders to give the kids the personal attention they deserve. Hopefully, these adults will become a lifeline for the children.
On the last day of our trip last summer, we visited a woman who runs an independent home in Costa Rica’s capital and had singlehandedly raised 80 children over the past 20 years. As she told me how desperately she needed a space where she could help the kids do their homework and read, my heart filled with a longing to help. After returning back to the United States, I was able to secure a sizable grant to replicate the learning center in this stable home with an enthusiastic adult who yearned to see these children thrive. I never would have had the chance to do this if I had not pushed past the disappointment of failure in order to return.
As I learn more and more about these children and how to best support them, I appreciate the importance and permanence of every moment, every interaction: sitting and listening to their stories as they braid my hair and fix their eyes on the ground, telling a mute twelve year old she’s beautiful and strong and important and really believing it, promising to return and keeping that promise, and truly meaning it when I say “amigas por siempre.”
Common App Prompt #5
Discuss an accomplishment, event, or realization that sparked a period of personal growth and a new understanding of yourself or others.
Exhilarating wind breaks against my six-year-old smile. The whole world hears my proud shout: “I’M SKATING!” Yet pride fades quickly to fear when I realize I don’t know how to stop.
Life is like that. I spent my early childhood years exploring, learning how to be a human and learning what being human meant. Once I learned, I started skating. I breezed through life without struggle. At first, this rush was intoxicating. Then I couldn’t stop. I blinked and found myself skating through life a decade later, burying grandparents and kissing girlfriends. I wanted to slow down—to go back even—but I didn’t know how. I sped toward adulthood, panic-stricken.
Removing my rollerblades would require a second grader’s hand and a trip back to the skating rink. I chanced upon this renaissance while working as a volunteer for a youth enrichment program. Seven-year-olds filed into our summer classroom—wasn’t I their age just yesterday? Among the crowd was Cameryn, a bouncy, giggling girl no different from her peers. Only a disability set her apart: Cameryn Cantrell was blind.
Immediately I became her guide. Together we made crafts, drew pictures, and laughed with the rest of the group. I wish I could say that her overarching normality inspired me instantly, but it did not. After my years of service to special needs children, this was nothing new. I was skating.
My automatonic procession stopped the day we went to Hot Wheels. As Cameryn chatted the bus ride away, I worried how we would pass our two hours at the skating arcade. My concerns were answered upon arrival when she declared her shoe size to the skate stocker. Fearless little Cameryn was about to brave the rink. I tied the wheels to her feet, took a breath, and led her into the arena.
Air tickled our faces as we picked up speed. Cameryn squeezed my hand tighter. “I’ve never gone this fast before!” Her voice betrayed no trace of fear; instead, she—in her omnipresent darkness—beamed a smile that radiated irresistible zeal. Butterflies rippled through my stomach. In that magical instant, my skates came off. Time regained its viscosity, and I felt alive again.
We traveled around the rink for another ninety minutes, but I don’t remember it this way. I remember that we skate hand-in-hand, forever. Our infinity marked a watershed in my growth; for although supervisors hailed me as a role model, I felt like Cameryn’s pupil. She had awakened me to the world as she saw it: through a lens of adventure.
With my new sight, ignored caves look like invitations, and forgotten forests have become my playgrounds. I’ve zip-lined through jungle canopies under the crackle of lightning and awed at nesting sea turtles on midnight trips to the beach. At school, I jumped into a theater class to live the fantasies of a dozen characters.
Such rediscovery is the hallmark of adulthood. Growing up means redefining our personhood and relearning our place in the world. Skating with Cameryn kindled within me a flame for new exploration that I strive to stoke each day. As long as that fire remains aglow, I can call myself an adult.
Common App Prompt #3
Reflect on a time when you questioned or challenged a belief or idea. What prompted your thinking? What was the coutcome?
“. without courage, compassion falters, and without compassion, courage has no direction.”
― Eric Greitens, The Heart and the Fist
I thought justice was as simple as two ends of a table. I planned to administer justice as I sat in a somber room with walls covered by oak bookshelves, rows of yearbooks and anthologies bearing the weight of the past, air conditioning chilling my sweat, and an aura of gravity filling the air. The massive oak table with its long, coursing grain, lit on two ends by weighty chandeliers, dominated my vision. A high school freshman, I took the last seat on the far end of the table with the other members for my first hearing of the Discipline Council—four teachers and six students selected by the administration to recommend penalties for serious offenses.
I looked out across a yawning gap of empty chairs separating me from the defendant seated on the opposite end, proud to represent the honor of my school and the courage to hold my peers accountable. I wanted to reach down and raise up my offending classmate by allowing the school justice system to do its work. I pulled out my notepad as my classmate began to tell his side of the story.
Stone-faced and jotting down notes, I listened as the defendant narrated his account of a relatively cut-and-dry plagiarism case. As he finished, he did something that shocked me, conflicting with the stoic culture of an all-boys’ school: he cried. While stories of boys crying to escape punishment abound, his tears rang true, running with sincerity and anguish, tugging my heart so hard that I toppled off my moral high ground. He was no longer the offender, but Jim (name changed) who I worked with in English and Biology classes. Compassion and empathy ripped apart my once scientific approach to justice.
Disconcerted, I wondered how I could ever pass a judgment on Jim’s case as he left the room and deliberations began. Jim’s tears had disabused me of my black and white view of the Discipline Council. I no longer sat on the side of the right, judging the side of the wrong. I had tumbled into the ambiguous chasm between the two, torn between the unrelenting forces of courage to fulfill my duty as a Discipline Council member and compassion for Jim. On the verge of tears, I sat pitifully while the other members discussed mitigating and aggravating factors, wondering why I had originally felt so honored.
I finally worked up enough courage to suggest that Jim’s clear penitence merited a reduced penalty. I expected to be shot down, but instead saw nodding heads. I turned to Dr. Stegomoeller, the faculty sponsor of the Discipline Council, and saw emotion in his eyes, realizing that he not only thought about justice, but he also felt compassion. A glance around at the other faculty members and upperclassmen revealed that they too were conflicted. The deliberations were a collective effort to resolve that conflict, to find the balance between compassion and courageous duty. As we unanimously agreed on our recommended penalty, a two day suspension, the mood in the room felt like that of the swim team after a draining practice; the last hour was tiring but worth it. Forging through that inner struggle made me certain that I had made the right decision about the penalty.
The light bulb finally clicked. The conflict between compassion and the courage to hold my peers accountable was tortuous and tangled, but essential, because without that struggle neither virtue would have direction, and I would be truly lost. That afternoon in the Discipline Council taught me that as much as I wish for simple black and white choices, most decisions take place in the murky zone between virtue and vice as I am tugged in every direction by conflicting values and emotions. I embrace that uncertainty, however, knowing that I will find a balance far more beautiful than any two-dimensional choice could possibly offer.
Common App Prompt #1
Some students have a background, identity, interest, or talent that is so meaningful they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story.
Nobody cares down here. The asphyxiating world above soars from view as I descend below into the water. Distinctions and inequalities wither away as the gorgonian sea fans grow denser, limiting the streaks of sunlight that still manage to penetrate this deep. Marine colours fade, along with human discrimination. It is still possible to discern the surface – the silhouette above of a green sea turtle navigating the waves – but nobody bothers to look up, to look back. Eighty feet from a dependable source of oxygen we are each other’s lifelines, and all we have to communicate with is our hands. No words are uttered – no words can be uttered. The sound of my regulator hissing and gurgling fades to a gentle murmur, then nothing. There’s absolute silence. What initially seems terrifying, what seems absurd, could not have been more beautifully engineered. Scuba diving is a refuge from the culture clash that shadows me: down here I am the same as everybody else.
But when I surface, I am a riddle no one can solve. I am neither British nor American but an amalgam of the two. The last eight years of my life have been spent in Massachusetts, yet when I open my mouth I am indistinguishable from any British teenager.
Every day without exception my nationality is acknowledged. A boy who has held a mere four conversations with me since freshman year, all of which were compulsory in one way or another, asks me if I woke up at 4 o’clock this morning to catch the Royal Wedding; my sophomore year World History teacher glances in my direction, requesting a tacit confirmation of the accuracy of her details regarding the religious beliefs of Mary I and Edward VI; my reaction of “Ouch! That really hurt” to a friend who parks her chair leg on my foot in the library three years ago results in a tableful of laughing girls, mesmerized by my unintentional rendition of the YouTube sensation “Charlie bit my finger.” I hesitate, perplexed as to why I’ve been singled out. Now, a little wiser, I pause in frustration, hoping for this attention to be some type of joke. It never is.
Most revel in my English accent. Sooner than later I assume the disguise of a magician, my trick being effortlessly simple, yet consistently engaging. In my repertoire: ‘dodgy’, ‘wonky’, ‘bloody hell’, ‘loo’, ‘rubbish’ – just to name a few. I once naively exposed the act to a nagging friend and now it’s a full-time show. I am a full-time show.
I am not a proficient riddle-teller. I don’t even know the solution to my own riddle. I am divided between two linguistic cultures, waiting for time to tell me which one to call home. Underwater I can escape: I can be myself without managing to perplex others. The silence of the deep lures me while I wait.
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5 Ivy-level Personal Statement Examples [Updated 2023]
Here, we have 5 high quality Personal Statement essay examples from my students over the years. Great Common App Personal Statements tend to give a glimpse into each student’s life, thought processes, growth, and maturity.
Another trend that you may notice with these essay examples is that they’re not entirely CAREER or ACADEMIC based. It depends on the vibe you’re going for, but the general rule of thumb is to think about these essays from the perspective of the admissions officer.
In other words, it’s NOT as simple as “showing off your personality” in personal statement. You might hear this or read this somewhere, but, seriously, don’t listen to it. Your personality will not get you into a top school (unless you’re trying to hustle your way into a party when you’re not on the guest list, then that’s different.)
Think about it rationally: An admissions officer’s JOB is to assemble a cohort of great students into his/her university. Upon reading each application, an admissions professional is thinking: “How will this student contribute to our school? What will this person bring to the table?”
So, your personal statement needs to help answer that question.
Remember, the word count is 650 words! And, just an FYI — titles for college app essays are completely unnecessary. I just included them in this post to refer to them more easily.
PERSONAL STATEMENT EXAMPLE #1:
PERSONAL STATEMENT EXAMPLE #2:
PERSONAL STATEMENT EXAMPLE #3:
PERSONAL STATEMENT EXAMPLE #4:
PERSONAL STATEMENT EXAMPLE #5:
Common App Personal Statement Example #1
The lessons we take from obstacles we encounter can be fundamental to later success. Recount a time when you faced a challenge, setback, or failure. How did it affect you, and what did you learn from the experience?
Common App Personal Statement Example #1: Treasure Hunt
Armed with a Tesoro metal detector, my father and I trekked up the 19-mile Dutchman Trail, the 6am sun peeking behind Saguaro cacti dotting the dusty desertscape. As we ascended Superstition Mountain, I flipped on the Tesoro, and waved it alongside the bedrock, expectantly waiting for a screech…the sound of metal!
During my sophomore year, [Name], a friend of my father’s, passed away, leaving behind boxes of oddities bequeathed to my father. Rummaging through the boxes, I happened upon [Name’s] Tesora–a metal detector. As an avid detecting hobbyist, [Name] had told me about the legend of the Lost Dutchman Mines, a gold mine from the 1890s rumored to be tucked within the Superstitions.
Within the boxes, I also managed to find a leather bag filled with over 10-pounds of dusty old coins, bullet cartridges, BBs–most likely items [Name] found metal detecting. Romanticizing the lifestyle of a gold prospector, I pestered my father to take me to the Superstitions.
So for nearly 2-hours, we meandered along the suffocatingly blistering trail, waiting for the Tesora to indicate treasure. BA-BA-BEEEEEP! Heart racing, I dug at the rock-hard dirt and unearthed my first treasure: a bent nail.
Few hours and several more screeches later, I uncovered more nails and rusty door hinges. By mid-afternoon with nothing to show, we trudged down the canyon. Still, my dreams of discovering the Dutchman Mine compelled me to drag my father through countless excavations; within a year, we had exhausted nearly all 12 trails of the Superstitions. Was I looking in the wrong places?
Eventually, I returned to [Name]’s leather bag. Upon closer examination, I realized this wasn’t some bag of dusty old trash–there were coins I’d never seen before. Wiping away the dirt, I found a penny from 1870 with a Native American head instead of Lincoln’s; there were several Ben Franklin half dollars ranging from 1951-1963; two 1926 buffalo nickels. Ecstatic, I researched online forums to decipher the coins’ values, and bought “The Redbook”, the bible of numismatics, to get me started.
For months, I sat in my room, gently cleaning the bag of [Name’s] coins with a moist towel, and read about the history of each coin, revealing a captivating American story.
Under my bed lie a menagerie of coins. Some, I’ve acquired through “numismatic roadshows” across Arizona; others, I’ve procured through metal-detecting every trailhead that I could find; many more, I’ve obtained through simply keeping an eye on the sidewalk and examining those pennies most people wouldn’t bother to pick up. A noteworthy item in my collection is an 1883 Morgan silver dollar minted in Philadelphia, worth about $75; however, this same exact coin can be worth over $2000 if minted in Carson City! This mintage is sought after because it was produced by silver mined at Comstock Lode, a historical mine that marked America’s first major discovery of silver!
Some pennies I’ve collected simply because the mintage year is significant. For example, I own a penny from 1912–the year the Titanic sank. Last year, I attended a coin collector’s bazaar in San Diego, and bought a 1943 penny made of steel, so the US could save copper for ammunition during World War II.
Through metal detecting, we often find items that we don’t expect–hidden gems. And now, instead of tossing them aside because it doesn’t hold intrinsic value, I revel in what it used to be. An old, rusty gear that I found on the trail? I took it home, learning that it may have been a clock gear. Bullet casings are plentiful finds, and I’ve learned to identify shotgun models from the cartridge headstamp, some cartridges almost 50-years old!
Being a numismatist has not only given me a new lens to view American history, but it has also taught me to always be on the lookout–you never know what nugget of learning (and history!) you’re going to find.
Common App Personal Statement Example #2
Reflect on a time when you questioned or challenged a belief or idea. What prompted your thinking? What was the outcome?
Common App Personal Statement Example #2: Life Lessons From Crickets
“Welcome to the dungeon!” my mentor, [Name], quipped, as a whiff of musty cornmeal punched me in the nose. The dungeon was no wider than a broom closet, and 25-feet-long, illuminated by a naked, overhead bulb. My eyes widened as I noticed massive spiders in rows of 15-gallon tanks. Some tanks held glistening ground beetles, scuttling around their habitat of shriveled cucumbers.
“Sometimes the spiders escape, but don’t worry–they’re harmless,” [Name] said, pushing me forward. WHAT? Before I could properly respond, he made a grandiose gesture. “Ta-daaaa! Crickets!”
He carefully placed a dollop of gel into their tanks, clucking his tongue in a beloved manner most people would reserve for their dogs. Uhhh…how’d I even get here?
I scored the opportunity to conduct research at [University] through [program]. Given my interests in biology, I envisioned myself working in an innovative lab, knee-deep in cancer immunotherapy. So, when I was paired to work in Dr. [Name]’s ecological biology lab, I couldn’t help but feel disappointed. I wanted to make an impact on people–crickets weren’t the answer.
But as I began learning from [Name] all-things-crickets, I felt a twinge of excitement–his passion was contagious!
The more I investigated crickets, I became utterly fascinated by their complexities. I learned that only the males chirp to mate, and temperature affects chirping rates: the higher the temperature, the higher pace! Eventually, I formulated my research question: I had read studies indicating females preferred males with more frequent, higher-pitch chirps. What other factors affect frequency and pitch?
I strode back to the dungeon to consult [Name], who hinted that water intake would be an interesting variable to examine. Then, he dropped the bomb: “Figure out WHY,” he prodded, “WHY are you researching this? HOW does this help the world?”
“Come on, they’re just crickets!” I said, laughing.
[Name] shook his head. “You need a WHY to convince scientists the value behind your work,” he affirmed.
I took the bus home, confounded. Why investigate cricket water intake? Searching for answers, I turned to the overall objective of the lab, and pieced together a theme: The scientists were examining the repercussions of California’s drought on the ecosystem.
BINGO. With low water supply, male chirping patterns and therefore mating frequency would be affected, potentially leading to a decline in cricket populations! Because crickets are primary consumers, their demise would affect higher predators in the food chain, eventually impacting humans!
Wow. A cricket could have domino effects on our ecosystem!
I created an experimental set-up, and convinced Petsmart employees to begrudgingly help me catch only the male crickets with our bare hands. In individual tanks, some crickets were treated with no water, others with plentiful. A microphone recorded each cricket’s chirping for 3-days. Collecting gigabits of data, I analyzed the results, troubleshooted, and repeated the experiment. Months of work amounted to a poster I presented at [competition], winning me [placement]! Spoiler: water shortage decreases chirp rate and lowers chirp pitch, doubly decreasing the capacity for a dehydrated cricket to mate!
Crickets have taught me more than I imagined about the ecosystem, the scientific method, and about myself. Throughout my research, [Name]’s prodding taught me to constantly question, and ask, WHY. The why gave me purpose, pushing me onwards despite experimental failures. Searching the answer to the why’s gave me courage to contact another ecological biology lab for collaboration opportunities to examine eco-evolutionary dynamics–a new direction that could help predict when a population could go extinct. Clarity behind the why’s gave me confidence to push outside the lab and learn about legislation to protect our environment when I interned for Councilmember ___, an environmental legend whose office fights for legislation that incentivize businesses to utilize compostable disposable products.
You can bet that I still work at the dungeon every Fridays, helping [Name] capture rogue insects, and breeding crickets to study their offsprings.
Common App Personal Statement Example #3
Some students have a background, identity, interest, or talent that is so meaningful they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story.
Common App Personal Statement Example #3: Antique Enthusiast
“Come over this weekend!” my friends would chant, as we waited for our rides.
I used to dread these well-intentioned invites. I’d often make excuses: Piano lessons, I’d say.
So, where DID I go, you ask? My family’s antique and art gallery.
In 8th grade, my father had some sort of mid-life crisis, and, instead of buying a Ferrari, he insisted that he fulfill his life-long dream of becoming an antique and art gallery owner. So, he literally moved us across the US, swearing that [town] was a hotbed for antiquing.
In a community filled with families whose parents had seemingly “normal” jobs, I felt ashamed to tell my friends that mine had a little mom-and-pop shop. Owning a family gallery meant that, every Saturdays, I went with my mother from 9am to 6pm to help sell the pieces, fix broken furniture, clean, and help my dad load up the delivery truck. On Sundays, I would drive 2-hours with my father to [City] to procure more antique pieces at real estate auctions, while my mother tended to the store.
And though I groaned every time my mother woke me up on Sunday mornings to get ready, I grew to enjoy these experiences. I loved plodding into the auction house, with the auctioneer’s rhythmic monotone blaring from the speakers, and examining the pieces up for bidding.
“These’ll be at least $400,” my dad would say, pointing at a pair of beautiful , 1940s-style art deco walnut nightstands. I’d carefully remove the top drawer, where the maker of the piece would be engraved on the sides.
“Ah, Kittinger. That’s a good company. Maybe they’ll go for a little more,” he’d add.
And as I sipped on my Coke, I’d observe my dad duel for the items, taking mental notes on the price point he would begin the bidding. As I became more engaged in our auction outings, I could better forecast the price point of each piece, from mid-century dining room sets to marble-top kidney-shaped desks, based on the manufacturer and overall popularity.
On Saturdays, I’d dutifully settle down at the counter next to my father, and listen to him detail the woodwork behind “bird’s-eye” dressers to the customers marveling at the pieces in our showroom. Oftentimes, I’d take it upon myself to repair furniture, such as chips on the legs of a newly acquired Queen Anne style needlepoint chair. I’d slather on some wood putty, sand it down, and carefully apply wood stain to make it match in color.
Oftentimes, I’d peruse the store and learn about the gallery pieces, including the newest painting he bought: Is that an original Martin Heade or a replica? I’d also learn about the business turmoils that embroiled Royal Copenhagen, leading to its discontinuation of its iconic china that were now worth several hundred dollars, peacefully resting in a display case in our store. Sophomore year, I observed my father taking inventory and doing accounting. Fascinated, I learned about credits and debits and eventually took over the books this year, teaching me business principles, firsthand.
Junior year, in my World Cultures class, I learned about kachina dolls that the Hopis used to bring rainfall. Upon learning that one of my father’s distributors also specialized in Native American pieces, I begged him to buy me a kachina doll. “Sure,” he said, but he made me pay him back on a layaway plan…and I learned the hard-truth about compounding interest rates.
The treasures that occupy our store all have remarkable stories, each one sparking my everlasting curiosity behind its economic history and cultural significance. Now that I’m older, I’m inspired by my father’s pursuit of following his entrepreneurship dreams and my family’s steadfast support. I was lucky to be along for the ride; as I approach the next-stage of life, though, I aspire to be in the driver’s seat, recruiting friends ride along with me.
Common App Personal Statement Example #4
Share an essay on any topic of your choice. It can be one you’ve already written, one that responds to a different prompt, or one of your own design.
Common App Personal Statement Example #4: Lessons From In-N-Out Burger
“TAKE OVER THE CORNER!” a voice screams.“TAKE OVER THE CORNER!” a voice screams.
As the dreadful words rang in my ear, I fearfully froze. As I adopted the Corner’s subservient position, I prepared myself for confrontations and irritating, last-minute changes to “finalized” orders. After all, In-N-Out’s mantra persisted: the customer is always right. Yet, as I stood by, fumbling with my earpiece, I wondered: why was I even working here?
Then, I remembered. Because of my family’s faltering financial capabilities, I could no longer afford the $3,500 tuition for a bioengineering program. Still, I refused to relinquish this opportunity and got a job to make ends meet. It would require immense sacrifice and labor but the program would be worthwhile, enriching my academic understanding.
A ding resonates from my headset, triggering a conditioned response.
“H-h-h-i, what can I get for you?” I stammer.
I nervously await a response, but only an engine’s deafening churns echo in my ears. Roaring in mockery of my stutter, it evoked uncomfortable childhood memories—times when I struggled to socialize. Oftentimes, interacting with customers felt frightening, as they would sneer and address me with condescending tones. Though I was overwhelmed by my fears of backlash, my nightmare had just begun…
An enraged voice explodes from my headset, “ARE YOU DEAF? I want—” But, with the sound of his speeding vehicle charging to my window, his voice abruptly cuts off. Now face-to-face, the tensions between us increase:
“ARE YOU THE IDIOT THAT TOOK MY ORDER?”
“I’m so sorry, I had a hard time hearing you,” I sheepishly reply.
“Get this right, it’s for my kids!”
My eyes then scan the backseat of his minivan, now understanding the perplexing order was not intended as a challenge of my competence, but for his family. I cautiously take his order again, this time nodding in acknowledgement of his children’s allergies and yelling it back to the cooks. His tone gradually lightens, and his face relaxes. I courteously reach out, offering paper hats and lap mats to the entire family. A smile appears on his face, as he extends a warm “thank you” before driving off.
It was a small interaction occurring over mere minutes, yet my thoughts lingered on his attack: idiot. While he loosely blurted “idiot” in anger, I interpreted it as a personal attack. Disheartened, I wondered: how could he be so mean?
“He’s just having a bad day,” my co-worker affirms.
And, that’s when I realized: he probably was having a bad day. For the first time, a total stranger had called me an idiot; yet no matter how inept a fast food worker was, I would have never singled them out. But, this man—for no rational reason—had the anger and impatience to insult me. I didn’t know why he acted this way, but nothing could change the actions or thoughts of others. I could only control my reaction and stop taking things personally.
Thus, I detached myself from the situation. No longer allowing harsh comments to intensify my long-held insecurities, I adopted a position that fostered empathy and accommodated distinct backgrounds. And, soon enough, I began counteracting customers’ frustrations with compassion, hoping a cordial demeanor would eventually arise. Just maybe, their attitude would lighten up through acts of kindness—the offerings of paper hats and lap mats—making their day slightly more positive.
Because of this experience, I now approach the world seeking first to understand and then to be understood. Diverse opinions compose a broad spectrum of arguments, each with its own strengths and weaknesses. And, I embrace these differences as a beautiful blend of thought rather than a separating factor. With this outlook on life, I’ll continue to build relationships with people of all cultures, political associations, and religions. My labor cultivated not only personal growth but also opportunity. The following summer, I moved into the laboratories and lecture halls of bioengineering to learn about bioreactors, assays, and tissue engineering.
Common App Personal Statement Example #5
Share an essay on any topic of your choice. It can be one you’ve already written, one that responds to a different prompt, or one of your own design.
Common App Personal Statement Example #5: The Tortured Artist
The darkness of [City] envelops me as I scan every tree in sight to harvest tree bark–a unique, bold material–to use in my art assignment: creating a portrait of my community. Pleasant notes of pine mingle in the air as I absentmindedly hum the tune the school marching band is playing in the background. Remaining oblivious to everything around me, I quickly fill my bag to the brim with bark.
Once home, I immediately jam music into my ears and jerk the curtains shut to drown out any distractions. I focus on producing something new–shocking. Surely, bark that I found within my neighborhood would be a strange twist on the prompt.
Unrestrained, I created a strange peeling sculpture out of birch and sycamores. While definitely an eye-catcher, I paced around the piece with uncertainty. Did this accurately depict my community?
In my frenzy of constructing artwork that would draw attention, the mission of the prompt had taken the backseat. I unplugged my ears and slid the drapes open. Slipping out the door once again, I was determined to take my neighborhood beyond face value this time.
With this new lens, my neighborhood took on a whole new light. The soothing pine scent now clashed with the gas exhaust from the reckless BMWs whizzing by; the music I once heard was replaced by the cacophony of household arguments. Meanwhile, my phone buzzed in my pocket, agitated with texts from miserable friends rambling about their problems.
As newcomer to [City], I had only seen the determined front of excellence that my community upheld, complete with performances of neighbors that sent over cherry pies. This environment was a saturated image of perfection that my family and I strove to blend into. We became like everybody else; seamlessly executing our smiles out on our manicured lawn.
Wanting to capture this image of a forced mask of idealistic standards, I shelved the bark sculpture and began envisioning a new idea for a portrait of my community. Using the inspiring potential within everyday objects, I transformed the ads of airbrushed models into a mask that I could actually wear. Those faces of models with hollow grins shared the anguished expressions of the people around me; it reflected my observations of how damaging it could be to maintain a constant likeness of perfection.
This project marked one of the turning points in my artistic and personal growth. Through years of art classes that emphasized precision in mimicry, I had taken pride in breaking out of this constricting technique by creating shocking artwork. Each new artistic endeavor came with different materials–it was a statement of originality and willingness to experiment. However, my steadfast resolve on being audacious required only superficial vision; it created a shield in which my thoughts and ideas were smuggled away from possible rejection and judgment by my peers. To actually showcase my thoughts and emotions via art required a certain vulnerability that I hadn’t dared to explore.
I realized that this barrier–this fear of vulnerability and judgment in my creations–limited the impact I wanted in my art. In a way, my neighborhood and the people around me paralleled my fears, enforcing inauthenticity.
The facades we put on to keep up with the Joneses fueled me to wear the masks–my own artwork–as part of the final display. This courage to physically be a part of the final display fueled me to continue pushing creative boundaries by using innovative mediums; it pushed me to remain vulnerable by showcasing the more undisclosed aspects of my life.
I want to utilize artwork to not only shed light on the world around me, but also to continue evolving my interaction with art to create a real impact. Much like my artistic transformation, I hope to inspire others to reveal their potential beyond their masks.
