College essays that made a difference - Princeton Review 2010
Lindsay Claiborn
The applicants
Lindsay was involved in JV soccer and varsity gymnastics. She was section leader in marching band and band council president. A National Merit Finalist, she was a member of the National Honor Society for two years. During her senior year, she participated in an internship program at NBC Studios.
Stats
SAT: 1530 (750 Critical Reading, 780 Math)
SAT Subject Test(s): 750 Math Level 2, 700 Chemistry
High School GPA: 3.60 weighted
High School: Thomas Jefferson High School for Science and Technology, Alexandria, VA
Hometown: Vienna, VA
Gender: Female
Race: Caucasian
Applied To
Claremont McKenna College
College of William & Mary Emory University
Pomona College
Stanford University
University of Southern California (College of Letters, Arts and Sciences)
University of Southern California (School of Cinema—Television)
Yale University
Essay
Lindsay used the following essay, with slight modifications, in each of her applications. The question was different for each school, but the essay fit all requirements. She initially wrote the essay for Stanford; their question asked the applicant to send a photograph and describe the meaning behind it.
“Can I hear a B flat please?” Our band director directs his question to the brass. “Now the woodwinds …” Then I hear it—the unmistakable squeal of four piccolos, skidding across the entire ensemble. I cringe and step out of line to look at my piccolo section. They look back with apologetic stares and one of them rummages for a tuner. These four girls are my responsibility. They must have their music memorized and their marching exact. They are a product of the time I have invested every year, from June to November, since 9th grade. We are part of a giant family that spends countless hours playing connect-the-dots on a football field. We are the marching band. We are each dots that move in unique patterns across a grassy game board. Each summer, June begins with individuals marching to unique patterns. In July, tempos start to coincide with one another, if only for a split second. In August, many tempos become one, blending all differences and creating a new cadence. From September to November we perfect our uniform tempo.
As my name thunders across the loud speaker amid the other leadership, I look no different than anyone else, one drop in a sea of uniforms. But my section knows that I am a darker dot, a bigger drop, like the checker piece that has reached the other side of the board and is coming back “kinged”. I am the section leader. Leadership takes time to establish and more time to perfect. I have yet to perfect mine but our daily practices challenge what I know.
Thinking back to my freshman year, my section leader was a model of perfection. She seemed to know everything and everyone, and I felt privileged to be part of her section. Now I wonder if the freshmen feel the same way about me. They have yet to learn that my “perfection” comes from little more than experience, maturity, and dedication.
It is 10 minutes to show time. Anxiety runs high as the freshmen experience the rush of competitive performance. It’s the last few seconds I will have to instill words of confidence in the minds of my flutes and piccolos. “Good luck, march your best.” Tap … Tap … The solitary snare drum beats a solid tempo. Each drop adheres to another, collecting and combining. We are a mass; I am part of the sea again. We flood the dark alleys to the stadium. Tap … Tap … We are all united into one common goal; uniformity. Tap … Tap … We all appear exactly the same yet travel our specific paths. But that is impossible; to appear exactly the same is wearisome. Our own individualities create diversity, even when conformity is crucial. Tap. Tap. It’s our turn; we may take the field in competition, in uniformity, in individuality. I locate my starting spot, dot #1. Downbeat, now my personal tempo is gone I must stay in step. Right, Left, Right. Where do I go next? Dot #2 … aha, four steps to the right. I am still traveling my personal path; my section follows me. They depend on every step I commit to. Left, Right, Left. I am alone in my directional movements but part of a whole picture. Dot #3, 4 steps diagonally left. Right, Left, Right. As the figures on the field ebb and flow with the musical tides, my individuality shifts with the demands of the performance. The show ends, and the drum tap resumes. Tap. Tap. Reality is beaten back into our heads, reminding us of what we have just accomplished. We are unified in an endeavor to entertain and impress.
As I stand on the field at the end of my final performance, my individuality comes back, my own rhythm returns. But a shred of the band’s past unity remains. The bonds that we have formed do not split but stretch and evolve. Those of us who have led leave something behind for the next class and take with us the experiences of a lifetime.
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