THE NUTS & BOLTS OF THE COLLEGE ESSAY

August 9, 2024; Nuts & Bolts; Bill: 148

NOTE: Bill, the title and picture is in your honor. I marveled at your ability to name and use so many tools and gadgets. Oh, because of you, I learned how to align my bike tire spokes, detect rubbing on a Tension Meter & Wheel. I actually went into a CYCLIST in Newport Beach, CA, brought a huge bunch of Sunflowers, and asked to be taught how to do this. And...they taught me! VOILA!

BACKSTORY
When Bill's children were applying for college, we talked endlessly about process, what to do, how to know what to do, what to say, what not to say, how much say to have. Bill wanted the best for his (2) beautiful children. He wanted EVERYTHING for them. And we worked together to create the packets, get the recommendations, talk through all the money matters (financial aid and scholarships); making calls to people we both knew to call in a chit, working hard with the kids to get their packets prepared with care and stress-free. Both his children attended/attend great schools. Both his children know they were loved; know that Bill was invested in learning about the process. Bill!

WORKSHOPS & SEMINARS
So, when I am working with students, Bill's voice is often present because he was the "intimate" voice of MOST parents. He gave me a gift when he shared his worries; when he asked questions; when he allowed me to witness his insistence on ensuring his kids were in the running for getting what THEY needed and WANTED in a college experience. He invited me to be a part of that process with his kids, and in so doing, I knew I needed to obtain REALLY solid, well constructed answers for him (for me) because unless the information satisfied him and made sense, it was "back to the 'ol drawing board."

Yesterday, I attended (2) separate 1/2 day long workshops on college counseling / essay writing / and the In's & Out's of the college application process, (and because of Bill), I will share with you some of the MOST important information you and your children need to know about the college admissions process (in terms of writing essays and completing the application with confidence and full understanding). I share this with your kids when we are working together, but I don't always get a chance to answer all the questions parents have. I hope some of this info will quell the fear, anchor their journey alongside their child, and for those working with me, trust that I'll get your child where they need to be. Here goes:

IMPORTANT INFORMATION

There are a few CRITICALLY important aspects that need to be discussed IN DEPTH with students in order for a student to understand WHY they are crafting this essay/supplementals/ HOW to begin/WHAT is expected from them as they write; and WHICH style (Narrative vs. Montage) to choose as part of their application packet.

Most colleges/universities/Dean's of Colleges/admissions officers/Admissions Teams look for the following in the college essay:

SKILLS
QUALITIES
VALUES
INTERESTS
VULNERABILITY
THEME
CONNECTIONS
INTELLECTUAL CURIOSITY

These representatives of schools are seeking what is referred to as NUTRIENTS of an essay that they also seek to find a student's ACTIVITIES LIST, and their ADDITIONAL INFORMATION sections which require specific instruction, too. Most students actually do not know for what those sections are truly intended. But they exist for very specific reasons.

They are seeking to find out the questions you have about life, the world, the bigger picture of how one lives.

They seek to find the connections and themes in your essay that highlight who YOU ARE.

They hope to see that 10% of your essay is your topic being introduced/used as a platform for which you'll tell a unique, thoughtful, intellectually curious story that ONLY YOU could write. NOTE: One thing I often have students do is select a sentence, say sentence 5, and ask, "Could anyone have written this sentence, or is it specific, unique, to YOU?"

They seek to know that a student is not writing to recap their accomplishments, but to share aspects of themselves that will highlight and showcase HOW they will be an asset to the college/university that they hope to attend. NOTE: Like my mentor Molly Pearson often says, "When we are engaged in a transactional relationship/agreement, it's akin to going on a date. Both parties are interviewing each other, assessing whether or not it's a good match." This goes for students applying to colleges, too. It's a date. Do you want a second date, or is it, 'meh?" You will continue to find out which schools are the best fit for you as you explore YOURSELF, figure out what YOU LOVE, and what you WANT MORE OF, and WHICH schools "check all the boxes." It's not immediate. It's an unfolding....just like a date.

The Supplemental Essays cannot be written until students have explored all that I just explained about writing the Personal Essay. The Personal Essay is considered the "SUPER ESSAY" in the college world, meaning that it is the basis from which many other essays are developed and from which a student identifies a theme, connectors to stories, the "DNA" of parts of who they are.

Students need time to create a living/breathing document that can be revised, and honed (as they grow through this process) and edited to meet the criteria for specific questions to be answered.

There is so much more, but this is a taste of what a student will be engaged with in their sessions with me. They leave feeling empowered. I believe they trust me. And ALL of them land at a school that is JUST RIGHT FOR BABY BEAR!

Here's to every student who dares to dream. You've got a story to tell. You've got much to share. You've got oodles of potential and a fascinating journey ahead of you. CARPE DIEM!

EPISODE #4: EVE

Admittedly, I've had a couple of ONE-NIGHT STANDS in my life.  Not recently, and not a choice I'd make today, but during my graduate school days at Columbia University, I had a particularly notable one-night stand that ended in a scene made for a horror movie.  I believe it is worth retelling; it's story-worthy.

I was bartending at a "Fancy Nancy" event on the campus of CU. Yeah, I wasn't one of the people who didn't have to hustle to survive while in grad school.  I had to work a lot and make it look like I wasn't working my ass off...I think I pulled it off now and again, but for the most part, I was forever running, with my hair on fire, from theater rehearsals to my dorm director job to arbitrary side jobs that paid for my groceries and my flip phone.  

I was bartending this fundraising event when a very dapper, handsome man, wearing a navy blue sports jacket with a bow tie and pants with a cool print.  He had a solid, athletic build, was on the shorter side, and I found him adorable.  He approached me (at my end of the pseudo-bar) and asked me for a glass of champagne.  I responded, "...because you're the best-dressed man in the room, you're entitled to a BOTTLE of CHAMPAGNE," and I slammed a new bottle of PERSECO-y sort of champagne down hard on the bar and popped the cork.  It was a performance with a splash of tongue & cheek humor, but clearly, I was uninhibited and not intimidated.  Being a female bartender placed me in an in-charge position that freed me from feeling shy or needing to "behave" in a way if one were seeking to be asked out or, at the very least, yearning to be found attractive.  I remember him standing there with his hands in his pockets, laughing, and throwing his head back in a way only a privileged, confident man wearing pants with a bright print would. 

Then, without a beat, he took the bottle off the bar and said, "I'll save it for us both.  I'll pick you up after this shindig is over."  

So as not to lose my edge or my presumed position of power, I retorted, "Yeah, we'll see about that!"  Two hours later, I was in a cab, headed downtown, and we talked the night away at his local watering hole.   I had to get back uptown, and so, I said goodbye in a rather harried manner, as I had a rehearsal at school very early the next morning.  We liked each other.  Before I left, we exchanged contact info; by the time I arrived home, he had left me a voicemail. He invited me to dinner that night.  I returned his call and unequivocally accepted the invite.  

I arrived at his apartment for our date, and he answered the door wearing what I considered expensive casual clothing.  He was my kind of dresser.  And what I found even more attractive was the fact that he had an apron on.  He was actually cooking for me.  I almost pinched myself because I couldn't he was cooking me dinner at his apartment and had dressed up for the occasion. But moreover, I needed a REAL meal instead of the on-the-run crap I was accustomed to eating. 

OFF TO A GREAT START! 

He invited me in to have a seat in his living room (OMG, this man had a REAL living room in his Tribeca NYC apartment...it wasn't HUGE, but it was a real living room, and my knees didn't touch the opposite wall when sitting on the toilet in his bathroom).  

I'VE STRUCK GOLD! 

As he cooked, he talk-yelled from the kitchen to the living room, asking me the usual questions people ask each other people on first dates/one-night stands.  And then, he popped his head into the living room and offered me a cool glass of fresh lemonade. I accepted and got up to follow him into the kitchen (it was only about 20 steps I would have had to take), but he insisted on serving me.  SO AMAZING, RIGHT?  As I waited for him to bring the lemonade, I looked around his apartment, and as my eyes scanned upward toward the ceiling, there was a BOA CONSTRICTOR wrapped around the wood beam between the entryway and the living room wall.   I screamed to him and stuttered while backing up out of my seat on the sofa.  He entered the living room and calmly said, "Oh, you met EVE."   

I was distraught and near hysteria as she was moving, and I don't remember exactly what happened after my mini-stroke, but there was begging involved, grabbing at him, and some pleading to put EVE in her BOA CONSTRICTOR cage.  He was reticent to do so, and I remember telling him I was leaving if he didn't put her away, so he acquiesced.  He reached up, and she (EVE) slowly, willingly, gracefully slid onto his shoulders and into his arms. Then, he put her in his closet, loose.  

JESUS.  FUCK.  FUCK.  FUCK.  ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING!  GOD.  THINGS WERE GOING SO WELL.  

He suggested that we go out for dinner as a way to soothe me. Although he was not responding as I expected him to, he believed he was being very considerate. And on some level, his minimal gestures of kindness made me trust him and calmed me down.  

As we exited his apartment and waited for the elevator, I remember pressing the down button a few times, quickly, in succession. He looked at me and said, "Once will do. You don't need to press it over and over.  It's not going to come faster just because you want it to. (and while saying this, he exaggerated and mocked how I was pressing the elevator button).  

RED FLAG IGNORED.  

We went to a local Italian Restaurant in Tribeca with strings of lights on the awnings, big windows, and many tables that we positioned close together.  It was like a European date.  It was magical.  We ate delicious food, talked for hours, and discussed the EVE moment.  I explained with a bit of a bite to my tone that it wasn't as if I was screaming because he owned a goldfish or had a pet turtle, bird, or puppy.  I was in a room with a full-grown BOA, and truth be told, I think MANY people would have had a similar reaction.  The evening moved forward (DON'T ASK ME WHY), but I returned to his apartment.  We REALLY LIKED EACH OTHER.  I TRUSTED THAT HE HEARD MY CONCERNS ABOUT EVE, and he PROMISED that upon returning to his apartment, he would put her in her cage and that all would be well.  

Once he assured me EVE was put to bed and fed, I entered the apartment believing she was put away; I decided to take him up on his offer to stay the night.  

WHAT WAS I THINKING? 

Fifteen minutes in, I heard a banging on the closet door, no more like a thumping, a HARD, LOUD thumping.  He told me to relax and said that EVE was in the closet; that she wanted to come out.  

WHAT THE FUCK!  WHAT?  SHE WANTS TO COME OUT?  ARE YOU KIDDING ME? 

As he got up to get EVE, I gathered my belongings in the darkness and headed for the door.  

I dressed in the hallway through hot, wet tears of fear and upset.  

I called for the elevator and pressed that DOWN button really hard a whole bunch of times. 

THINGS TO ADD TO MY ABOUT HOPE LIST:

31.  I DO NOT LIKE SNAKES

32.  I AM NOT SEEKING A ONE-NIGH-STAND or FLING

33.  I AM A GRADUATE OF COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY WITH AN MFA

34.  I AM A BIG TIPPER and TREAT WAIT STAFF WITH RESPECT

35.  I LIKE TO SWEAR

36.  I AM GOING TO BE WORKING AS A WAITRESS/SANDWICH MAKER THIS SUMMER @ THE CAPE

37.  I LOVE MY APARTMENT & I LOVE THE UPPER WEST SIDE (NYC)

38.  I WANT A DOG

39.  I LIKE TO LAUGH AND BE SILLY 

40.  I CONSIDER OTHER PEOPLE'S FEELINGS 

EPISODE #3: EMMETT KELLY & DATING

EMMETT KELLY ON WISHING:  "It is all right to wish - but don't forget it will not do any good unless it is accompanied [by] a 'lot of hard work and planning."

I recently worked with a group of clowning professionals. And one of the exercises we engaged in included 40 feet of white satin piled on the stage.  We were asked to create a moment in silence by experiencing the satin through the senses - a task every clowning performer understands is critical and essential in communicating with their audience authentically (through the body and in silence).  

The satin materialized itself to me as my dad's pajamas, a wedding gown, and a swaddling blanket for a baby.  I was lost in the reverie of my imagination and creativity, yet aware that I was performing/storytelling for others.  It fascinated me that the others articulated what they witnessed as exactly what was intended.  They understood it at its deepest level - that there was a loss and love; & that the tapestry of my existence and essence were seen.  I was raw and naked on the stage inside of those moments.  It's the only way I know how (and choose) to perform.  

The experience with those performers reminded me how hard I've worked throughout my life to hone these skills. It is an art form, and it must be practiced (religiously) just like any other skill or talent.  You can't wish it to be so; it must be sculpted and crafted.  It's messy and frustrating.  It's beautiful. It's painful and delightful. It's slow in its evolution.  It's like love, friendships, and the self - ever-evolving.  I don't WISH for these experiences; I've worked and planned for them at every step of my life journey.   

Wishing for love and partnership is NOT a plan. It's like NOT showing up for the audition and expecting to get the part - something I often do, and I am sure that Innovative Talent, who represents me, is curious to know why I do this. 

So, as a planning freak and a compulsive list maker, I am investigating ways to plan the work necessary to find love and then work on my love life plan.  One thing I have already planned is a beautiful dress I'll wear on this future date, accompanied by Converse running sneakers. I will truthfully and simply explain my shoe choice selection as "a way to run from you in case you're a killer" and then I'll coquettishly order the pan de quotidien. 

Here's what I'll add to my personal profile:

21.  I LOVE EMMETT KELLY & CHARLIE CHAPLIN

22.  I LOVE TO PERFORM & WRITE 

23.  I WANT TO LEARN HOW TO RIDE A UNICYCLE

24.  I WANT TO GO TO CROATIA

25.  I LOVE TO BINGE WATCH CRIME SHOWS

26.  I LOVE TO TEACH CLOWNING

27.  I LOVE COLORED PENCILS, PENS, AND CRAYPAS

28.  I LOVE TO MAKE LISTS & ORGANIZE ON A DAILY BASIS

29.  I LOVE TO CHECK OFF EVERYTHING ON MY DAILY TO DO LIST AS A VISUAL TO REMIND ME THAT I EARNED MY DAILY BREAD AND DOLLAR.

30.  I LOVE CHUCK TAYLOR CONVERSE SHORELINE SLIP ON SNEAKERS (IN WHITE IS THE BEST.

EPISODE #2: CRUMBS!

As I listened to NPR on my drive to work this morning, I was moved by Steve Inskeeps interview with Tommy Prines about his new album, "THIS FAR SOUTH."  Prines is the son of the late singer/songwriter John Prines.  Tommy talked about his joy with his dad when he toured with him; his gratitude for the experiences, lessons, and love that filled their lives as father & son.  How he spoke about HIS father reminded me of the experiences, lessons, and love that filled a HUGE part of MY life as the daughter of a father who exhibited dignity and grace at all costs.  I learned much from my father's silence and "lake-like" stillness.  He said many healing and supportive things to me, but one particular sentence spoken the night before he died, that I will NEVER forget, and that which guides me toward finding REAL love in my life, was this....read EPISODE #2 to find out.  

On the last night, my Dad was on this earth, we took a late-night ride in Bella (my VW Bug) and went BEACH HOPPING.  We stopped at Cumberland Farms in Wellfleet and bought coffee and cinnamon rolls for the ride (even though my Dad did not drink or eat anything at all that day, which was not usual and was worrisome).  For some reason, I was compelled to talk to my father about my love life, which we NEVER discussed.  I told him about an experience I had at the beach in late July that left me feeling REALLY upset, an experience I wanted my father's opinion on.  I explained to him that I was on one of my epic beach bike rides and that when I had arrived at Nauset Light Beach I was about to cycle down a pathway that was not only dangerous but forbidden. BIG signs.  I noticed that a very handsome man on a racing bicycle was watching me attempt this feat, and stopped me in my tracks by shouting out, "YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO DO THAT! (and then quietly added), 'cuz it's dangerous.'  The Path to exit onto the beach area is over there."  I descended the appropriate path and set up my square of beach heaven to do some stretching and yoga.  I stayed on the beach for about an hour.  When I left, I decided to go to the Three Sisters LightHouses.  As I steered my cruiser bike into that park area, the handsome "DO-GOODER" was behind me on his bike asking if I'd like to go for a bike ride.  I did.  He asked for my FB info, my contact info, and we departed after a rigorous 10 mile trek. 

An hour later, he FB'd me, asked me to contact him upon my return to NYC, and that we'd get together.  Fast forward, I did.  He was a DICK and actually said that I "got the wrong idea about his intentions."  I reminded him that he had NO IDEA about MINE and I ended the call.  

When I reiterated the story to my dad, he shook his head and was visibly upset by what I had shared with him.  I began to cry.  Not because of the experience, but because my Dad looked at me as we sat at the beach that night and said, "Hope, no more crumbs.  You deserve better than that, and I want you to promise me that you won't take crumbs."  I promised him.  And I'm keeping my promise.  

As I continue my search for A PARTNER & love, that is my mantra...NO CRUMBS! 

WHAT I WOULD ADD TO MY TRUTH-BE-TOLD-ABOUT-HOPE dating site information list  from EPISODE #2 is as follows:

11.  I LOVE NPR

12.  I LOVED MY FATHER DEEPLY 

13.  I AM A VW BUG OWNER & LOVER (I can tell you differences between a '65 & a '66 bug).

15.  I LOVE CAPE COD

16.  I LOVE COFFEE 

17.  I LOVE LATE NIGHT DRIVES TO THE BEACH 

18.  I LOVE BIKE RIDING 

19.  I LOVE TO WORKOUT ON THE BEACH

20.  I WILL NOT ACCEPT "CRUMBS" FROM FRIENDS OR PARTNERS.  

This blogging thing is excavating simple truths....

EPISODE #1: MY GYN KNOWS I'M NOT A SLUT....SHIT!

At my recent GYN appointment, my doctor asked me if I wanted an HIV/Sexually Transmitted Disease panel of tests.  I sat up on my elbows as she lubed up her sterile glove, and I said, "I WISH!"  She laughed, and I chortled and then let that less-than-tasteful joke run its embarrassing course as she examined me and then dryly asked, "So, you don't have a partner?

"No.  I don't.  That's why I said, 'I WISH.'  I hope you didn't think I was suggesting that I somehow hoped that if I did have a partner, they would have HIV or Syphilis and that I'd be infected?"   

There was a brief silence; it was broken when she flatly stated, "It's good that you've gained some weight." 

Oh, right. Yes. So I've been told. 

Thought bubble:  FUCK weight gain and menopausal "muffin top" and comments like "Hope, you-look-good-with-a-few-pounds-on-those-bones." Jesus!  Haven't we yet learned (as a society) that talking about people's weight, unless it is solicited by the person who NEEDS to talk about THEIR weight, is not up for discussion)?

Leaving that appointment, I realized (3) things:  1.  I am glad I don't have HIV or any other sexually transmitted disease (REALLY!  I JUST realized THAT)?  2. My metabolism is dramatically changing (even though I am a conscientious "worker-outer"), and 3. I want a mate. Not a date, not a "fuck buddy," not a "friend" or a "travel companion" like so many people have suggested I seek to find, but a mate.  A man.  A man that likes me emotionally, intellectually, and sexually; a man who has a job and wants to go out to dinner and travel and enjoy life together. I feel like I am speaking in tongues when I voice this idea.  Why?  What am I doing or NOT DOING to perpetuate my single status?  I no longer want to RSVP to dinner invites or big life events without a PLUS ONE check mark.  Like Michael J. Fox coming who stopped hiding his Parkinson's Disease diagnosis (I just watched STILL on Apple TV...it's a MUST), I am no longer hiding my quest for a life partner.  

I have been deeply contemplative about HOW to go about such a finding. I know...I know what you're thinking, join a dating site.  I can't do it.  Well, technically, I CAN do it, but the brief experiences I've had on MATCH.COM, it left me with Online Dating PTSD. For example, yea, but IMMEDIATELY NO! to the man who wrote me with a terribly orange-hued tan, lying on a BarcaLounger, holding his scrotum in a Speedo, asking me to join him in Reno.  Or the guy who suggested that we meet on the West Side Highway for dinner and, upon meeting, stated that we were going to The West Way Gentleman's Club. That was it. I canceled my membership, and although I have been investigating dating sites and apps, I have NEVER paid for another subscription. It terrifies me.  Yea, and call me picky, but I'd rather be on NAKED & AFRAID and eat a bucket of worms for 25K.  

Nobody likes me
Everybody hates me
Guess I'll go eat worms
Big, fat, juicy ones
Long, thin, slimey ones
Itsy bitsy, fuzzy wuzzy worms
Down goes the first one
Down goes the second one
Oh, how they wiggle and squirm!
Big, fat, juicy ones
Long, thin, slimey ones
Itsy bitsy, fuzzy wuzzy worms
Up comes the first one
Up comes the second one
Oh, how they wiggle and squirm!
Big, fat, juicy ones
Long, thin, slimey ones
Itsy bitsy, fuzzy wuzzy worms
Nobody likes me
Everybody hates me
Guess I'll go eat worms!

Until next time, here are some truths I'd use to publicize a dating profile:

1.  I AM FREE and CLEAR of ANY & ALL SEXUALLY TRANSMITTED DISEASES

2.  I REGULARLY WORK OUT 

3.  I AM A HETEROSEXUAL FEMALE

4.  I LIKE TO TRAVEL

5.  I AM A LOYAL FRIEND

6.  I LIKE TO EAT FOOD, NOT WORMS

7.  I LOVE THE BEACH, and SUNTAN NATURALLY, without creams or other tanning agents or machines

8.  I DO NOT WANT TO GO TO A STRIP CLUB ON A DATE

9.  I WOULD LIKE TO MEET SOMEONE ORGANICALLY (I DON'T WANT TO ONLINE DATE)

10.  I AM A PERSON; I AM PROUD TO BE A WOMAN; I AM A FRIEND; I AM A DAUGHTER AND A COUSIN WHO WOULD LIKE TO FIND A PARTNER.  

Leather Strap

July 21, 2023; Balboa Island, Newport Beach, CA; Bill 128

I discovered the author Kazuo Ishiguro (thank you, Madeline Hope Stephenson), and am reading NEVER LET ME GO (winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature). Madeline warned me about the triggering effects this book may have. I made note and purchased the book anyway. She knows me. She didn’t encourage me to put it back.

In my mind, as I read the book, I have this long, worn, finely crafted leather strap tightly wound around my fists, holding my arms high, akimbo; holding it out wide and taut, so taut that my arms shake. I’m prepared. My head lobs making an involuntary lunge forward, directly toward the center of the strap - my mouth open wide, bared teeth, prepared to bite down hard and squeeze my eyes shut, hoping this ritual will mitigate the ache. It doesn’t. It’s a placebo effect. I do this when I think my heart will explode from heartache and loss. But it hasn’t yet.

Like losing Bill…watching that slow bullet traveling toward him, toward all of us, and then, it struck. With or without “the-biting-the-leather-strap ritual” - there is pain. It’s supposed to hurt. These moments. It’s the deepest love, causing the deepest wound. But I realize, as I peel my eyes open to witness Bill dying, witness the words on this page scream to be read and stroked that they are understood, my heart aches and presses hard against my chest. The leather strap is just an essence object that has perfect, deep, permanent dental impressions.