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the attic

My Common Application Essay

The Lounge | The Techie Bible | Other Stories | Six

I try to blend in. I try to stand out. I try to do both at the same time. I want people to glance over me. I want people to remember me. I am never good enough, so how can my thoughts and opinions matter? I want to write a book, a book that people will read and believe it to carry some weight. I want everyone to hear my ideas and call me ingenious, insightful, or, in the least, slightly intelligent. It has been said that my generation has been spoiled by instant gratification. Even if we colored outside of the lines, we still received a cookie. While this seems lovely, all well and good, it has ruined the idea of an independent self-esteem.

            If a person is always looking to be commended for every thing that he does, he will be sorely disappointed. My generation has been ruined in that respect. The constant need for praise is like starvation, a hunger that can never be satiated. With this mentality I could never be happy with a goal that I have accomplished for myself; I would need a pat on the back immediately after completion. This is how I have lived my life. I live for my parent’s approval, for the acclaim of my teachers, and for the respect of my peers. Failure has been defined by me as the inability to live up to everyone else’s expectations. This may have let me achieve high honor roll, as well as some high marks in classes, by my stressful and worrying attitude I could have done without. In the fourth grade I worried so much about my grades that I gave myself stomach ulcers.

            I constantly apologize for everything. If someone is hurt, tired or hungry, I say that I am sorry. I take the whole weight of the world on my shoulders. Somehow I could have helped that person with his grievance but the selfishness in me had not allowed me to. He was hungry but I did not think to have food in my bag to feed him. She was cold but I was already without a sweater. It may seem foolish but my entire life I have judged myself by what other people think of me. It appeared that my parents had wanted me to become an important person, the next Jack Hannah of wild life television. Ever since I saw his show, I had wanted to work with animals. When I decided that I wanted to write instead, I was afraid to tell my parents; they had invested so much of their effort into finding programs that dealt with zoology. I would be letting them down. Even when I finally told them that I wanted to write, and be around books, they imagined me a star reporter for a multi-million dollar news organization.

            That is not me. I do not like to be in the spotlight. I like to work in the background; to be appreciated and thanked for my ideas and aid, but not be the star of the show. I blushed whenever my classmates talked about changing the world, of being the president of a big corporation, the star quarterback, or a prominent political figure. I never needed the glitz and glamour. I constantly received invitations to leadership programs that I never even considered going to. One factor was expense, but the other was that I did no want to be a leader.

            I have always desired a quiet and satisfying job. Recently I have realized what that is. I want to be a librarian. It does not seem like many people want to be that today but it gets in my blood and excites me. To simply exist around the writings of knowledge of the world is bliss to me. Even without reading all of the tomes, I have an incredible admiration of them. Because of this realization, I can change the way that I have felt for my entire life. I have lived for the sake of other people; the typical quotation of a child of the nineties. This is a noble pursuit, but for once I need to do something myself. I can finally let go and become what I want to become without worrying how the general populace will perceive me.

            If I stop worrying about what other people think of me, I can let go of my insecurities. I am free to be me and that deserves a great sigh of happiness.

The Scariest Thing About Memories is Believing You Will Forget Them