Students and Parents in their own words

Gene Y., Harvard Class of 2029

Owen S., Swarthmore Class of 2029

Chaewon L., Claremont McKenna Class of 2030

Noah Y., Vanderbilt Class of 2027

Daniel T., US Naval Academy Class of 2028

Christelle O., University of Georgia Class of 2029

“He’s been an amazing tutor teaching writing in the most comprehensible but efficient way possible. I’ve seen intense improvement in making my ideas more clear and concise while making sure to get the points that I want across. With Gabriel the writing process is both seamless and creative. Not only is his teaching skills impeccable but this character is as well. He has always been flexible with hours and teaches with a stellar attitude. You can really tell he loves writing in a way that can not be disingenuous. I immensely recommend him for anything from research to narrative. Even with the first session you’ll see your writing improve.” 

Dr. Seon Jeon, Professor of English, Columbus State University

Explore Authentic Essays

Our goal is to help students discover and express what makes them who they are. Here’s what that process looks like.



1. The student who wrote an essay about how he became a leader, preparing him to be a military officer.

Original draft

“My voyage to a firm decision in military service has not always been with confidence and leadership. In 3rd grade, I chose a random and unconventional soccer jersey number: 67. I regretted it right after. I would get questioned frequently about my number, and each time, I didn’t know what to say. I would feel extremely self-conscious and insecure about my appearance on the field because of this, in addition to my awkward, unathletic form. But despite all the embarrassment I felt, I never quit or changed my number. I strongly believe that commitment is the key to growth.”

Revised essay

“Pick a random number, 1 to 100. Got it?

If you chose 67, congratulations! You picked the same number that made me feel like an outsider. Let me explain.

Two years ago, my soccer team won our first tournament. The medals we received were reflections of countless nights spent practicing.

“Chris! Chris!” my teammates chanted, laughing and pushing me forward to give a speech. As the crowd cheered, I thought about how I would thank my parents and coaches, expressing the great potential of our team. But once all eyes locked on me—and the number on my back—I could only stare down at my light blue cleats, shining brightly against the uneven, dead grass. Shaking my head, I backed away. Everyone lowered their phones quietly. I wasn’t a good speaker, much less on the spot.

This wasn’t the first time my confidence had deteriorated on the field.

When I was eight, I tried out for my first club team. My dad and I checked in by the soccer field, and the volunteer asked, “What number would you like?”

I froze, glancing at my dad for help. When he stayed quiet, I blurted out, “67.” It was a strange number, but from that moment on, it became mine for a decade.”

What they discovered

After months of journaling and revisions, the student develops an abstract idea and puts the admissions reader in his cleats. Creative techniques highlight the student’s voice, expressing the dramatic context out of which he cultivated the confidence to become president of his senior class.

Where they got in
  • West Point, Naval Academy, Air Force Academy, UC Berkeley, UT Austin, Texas A&M
  • Winner, National 4-Year ROTC Scholarship

Read the full Common App essay: “67” Leadership Essay

Pick a random number, 1 to 100. Got it? If you chose 67, congratulations! You picked the same number that made me feel like an outsider. Let me explain.

Two years ago, my soccer team won our first tournament. The medals we received were reflections of countless nights spent practicing. “Chris! Chris!” my teammates chanted, laughing and pushing me forward to give a speech. As the crowd cheered, I thought about how I would thank my parents and coaches, expressing the great potential of our team. But once all eyes locked on me—and the number on my back—I could only stare down at my light blue cleats, shining brightly against the uneven, dead grass. Shaking my head, I backed away. Everyone lowered their phones quietly. I wasn’t a good speaker, much less on the spot.

This wasn’t the first time my confidence had deteriorated on the field. When I was eight, I tried out for my first club team. My dad and I checked in by the soccer field, and the volunteer asked, “What number would you like?” I froze, glancing at my dad for help. When he stayed quiet, I blurted out, “67.” It was a strange number, but from that moment on, it became mine for a decade.

In the soccer world, the smaller popular numbers are worn by legends: 7 for Ronaldo and 10 for Messi. Those numbers represent fancy footwork and record goal-scoring. 67 was too high, a burden on my back. Teammates always joked about my number. I laughed along, trying to shrug off their gibes. Deep inside, the number made me extremely self-conscious. On and off the field, I worried about what others thought about me. Did I walk weird? Was my hair messy? I felt like my flaws were being examined under a microscope. I was the bad player, an ugly guy. I just wanted to be a background character.

Starting high school, I often felt isolated, and I knew I had to step out of my boundaries. Slowly, I forced myself to take on new, uncomfortable positions. I began tutoring a Ukrainian student in English and instructing exercises for adults with disabilities. Meetings were virtual. There were awkward pauses when the student didn’t understand me or when the adults would wander off camera. Yet each session, I got more confident advancing conversations, understanding different perspectives, and deepening my listening skills. These experiences helped me find my voice. It wasn’t the loudest, but it was intentional. I realized being authentic and persevering were better than being flawless.

I also began to change on the field. In last May’s state tournament, we were tied, but needed a win to advance. With seconds left, my teammate passed me the ball; I kicked it cleanly past the goalkeeper. We ran, shouting and laughing, everyone patting my back—and my number.

Last spring, I ran for Senior Class Co-President, something I would have never seen myself doing two years ago. Standing in the spotlight, this time I didn’t shrink away. I articulated myself to over 200 classmates, focused on my message of creating a stronger community. To my surprise, I was elected. As applause echoed, I felt the strength of my own voice.

The number 67 didn’t symbolize a quiet kid on the sidelines anymore. It meant resilience. Today, I represent over 600 students, planning events that give other students a voice, like the talent show and job fair; together, we collaborate with school officials to bring our ideas to life. Public speaking no longer intimidates me. As I grow into someone who steps forward to help my community, I hope to study engineering as another form of leadership: identifying needs, solving problems, and improving lives through innovation. Just like I made 67 mine when it once felt meaningless, I want to become someone who builds with a team—bonds, technologies, and solutions that can empower others.


2. The student who inquired into how we know what we know, putting him on the path to graduate school in the liberal arts.

Original draft

“In this respect, my longstanding cultivation of facts has been rewarded, for while some of the finer details may seem superfluous in the grand scheme of things, I have been able to use many of these details to enhance my learning experience by exploring new ground in the connections between different subjects. While preparing to create a research poster in the Latin Governor’s Honors Program, for example, I drew on my previous experience with early American literature, which helped me analyze agrarian philosophy from Cicero to Jefferson. Aside from the more clear academic advantages, the years’ worth of facts I’ve collected from books, classes, and late-night web searches, have also helped me maintain friendships that would have otherwise eluded me. Without these friendships, I would be adrift, but thanks to them, I’ve been able to flourish socially and learn even more.”

Revised essay

“But as I read Charles Brockden Brown’s Wieland, a 1798 cautionary tale of extremist philosophies and obstinance, I was shown that there was more to learning than I had thought. As the characters struggled with letting go of dogmatic beliefs, I started to see how dug-in friends (and admittedly myself) could be when it came to scorning teachers, or how self-proclaimed experts prevented healthy debate in online discussions about rail transit. I learned entrenched opinions were perilous, but more than that, I gained a new ability to hone my cultivation of facts into a sharp blade of knowledge, elevating my awareness of context. I realized knowledge was not just a compilation of facts, but also the meaning that arises when details are held in parallel with each other, forming a web where the understanding of each node is enriched by every other. The result is an exponential deepening of insight.

In my excitement to expand this web of meaning further, I endeavored to ignite the same process in my teammates as captain my junior year. We spanned Science Olympiad captains to people with no experience in academic competition, yet at year’s end, we were all enhancing each other’s knowledge. Through jokes about vestibular canals when someone slipped, to quizzing one another on physiognotracing when seeing a well-cast shadow, we were perceiving our worlds through novel lenses. Furthermore, every piece of knowledge served to forge interpersonal bonds and bring us closer. Just as thinking involves seeing everything in context, I saw that leading means being receptive to the spirits of others and creating an experience where everyone thrives in relationship.”

What they discovered

Through reflection and drafting, the student realized that there was a deeper meaning to his team’s Academic Decathlon competitions. He saw that facts and context combine to create new knowledge and relationships.

Where they got in
  • Early Decision at Swarthmore College

Read the full Common App essay: Academic Decathlon / Jeopardy Essay

I look up from my work briefly to check the time. I scramble out of my room as soon as I read 6:59 and crash onto the couch, grabbing the remote as I land. My younger sister sighs and leaves the room, but for the next twenty-seven minutes (give or take commercials), I am honed in on three podiums, sixty-one clues, and one host as announcer Johnny Gilbert says “This. Is. Jeopardy!” I’ve watched the show since I can remember, and my obsession with facts has lasted just as long. I still dream of one day competing on the Alex Trebek Stage, but as I’ve gotten older, the meaning of all the trivia I’ve gathered has matured.

In sixth grade, I joined the Academic Bowl team, jumping at the chance to improve my Jeopardy skills and show off my recall against teams in the heat of the moment. In ninth, I followed this up by competing in Academic Decathlon. The competition features ten events, seven of which are multiple-choice tests spanning a variety of subjects, which change depending on the year’s theme. Decathlon seemed to be the logical next step on my path to Jeopardy, even if I didn’t initially realize how different testing in isolation on scantrons would be. Even without the buzzer, something indefinable still drew me.

My sophomore year, I was bewildered how “The American Revolution”, that year’s topic, could encompass art or literature. But as I read Charles Brockden Brown’s Wieland, a 1798 cautionary tale of extremist philosophies and obstinance, I was shown that there was more to learning than I had thought. As the characters struggled with letting go of dogmatic beliefs, I started to see how dug-in friends (and admittedly myself) could be when it came to scorning teachers, or how self-proclaimed experts prevented healthy debate in online discussions about rail transit. I learned entrenched opinions were perilous, but more than that, I gained a new ability to hone my cultivation of facts into a sharp blade of knowledge, elevating my awareness of context.

I realized knowledge was not just a compilation of facts, but also the meaning that arises when details are held in parallel with each other, forming a web where the understanding of each node is enriched by every other. The result is an exponential deepening of insight.

In my excitement to expand this web of meaning further, I endeavored to ignite the same process in my teammates as captain my junior year. We spanned Science Olympiad captains to people with no experience in academic competition, yet at year’s end, we were all enhancing each other’s knowledge. Through jokes about vestibular canals when someone slipped, to quizzing one another on physiognotracing when seeing a well-cast shadow, we were perceiving our worlds through novel lenses. Furthermore, every piece of knowledge served to forge interpersonal bonds and bring us closer. Just as thinking involves seeing everything in context, I saw that leading means being receptive to the spirits of others and creating an experience where everyone thrives in relationship.

Even though I no longer worship Jeopardy! as the apogee of learning, watching and potentially competing has become more meaningful. The show no longer motivates me to make my mind into a cache of facts; instead, it serves as a testament to the strength and depth of the relationships I’ve built in my life so far. As I exclaim “what is contrapposto!” for $400, I think of my friends in my art history class imitating the pose, and smile as two parts of my mind are strung together in a new way. The best case of all, however, is when I know one of the answers because of the curriculum of this year’s Academic Decathlon (theme: climate change). I leap up and shout the answer, ecstatic with the chance to reflect on my teammates and the true knowledge we’re building together.