Monday, August 10, 2020
The Genre Of The College Admission Essay
The Genre Of The College Admission Essay I bought a copy of James Joyceâs Dubliners, which I managed to snag some downtime to read. I took far too many photographs of the displays in the New Mexico History Museum, and I brought home a beautiful little red rock from the hike we took nearby. At some point, after reading it, I felt like Sophie as I wondered about my beliefs and values and about the world. When a book is read, a bond forms between author and reader. I downloaded the rest of the course selections and printed them out. In the weeks leading up to my departure, I trekked to the nearby field with my dog and my books, and I sat at the picnic table overlooking the woods. I canât say that any one of these factors stands out as a single attraction of St. Johnâs. Rather, itâs the combination of them all that makes St. Johnâs such a uniquely appealing college. The author speaks, and the reader listens as they weave together the holes the author leaves them to fill. While the authorâs words may be constant, the reader is the true variable. When you have more than one reader together, you have each dimension they bring to the book . I was never able to portray the view quite as I saw it. Once Iâd calmed down a little, I decided to prioritize the readings required for the class. Trying to single out any one appealing aspect of St. Johnâs is, for me, like trying to pick a favorite piece in a jigsaw puzzle. Some pieces might be more aesthetically pleasing than others, but none of them can compare to the whole picture. However, the classes were the part of the Summer Academy that stuck with me the most. Alfred Prufrockâ and learned ancient history from the ancients themselves, we pursued an underlying philosophical thread, examining our readings through the lens of courage. I dove into Aristotle and Thucydides while my dog investigated the nearby smells. Every evening, I ticked off the days on the calendar, counting down to the day I would fly from Michigan to Santa Fe. As a result, my grades suffered and Iâve spent most of my time in math class frustrated, confused, and upset. I recall my afternoon arrival at St. Johnâs in a blur of adobe buildings, warm placita bricks, and inviting, clean sheets. The next morning, when I woke up, I walked out onto the balcony of the second floor of the Murchison dormitory. I sat down at the plastic picnic table and breathed in the crisp morning air. I watched the sienna hills tinged with gold in the east as the sun slowly revealed itself. Although there are no majors or concentrations in St. Johnâs, I feel that the Great Books curriculum was created to perfectly suit my interestsâ"approaching the social sciences with a philosophical lens. Not more than two years later my literature teacher gave me as an extra reading the book Sophieâs World by Jostein Gaarder. The book accomplished its objective and, with ease and short chapters of many philosophers, introduced me to the world of the big questions and the pursuit of truth. I still have the battered schedule, which I kept in my pocket. Almost every morning I visited the campus bookstore.
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