Finding THE story can often take multiple draft revisions with a few epiphanies along the way. The evolution of this wonderful essay brought about important reflection and insight for the author who is now thriving as an Ivy League student studying Human Development. She wanted Admissions to glean a picture of her truest self, the girl she sees in the mirror beyond the grades and test scores. By infusing a bit of her sarcastic personality and quirky sense of humor, she was successful in painting the picture she longed to share. At the same time, she was focused on a seamless application, so her essay subtly told a story relevant to her intended field of study:
On my grungy, green rug I passionately performed and practiced with my inner circle: the majority manufactured by Mattel. Participants made of plastic, some stuffed and plush; all inanimate to passers by, yet interactive with me, in my vivid, three-year-old imagination. It was my premiere as head of the class, and I was primed to be a role model and inspiration. I assembled my students into a perfect oval and greeted them one by one with my personalized, musical, welcome song; some names were invented on the fly, others were traditional, ranging from Grover and his Sesame pals to Goofy and the royal Disney court.
Begiska, my beloved Barbie, would survive one doll-downsize after another, and have the greatest longevity (sadly her rubber limbs became over-flexed, and her tangled hair begged for deep conditioning.) Imaginary play was my forte. I recall meticulously organizing and assembling my circle of “friends” with precision; singing and reading to them gave me pure joy. I simply loved patterns, dove into books, and adored my dolls. I embraced each one of my personified playmates with acceptance, and their unconditional support built up my social confidence. Unbeknownst to me, these lead actress moments would set the stage for guiding future students, varsity teammates, sleep away campers, and my three younger siblings.
The lessons from the intimate carpet community circle resonated throughout my childhood. In elementary school, the time came to perform for a broader audience, and I hesitantly signed up for the highly anticipated fourth grade talent show. This was a huge step, as previously I was far too nervous to get up in front of a live crowd, my worries echoing and dissuading me from taking the imagined risk: Was I good enough? Would I be judged? In front of my cluster of dolls, I exuded confidence, but at curtain time in the classroom, stage fright crept in. I took a deep breath and belted out my well rehearsed, Glee inspired rendition of “Defying Gravity”. The first twenty seconds, with all eyes on me, I was a deer in headlights. As the song went on, and I hit each note, I crossed over to safety and enjoyed the spotlight; my confidence blossoming in this green carpet moment.
My well worn area rug is no more, replaced by purple wall-to-wall, and aside from Begiska, just Ken’s head remains in my memory box. (I didn’t want to discriminate just because we lost his body, so his noggin was included in the class.) When I look in the mirror today, I see remnants of that awkward, imaginative preschooler and the nervous, nail biting fourth grader. Though my thick, wire-rimmed glasses and corrective eye patch have been replaced by contacts and mascara, and my pre-performance jitters are no more, I am often reminded of how I developed my outgoing, confident personality; both take root in the carpet classroom and that ominous talent show. Overcoming stage fright was a transformative moment. The experience enabled me to tap into my youthful persona, and paved the way for current high-pressure performances.
The legacy of the oval and wickedly wonderful solo is my realization I never left the little girl in the mirror far behind. I’m grateful for all that my childhood reflection enables me to realize, and I bring her with me wherever I go; she holds the key to unlocking my truest self. Her courage inspires me to pursue my goals, and her passion for performing sparks my love for music and leading. She reminds me to put myself out there, test the waters, dive in, and just keep swimming. If the bright eyed, joyful girl in the mirror taught me anything, it’s that I should step out into the world as my happiest, most genuine self, and sing like nobody’s watching.
