However, during the game, I noticed that I didn't run as hard as I could, nor did I try to evade my defender and get open.
The fact of the matter is that I really did not want to be thrown the ball. I didn't want to be the one at fault if I dropped the ball and the play didn't succeed. I did not want the responsibility of helping the team because I was too afraid of making a mistake. That aspect of my character led the first years of my high school life.
I refrained from asking questions in class, afraid they might be considered too stupid or dumb by my classmates. All the while, I went to practice and everyday, I went home physically and mentally exhausted. Yet my apprehension prevailed as I continued to fear getting put in the game in case another player was injured. I was still afraid of making mistakes and getting blamed by screaming coaches and angry teammates. Sometimes these fears came true. During my sophomore season, my position at backup guard led me to play in the varsity games on many occasions.
On such occasions, I often made mistakes. Most of the time the mistakes were not significant; they rarely changed the outcome of a play. Yet I received a thorough verbal lashing at practice for the mistakes I had made. These occurrences only compounded my fears of playing. However, I did not always make mistakes.
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Sometimes I made great plays, for which I was congratulated. Now, as I dawn on my senior year of football and am faced with two starting positions, I feel like a changed person. Over the years, playing football has taught me what it takes to succeed. From months of tough practices, I have gained a hard work ethic. From my coaches and fellow teammates, I have learned to work well with others in a group, as it is necessary to cooperate with teammates on the playing field.
But most important, I have also gained self-confidence. If I fail, it doesn't matter if they mock or ridicule me; I'll just try again and do it better.
I realize that it is necessary to risk failure in order to gain success. The coaches have always said before games that nothing is impossible; I know that now.
How to Write a Personal Experience Essay With Sample Papers
Now, I welcome the challenge. Whether I succeed or fail is irrelevant; it is only important that I have tried and tested myself. The topic of this essay is how the applicant has matured and changed since his freshman year. He focuses on football. One of the strengths of this essay is that it is well organized. The applicant clearly put time into the structure and planning of this essay.
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He uses the platform of football to discuss and demonstrate his personal growth and development through the high school years. What he could have done better was spend more time describing himself after he made improvements. As it is, he only tells us about his newfound confidence and drive.
This essay would have been stronger had he actually shown us, perhaps by including a story or describing an event where his confidence made a difference. Her face contorted into a grimace of disgust as she and her friend continued to complain that Americans had no culture, that they never learned another language, and that their inferior customs were spreading throughout Europe like an infectious disease.
Each hair on the back of my neck sprang to attention, as I strained to hear the women's inflammatory remarks. I gripped my bag of McDonald's harder with each insulting phrase. I had been living in Geneva, Switzerland for four years, during which time I had attended an international school consisting of over 96 different nationalities. I had already become fluent in French and had become accustomed to the new culture in which I was living--a culture which I had believed to be rich in tolerance and acceptance.
Naturally, the women's remarks hurt. Was I really an "ugly American? Had I not been touched by the new world I had been exposed to? Without question, my four years in Switzerland changed my life in countless ways. From the minute I stepped off the plane at Cointrin Airport, the vastly different sights along the clean street, the ubiquitous smells of rich delicious French cuisine, and my feelings of excitement about my new surroundings told me that I definitely was "not in Kansas anymore.
Although it was sometimes difficult trying to find links between my self and my Saudi Arabian, Hungarian, French, Nigerian, or Chilean friends, I soon came to enjoy my new stir fry environment. By the time I left, I was wondering how I ever could survive the boredom of attending a homogeneous institution. This is not to say that, prior to this, I had been closed up in a bland box of a world. I had traveled to India, my father's home, and England, my mother's home, annually: a practice my family and I continue to this day.
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I had been brought up without specific religious beliefs, but an awareness of my parents' spiritual backgrounds of Judaism and Hinduism. Thus my exposure to these various different nationalities in Switzerland built on my found-ations of cultural awareness, rather than laying the cornerstone for it. My understanding of my new environment was aided tremendously by my ability to speak French, and was subsequently one of the best gifts I brought back from my four year stay in Switzerland. An entire year of school lessons could not have taught me as much of the language as I learned form speaking with my Swiss friends, shopping in the local stores, or apologizing to my neighbors for hitting my ball into their yard.
My proficiency in French earned me a regular spot on a nationally broadcast Swiss radio program, in which a Russian child and I discussed tensions between major world powers. This was a rare opportunity, as, although Stephen and I were peers, the fact that Russian children attended the Soviet Embassy school meant that we were not classmates. Though, even if we had been allowed to speak casually before, I am not certain that our conversation would have reached the depth of discussion we achieved on the show. America will never again seem the same to me. Geneva gave me enough distance to look at my country through objective eyes.
Traveling throughout Europe was like a trip with Gulliver: it gave me the ability to look inside myself and discern my country's faults as well as its numerous strengths. Like the Swiss women's remarks, it hurt me to find that the United States is not the only country in the world with a rich and stimulating environment. With my new perspective, I saw that America was not what it had been. Then I thought for a moment and realized that America had not changed, but I had.
One officer called this, "A good example of a foreign culture essay that works. This is because in most of her classes, she will be required to support any opinions. The vocabulary is sophisticated without seeming labored.
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I do not suspect that the author had a thesaurus at hand! This essay is very well written. The essay demonstrates a transformation of the student from just an American in a foreign land to someone who embraces the international experience and grew with it. What I like about this essay is that it shows that the traditional categories of "extracurricular activities" need not be the only way to demonstrate that one has something of interest to bring to the college experience.
Essay about My Experience that Changed Me- Personal Narrative
I think this writer would be a fascinating person to get to know, because she would be able to contribute a fresh perspective to conversations about many of the important ideas that we wrestle with in college. She might well be someone who would be especially adept at bringing together diverse members of the student body because she would not feel intimidated by differences, but would, instead, seek them out and value them highly.
Reluctantly smearing sunblock over every exposed inch of my fifty-three pound body, I prepared mentally for the arduous task that lay ahead of me. After several miserable fishing ventures which had left my skin red and my hook bare, I felt certain that, at last, my day had arrived.
I stood ready to clear the first hurdle of manhood, triumph over fish. At the age of seven, I was confident that my rugged, strapping body could conquer any obstacle. Pity the fish that would become the woeful object of the first demonstration of my male prowess. Engaging me deeply was my naive eagerness to traverse the chasm dividing boy from man. In fact, so completely absorbed was I in my thoughts that the lengthy journey to our favorite fishing spot seemed fleeting. The sudden break in the droning of the engine snapped me to reality.
Abruptly jarred back into the world, I fumbled for my fishing pole. Dangling the humble rods end over the edge of the boat, I released the bail on the reel and plunked the cheap plastic lure into the water. Once I had let out enough line and set the rod in a holder, I sat back to wait for an attack on the lure. Positivity is a choice.
Positivity is like going on an adventure and forcing yourself to see at least one good thing about the journey. One little hack I used was writing down three things each day I was grateful for.
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