The Big Idea & Sensitive Topics

Think that the meaning of life and death is too profound, or sensitive, a topic to tackle in your college essay? Not so! You can definitely take on a deep topic — if you’re careful to balance high-minded ideas with real, everyday details to keep your reader connected while they read. 

Think of the way your favorite teachers keep the class engaged. Quite often, they tell stories to illustrate their point — and the best storytellers are the ones who know how to paint a picture and tie everything together to drive home their point.

I.S. did exactly this in his college essay. He took a profound idea — what it means to accept death as an inevitable part of life — and made it easy to digest with details that are unique to his own experience. 

Special note on this one! The first time I read this essay, I welled up; it’s still one of my all-time favorites. Interestingly, a peer to whom I later showed this essay disliked it (speaking to the subjectivity of the college essays generally). But the student and I felt confident about it. And when an essay that wasn’t written with the intention of moving someone continues to move me each time I read it, I know it’s a winner.

The Essay

Student: I.

Accepted to: Yale, Restricted Early Action (no legacy)

The Question: Discuss an accomplishment, event, or realization that sparked a period of personal growth and a new understanding of yourself or others.

To an unusual degree, the early years of my life have been marked by an awareness of the  final years of life. Although aging and loss may be uncomfortable topics for an essay, they have been present in my life for the past five years, and I cannot pretend that they have not affected my adolescence and will not affect my adulthood. 

In 2011, I began conducting Friday evening Sabbath services for the residents at Atria on the Hudson, an assisted living community in my town. This was supposed to be a short-term community service project for my bar mitzvah; I never imagined that it would continue year after year. At first, I was too shy to tell the “regulars” at our Shabbat service that I was quitting on them. Later, I wanted to become someone whom my elderly friends could always rely on. I  don’t know when it happened, but Friday evenings with the elderly ceased to be an obligation,  and then became a habit, and, eventually, a highlight of my week. Surrounded by more than a  dozen doting “bubbies” and “zeydes,” my time with the congregation became my respite from a stressful week. These evenings helped me to understand how reassuring a simple, shared, weekly ritual can be in the face of jarring change. 

Sabbath services rarely vary. Each week we recite the same Hebrew prayers, light identical Sabbath candles, and chant psalms that celebrate the day of rest. There is a prayer for the sick, a Kaddish for the dead, and a sharing of bread and wine. Occasionally, I bring my violin to play. Other times I bring challah that I have baked. In other words, each Friday evening is pretty much like the rest.  

However, there is one exception to the routine: my congregation keeps changing. One day, Rebecca, bowed by arthritis, does not show up; she has gone to the hospital for an operation. She never returns. Then Phyllis, a “mainstay” since the early days, suffers a stroke, reappears for a few weeks in a wheelchair, and then is gone for good. A few months later, we  receive a call from the nephew of the self-proclaimed atheist who has nevertheless come to every service: Lou has had a heart attack and has passed away; would we please say Kaddish for him? Of the original group that greeted me as a seventh grader, only a few remain. 

New residents arrive to fill the empty chairs. Even the loyal veterans change from season to season in ways that I once found frightening but now understand and accept, if only because I have seen these transformations so often. The vigorous man who once boasted of his fitness now uses a cane. The quiet woman who only talks about her grandchildren’s accomplishments now slowly pushes a walker. The refugee from Nazi Germany and his wife have moved from walkers to wheelchairs, and now sit stooped, accompanied by a nurse. They speak in the softest of whispers, and I must bend down to hear them.  

Witnessing the decline and death of elderly friends has not made me cynical or morbid. Life remains bright. Music remains sweet. College will be wonderful. But five years of Fridays with people who regularly confront their own mortality have given me a very concrete sense of life’s beginnings and of its ends. Without these Fridays, I might have understood the finite nature of life in the abstract. With them, I feel it in my bones.

Why It Works

While I. may have been tempted to write about his impressive bar mitzvah project in order to highlight his accomplishments, his essay dug much deeper into what that experience taught him about some of life’s most difficult issues. Here’s what he did especially well:

1. Clear Opening Statement

A personal essay doesn’t need a thesis statement like you would craft for an expository essay, but being upfront about your essay’s topic can still be effective. I. lets readers know right away that this essay is going to discuss deep topics.

In his first sentence, I. is upfront about naming the topics of aging and death. He acknowledges that these are heavy subjects and lets the reader know he doesn’t take them lightly. This is a move that provides total clarity about the essay topic while giving the reader time to mentally adjust before moving into the rest of the essay. Many college essays start with a story or anecdote to “hook” the reader, but Isaiah shows that you can also dive straight into your topic.

2. Concrete Details

While I. could have written his essay about big abstractions of life and death, he wisely chose to stay grounded in the specifics of his experience. The story is all the richer for the details that flesh out the humanity of the people he worked with in the assisted living facility.

For example, he highlights the materials involved in services: a violin, candles, and homemade challah. He also develops the personalities of the residents by sharing details about everything from their new cane to their focus on their grandchildren. These carefully chosen details create a complete and compelling image of Friday nights at Atria, which in turn helps the reader understand I’s deep connection to the people he has lost. 

3. An Unforgettable Finish

Any gymnast knows how important it is to stick the landing. The same goes for writing an essay: the final line can make or break the overall impression of all your hard work. Isaiah understood this in his work and nailed the last line of his essay. 

In addition to summing up the lesson he learned at the end of the essay (a requirement for answering this prompt well), I. has shown a real mastery of rhythm here. He sets up two opposites for contrast: what might have been, and what actually is. He also chooses words to reflect those opposites as well. The first idea, about not really understanding death, is couched in big words — exactly as people often do when they are trying to convince someone they know what they’re talking about. But in the final line, I. drops all pretense and states his learning simply: “I feel it in my bones.” A great final line doesn’t have to be wordy to be effective, and this one lands perfectly.

The Bottom Line

If you feel that you have a major life lesson to share in your college essay, don’t be afraid to write about it! The trick is to balance your big idea with concrete details and clear writing so that the reader knows you speak from experience.

If you’re feeling overwhelmed by your college admissions essays, we can help! Get in touch with Veridian Prep to find out more about college admissions and academic tutoring today.