The Opinion Section created the column Argus Apps to humanize the college process. Common App essays only ever exist within the framework of college admissions, alongside a list of accomplishments, extracurriculars, and test scores. With Argus Apps, we’re revisiting old Common App essays written by Wesleyan students to think about where we’ve been and where we’re going. In this edition, we hear from Contributing Writer Grace Cutler ’24.
As a senior in high school thinking about the Common App essay, I didn’t want the one personal section of the application to be about my struggles or challenges, or to reveal my greatest hopes and fears. I wanted my essay to reflect me in a more comprehensive way. So, naturally, I wrote about squirrels trying to cross the street.
As I re-read my essay, I was brought back into my high school self. My voice and way of thinking have changed so much without me realizing it. Of course, I was picking apart each paragraph and rewriting phrases in my head, but remembering the strict word limit, I decided not to judge my seventeen-year-old self too much. At the end of the day, I’m 99.9% sure that no other essay was about squirrels. (If you did write an essay about squirrels, please contact me. We should talk.)
The one thing that bugs me about this essay is that I never actually explain my cheering for squirrels. The idea arose from my mental (and sometimes audible) cheering for the squirrels trying to cross the street as I drove to school. While I delve into the depths of squirrel-hood in this piece, I never actually circle back to the act of cheering. But this absence further reflects the indecision I faced, trying to decide what portions needed to stay and which weren’t worthy of the 650 words.
While the actual decision I discuss in my essay now seems so insignificant, it reflects the immense anxiety I had surrounding every aspect of my life. In high school, everything seemed so important. Then I got to college, and much of what I stressed over slipped away into irrelevance. That’s who I was in high school, though—an extreme over-thinker, immersed in a million extracurriculars yet overwhelmed by unfaltering anxiety. This essay reflects my seventeen-year-old self, a sort of time capsule of who I was and how I thought about the world around me.
I Cheer for Squirrels
I cheer for squirrels. I am not a squirrel enthusiast. I am not a cheerleader. However, on my drive to school every day, looking at the same sights, the same houses, and surrounded by cars, things catch my eye. For example, squirrels. Time and time again, I brake for uncertain squirrels darting halfway across the street, then either turning back, making it to the other side, or meeting their demise.
While I see these squirrels as lacking basic street smarts, are they all that different from people? Some people make progress in a situation, but then, right when it seems they can reach the other side, they get scared and turn back. On the other hand, some squirrels take a risk and make a dash to get across to the other side. These squirrels are the animal equivalent of go-getters and people who push through obstacles. At first, I saw these squirrels as simply smarter, but is it possible they are just bolder than their counterparts?
In life, it’s not always bad to turn back; sometimes it’s essential. To eventually reach a goal, you need to learn and grow from past experience. Maybe the squirrels I witness were simply working up the courage to cross, and just needed a few minutes to take a physical step back and reassure themselves.
There is still the third type of squirrel—the squirrel immobile on the pavement in the middle of the road, paralyzed by indecision. This squirrel is the animal equivalent of me. Oftentimes I find myself unable to decide, whether it be over something insignificant, like choosing between chocolate or chocolate brownie ice cream, or something more meaningful, like deciding whether I want to focus my efforts on ballet or soccer. My indecision stems from both my anxiety and my love and passion for many, sometimes very different, things. My indecision frustrates me. With school, I have no problem making decisions and expressing my ideas to others because I know exactly what my goal is. However, when it comes to decisions that are either far less significant or far more significant, I am no longer the courageous squirrel dashing across. I become the squirrel completely stuck in between. While at times I have wished that I could make that dash (after all one can only wait so long for ice cream), I now, as a senior in high school, see that my indecisiveness has actually granted me opportunities.
For years, I was constantly asked by almost everyone in my life: “What are you going to choose?” Every time I tried to decide whether I was going to pursue ballet or soccer, I found myself hovering over the yellow lines of the street. Now, I realize this was one of the best things that could have happened. I still dance and play soccer, with a few compromises here and there, and I could not be happier that I get to continue fueling both of my passions—my two acorns that fill me.
Maybe squirrels act diffusely depending on the moment—I may see a squirrel dash across, but it may have ran back the other way just a few minutes before or been stuck in the middle, and I just happened to drive by as it finally made up its mind. In my life, I like to think that I am a combination of all three. At times, I desire to be more daring and dash. Other times, I know I need to take a step back, as I may not be quite ready for what is ahead. And, after all, a squirrel could stay in the middle of the road for quite a long time, watching cars whiz by on both sides and be perfectly safe, sitting on the yellow lines—just thinking.
Grace Cutler is a member of the class of 2024 and can be reached at gcutler@wesleyan.edu.