Its High Time We Killed The College Admissions Essay

It’s High Time We Killed The College Admissions Essay He said only understanding yourself and your enemy guarantees victory. He said winning without fighting is the greatest victory. I think we can’t resolve conflicts, avoid wars, or maintain stability without understanding ourselves and our neighbors. Although there are no majors or concentrations in St. John’s, 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 Sophie’s 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. 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. Some of our neighbors become citizens of our country and permanently change and enrich our national identity. Western military personnel and aid workers are side-by-side with tribal fighters and indigenous community leaders, combating terrorism, lawlessness, and poverty. The author speaks, and the reader listens as they weave together the holes the author leaves them to fill. While the author’s 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 can’t say that any one of these factors stands out as a single attraction of St. John’s. Rather, it’s the combination of them all that makes St. John’s such a uniquely appealing college. Trying to single out any one appealing aspect of St. John’s 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. Almost every morning I visited the campus bookstore. I bought a copy of James Joyce’s 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. I recall my afternoon arrival at St. John’s 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. The only time I loved math was sophomore year when we did proofs. They were puzzles and fascinating in a way that other math wasn’t. 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 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 I’ve spent most of my time in math class frustrated, confused, and upset. My teachers, although they tried, were unable to explain things to me and I, to be fair, was not great at listening to their explanations. 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. I was never able to portray the view quite as I saw it. Once I’d calmed down a little, I decided to prioritize the readings required for the class. I downloaded the rest of the course selections and printed them out. I think understanding is more important than ever, because people of almost any culture can be found in almost every country. Some of our neighbors have F1 visas and sit next to us in school. However, the classes were the part of the Summer Academy that stuck with me the most. Alfred Prufrock” and learned ancient history from the ancients themselves, we pursued an underlying philosophical thread, examining our readings through the lens of courage. I still have the battered schedule, which I kept in my pocket.