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Colleges and Universities A-Z University of Chicago ✅
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<p>I answered: "At present you need to live the question." - Rainer Maria Rilke.</p>

<p>Heres the essay:</p>

<p>“Our Father, which art in Heaven, hallowed be thy Name…” </p>

<p>My mouth moved mechanically, spewing out words I didn’t really understand. Every Sunday for the past 18 years, I had recited the Lord’s Prayer. Every day for the past three weeks, I had wondered why I did. It was Sunday morning, and I was sitting within the pews of my church. I gazed at the stained glass crucifix high on the wall, begging for it to give me an answer. </p>

<p>“…And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us…”</p>

<p>Did I truly understand what I was saying? No. It had become routine. Did I enjoy attending church? Yes. I loved it – homeless shelters, mission trips, outreach events, youth groups – I loved it all. But one day I got to thinking: *Do I really believe in God? *Somewhere along the line, I knew that I had lost my faith. I had lost the childhood ardor I once had in emulating the religious zeal of my parents.</p>

<p>“…And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil…”</p>

<p>I was a hypocrite, and I knew it.</p>

<p>I had just finished my junior year of high school. During that year, I discovered the world of philosophy. It was my curse and my blessing, my bondage and my freedom. It was my Pandora’s Box. My teacher had first introduced me to Ayn Rand, but Rand quickly became insufficient to satisfy my appetite. I sought out other philosophers – Camus, Dostoevsky, Nietzsche – I devoured them all. Philosophy slowly started to undermine the Bible verses I had been fed my entire life. I began to see what I thought were contradictions within my beliefs. Why would God create us and then tell us to deny ourselves, to deny our human instincts and desires? Why would God create us and then tell us that our suffering brought him glory? Why? I didn’t know the answers, but I felt satisfied just asking the questions. I felt intelligent. I felt proud. Most of all, I felt confused. As my mind became more and more entangled, and my questions more and more complex, I finally realized that my entire religious foundation had been whittled down to that timeless question: Does God actually exist? At that point, I was no longer questioning the sincerity of my belief. I was questioning the validity of it.</p>

<p>That question still plagues me today. Not a week passes that I don’t think about it. I still say my prayers every night, I still go to church two days a week, and I still participate in Saturday night family devotionals. Yet my whole being wants to reject everything my childhood religion has taught me. The more I try to ignore my questions, the more pressing they become. </p>

<p>Is philosophy, to me, nothing more than a “temptation”? I honestly don’t know. But Thomas Jefferson once said: “Question with boldness even the existence of a god; because, if there be one, he must more approve of the homage of reason, than that of blind-folded fear.” I don’t really know what to think after that. Should I consider my quest for knowledge a “temptation”? I feel much more inclined to think of it as a “homage of reason”. </p>

<p>But I will not let confusion rule my life. Like other challenges that I have faced, this one will be no different. Rather than conform to the status quo, I will question, consider, and form my own beliefs. In this struggle with my faith, I will find my own answers.</p>

<p>“…For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever and ever. Amen.”</p>

<p>At present, I need to live the question.</p>

<p>all feedback is appreciated! :)</p>

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<p>crocop your essay reminds me of what i told my brother last.. "university of chicago? pshh.. never heard of it before."
little did i know i would now apply there.</p>

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<p>The very idea of a particle accelerator is fascinating: taking things and smashing them together at ludicrous speeds. The fact that this is scientifically useful only sweetens the deal some more. Of course, not only does it allows us to solve the issue of how the universe was created, but also to resolve one of the universe’s oldest conflicts, namely that of the 3 eternal adversaries: rock, paper, and scissors.
The reactions of these elements are well documented under stable conditions. Unfortunately, it’s difficult to get a pair of scissors accelerated to relativistic speeds, as well as just plain unsafe. Even so, I feel confident in saying that scissors will still cut through paper with relative ease, and a rock flying at that speed is liable to smash just about anything. The physical reactions of these elements in the accelerator are not terribly profound, so to make things more interesting, suppose a person gets caught in the accelerator just as it warms up for the experiment. As these objects begin to speed up, the first noticeable change is that there’s something more to them than usual. Something deeper is at work in each of them, most notably with the seemingly simple rock.
Rock is always the first name pronounced in a game of Rock-Paper-Scissors (RPS), due to its primacy. Rock is among the first of all things, present long before paper or scissors. Harsh, brutal, unthinking and unfeeling, it is representative of all that is primal in man. From a more archetypal perspective, though, rocks are indicative of stability. Religious examples such as St. Peter (whose name literally means rock) and the Muslim Hajr-al-Aswad, both of which provided stability for their faiths, illustrate the connection (Deus ex Rockina, perhaps). In an RPS match, a player’s instinct is to switch to the safety of Rock when they begin to lose, indicative of the sense of security which is offered by that particular entity. Rock represents the meeting point of Man’s need for security and his primal instincts: war, which has existed nearly as long as rocks have and remains a core element of the human condition. We cannot escape it, just as we cannot escape rocks. In a sense, our society is built on Rock: our buildings of actual rocks, and our societies and nations on Rock’s representative entity, War. Based on this, it is no surprise that a rookie RPS player often relies primarily on Rock, seeking to metaphorically bludgeon his opponents with brute force. However, while a base, primal choice, the fundamental security and strength of Rock, a sort of inner peace through outward projection of power, should never be overlooked, lest one find his Scissors smashed to bits.
The second choice, Paper, is slim, simple, and unassuming, meaning it is easy to underestimate. The choice of Paper in an RPS match displays a subtle, even slightly devious nature in the player. Although seemingly harmless, it holds serious power, which is only logical considering the role paper plays in society. Moving past the rock-driven period of our species, paper allows us to preserve experiences through writing, giving us a sense of the past, as well shared knowledge and history. Certainly no less important is its artistic capacity. Literature, painting, and drama: all are dependent in some way upon paper. Given this, Paper emerges as Man the Artist and Scholar. The knowledge and awareness of history imparted by means of paper, allows us to transcend the id-like, primordial brutality of our past. Thus, Paper does indeed cover Rock.
The final element, of course, is Scissors. Scissors represents a median between the previous two elements: it is dangerous like Rock, yet more refined; it is sophisticated like Scissors, but flashier, and more aggressive. The player who throws Scissors is a crafty and clever, perhaps slightly overconfident. The visible blades evince this nature; Scissors are openly dangerous, flaunting their lethality; useful in countless ways, yet ready to smite those who accord them no respect. With Scissors, though, the function is more important than the form. Obviously, they cut and separate things. However, this task can be done with hands; scissors simply make the task easier and more precise. In this sense, Scissors are Man the Inventor, representative of all technology. The technological drive of Man makes him unique; we constantly seek to make New out of the Old. However, while technology does make our lives easier, with it comes a cheapening of many experiences. Quality and craftsmanship decrease, sacrificed for the sake of convenience and expediency at the hands of robotic laborers. The devaluing of this sort of art, represented by Paper, means that Scissors do indeed cut Paper. Scissors are not infallible, though. We can’t erase the presence of rocks with our technology, just as our underlying primal nature is never erased, but merely covered by Paper. The knowledge and ingenuity of Man the Inventor is still all too capable of being smashed and pummeled by the brute force and chaotic survival instinct of Rock.
As these elements zip around the accelerator, it’s pretty obvious that there’s much more to the elements of the simple game of Rock, Paper, Scissors. As they begin to smash into each other, something entirely new happens. These elements no longer oppose each other. It’s suddenly clear that these elements are all related. Without the other two, each individual element is essentially useless in the context of the game. Rock means nothing without Scissors to smash and Paper by which to be smothered. Thus, while they defeat each other, they also depend upon each other, transforming these three seemingly independent entities into a cohesive, unified whole. As the Man is helplessly caught in the fray of these elements, he is not bludgeoned. Rather, he assimilates them. Following the experiment, none of them can be extracted from the Man. Since each have melded and become so integrated into the Man’s atoms, attempting to remove one would be to remove part of him as well. The Rock is always present, but never dominates; the baseness of human existence is always in the background, threatening to destroy all we have built with the Scissors, but the Rock means nothing if we could not transcend it through Paper’s knowledge. Neither the Rock, nor the Paper, nor the Scissors is distinguishable as an independent entity, yet the Man maintains mastery over each of them.
This experiment seems to have been a fortuitous mishap, primarily due to the unexpected wisdom gained, but also due to the fact that no appendages or mental faculties were lost in the process. This experiment is completed, yet I always yearn for further knowledge. Nevertheless, I promise to never fill Chicago’s particle accelerators with random objects in search of metaphysical insight.</p>

<p>--edit---</p>

<p>i got deferred with this essay. i really enjoyed writing it, though.</p>

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<p>i'm not completely sure if my essay really came together in the end. it seemed to me like it meandered and started to lose the point quite a bit - but hey, we'll see if it worked out for me.</p>

<p>(btw, i used the powers of ten prompt)</p>

<p>A teen walks along the sidewalk, iPod headphones dangling from his ears, walking to the beat of a song only he can hear. Across the street, a couple holding hands whisper sweet nothings to each other. Further along the street, a family of seven work hard to remain one solid unit, but it always ends with the older kids chasing the younger kids down the street, two distressed parents left not knowing whether to run, scream, or cry. A bored 12-year-old on an airplane passing overhead looks down on the city, captivated by the thousands of little dark dots scuttling across the grey surface of the earth, all moving in concert. They move like a wave across the planet, as if all moving to the beat of the Nine Inch Nails song that teenager is still bopping his head to. From the sky, mankind appears less as individual conglomerates of complex matter, and more like a wave of energy. Never static. Constantly changing and shifting. A blur of human bodies, each with their individual lives, hopes, and dreams, but part of the larger movement of human beings crossing the earth like an avalanche. Buildings are created and deconstructed. Cities rise out of nothing. Babies breathe their first breaths as seniors breathe their last. Bodies are lowered into the ground as mothers hug their newborns close to their chest, happy tears spilling from their eyes.</p>

<p>A fly lands lightly on the arm of the iPod-toting teen. Thoughts vibrate through his brain. Blood beats against the walls of his veins and arteries. Synapses fire. Nerve ending send out signals from every part of his body. His heart pounds in his chest. Eyelids flutter. Muscles contract and extend, and bones move in synchronous motion. His feet push against the sidewalk and the concrete pushes back. Dead skin cells flake away, and new ones rise to replace them. As old cells die, new ones are created. Our bodies, which we think of as permanent organisms, are constantly changing. The adolescent is a completely different person from the newborn. No cell in his body is the same one he was born with. They have all been copied, recreated. A wave of creation, destruction, and recreation in continuous progression, in fluid change. No one is the same person they were born, and no one is the same person they will be when they die. We are as ever-changing as fire. We are a flurry of energy and particles tenuously held together, evolving as steadily and swiftly as the larger organism we are all a part of.</p>

<p>Mankind is a fragile and complicated organism, flexing its many limbs across the surface of our pale blue planet. It grows. Shrinks. Stretches. Contracts. Builds. Destroys. As complex as each of us are, we are each like a cell in a greater organism. Each village, town, and city is a microcosm, just another outlying region of a massive creature, undergoing constant change, in constant motion. Constant life. Constant death. Living, breathing, but ultimately non-vital, and the wider world is indifferent</p>

<p>Down the road, lights paint the street ambulance red and police car blue. Across the city, air struggles to fill a broken lung. I think help is on its way. I think it will arrive two minutes too late. On the other side of town, actors strut across the stage of a packed theater. Across the street, a new mother bounces her baby boy up and down, laugh lines stretched thin as the baby’s dark eyes glitter with laughter. Blood flowers on oil slicks and dirty puddles. Defibrillator paddles give shock after shock. The heart monitor flatlines. Meanwhile, curtains close. A captivated audience rises from their chairs and gives a standing ovation. Clap, clap, clap. Bravo!</p>

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<p>In response to option 3, I attempted to tell a story of the street but it may have been a little bit random and actually really bad.</p>

<p>With a swift leap I stepped onto Bus #7 heading west down Harrison. I was glad to see an empty seat near the back of bus. After spending roughly the past 8 hours in a laboratory running experimental trials for my internship all I wanted to do was get back to my apartment and finally rest my feet. As more people entered the bus I silently chanted to the phrase "Don't make eye contact.” So far my plan was succeeding. People took the hint from my firmly crossed arms and slightly dour expression that it might be best for them to sit elsewhere. I am not particularly antisocial. I like smiling at passersby and enjoy conversing with people at airports. However the gravity of my living situation, that I was living in downtown Chicago in a sublease to myself so I could participate in the internship sponsored by the National Heart Blood and Lung Institute at the University of Illinois in Chicago, quickly sunk in after I realized that I could die and no one would notice for a week or so. Thus whenever I ventured into the city I tried to pull on a mask of street wariness and a mask of self-possession.</p>

<p>That day my mask cracked. As the bus started to move to its next stop I flashed a wayward smile for the briefest of moments. To my initial dismay, a wizened old man caught my glance returned my smile, and slowly walked to the back of the bus to sit in the seat next to me. “I knew you had a seat saved just for me," the old man said with a chuckle. "I could tell by your smile." I politely nodded and did my best to stare out the window but I couldn’t. There was something about him that captivated my attention. I guess its because I always wonder about the stories people can tell about their lives, what comments they have to make about the paths they have taken or the decisions they have made that have brought them to this particular point in time, on Bus #7 with me. As I snuck glances at him from the corner of my eye, my mind drifted to the possible stories that lay behind his deeply weathered face that was the color of tea with a generous amount of milk. I pondered if the creases by his eyes were from a life of working in the sun or smiling. I was just imagining him as young man, during the turmoil of 1960s America when I was abruptly pulled out of my daydream and startled by his question of whether or not I was coming back from work. I nodded, my dark gray slacks, shiny silver heels, and blue striped button up did give me away. “But you’s still in school?” “Yes,” I assured him and was rewarded with his slightly gummy smile. Then he began to tell the story of his life.</p>

<p>He started out by telling me of the necessity to “Stay in school.” His eyes seemed bluer as he stared at me and told me “Don’t ever give it up for no one on the street.” I vigorously nodded my head in agreement as he continued. “Because it’s not worth it, so don't drop out, even when it gets tough, don't lose your way, pull through with it, because that is what's worth it.” Then he launched into telling me about his daughter who had continued school unlike her siblings and had a steady job. I could tell that he was so proud of her accomplishments. Last weekend she had cleaned, run errands, and done other household tasks for him for 6 hours on Saturday. He wished he could have given her more than the $10 he did, but sadly admitted he lives on $100 each week. We lapsed into silence.</p>

<p>I wondered what made him drop out of school or who told him that education was not worth his time. I wondered how his life would have been different if he had stayed on the path of education and not taken that other fork in the road. It seemed that I could see the same question reflected in his glaucoma ringed eyes. Often times we encounter forks called trials, hardship, and circumstance on our journey to reach our hopes and goals and make our dreams come true. The difference in the paths presented is usually the choice of giving up or persevering. But my thoughts were interrupted as he told me that his stop was coming up. He beckoned me closer and said, “Don't ever let people tell you not to try” and smiled his toothy grin as he slowly got off Bus #7 heading westward down Harrison.</p>

<p>I doubt that I will ever forget that man or the sage words of wisdom he imparted during that brief bus ride. As I continue to head west, towards knowledge, adventure, and understanding, I’ll keep his advice in mind. To the roads that fork and the paths that split I’ll always take the one where I do not give up.</p>

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<h2>In response to the "Powers of 10" prompt... I kinda took a different approach, I zoomed in and out through time. It's probably not as creative as it sounds, considering I was deferred EA. Any feedback/criticism, constructive or not, is welcome.</h2>

<p>Some day, while cleaning your apartment, you might find a strange tape. You don’t recognize it, and it might be hiding inside a foreign box – maybe you decided to watch “Stupendous Soccer Stunts of ‘73” but the tape inside is strange, unlabeled. You slide it in anyway. Whoever watched it last didn’t bother rewinding, and it picks up in the middle. The camera operator must’ve been exceptional – as the camera moves towards and away from the subject you see her move back and forth through life, never breaking continuity. You’re not sure who the subject of the film is but that’s alright; it’s only me, and you’ve never met be before.</p>

<p>The movie starts and the camera zooms out. After high school, after college, I get married. My husband is wonderful; we honeymoon in Fiji and on the second night we are already talking about future plans. </p>

<p>Zoom out. After months of trying to conceive I find myself infertile, and although I swore through my teenage years never to have children, the news is devastating. I withdraw into myself, cutting out even the few friends that have stuck by after my half-hearted attempt to shake them off after high school. </p>

<p>Zoom out. I am caught in the middle of an existential crisis. Having denied religion for the better part of my life I am now faced with the emptiness of the universe yawning before me. Unable to reconcile my cynical views with the horror of approaching age I dive headfirst into faith… From here you can almost map the winding road of my life, the philosophical framework that supports it. You can see the places that have crumbled and are now held up with the “Logical Fallacy” brand of chewing gum and silly putty, or the ones that have been left to rot, now covered with trees and moss.</p>

<p>The further you zoom out the more life’s map becomes etched into my face, overlaid onto my features in a skilled montage, until you can trace all the times I’ve walked around in circles, the cul-de-sacs around my eyes, the dead ends on my lips. The farther you go the more the streets blur together; you’d need to get close to figure out where you are but at the rate you’re going, you’ll be escaping Earth’s gravity in about 12 seconds.</p>

<p>Zoom out. I am 84 and, having outlived my husband by the predicted seven years, am dying of cancer. I will give up and die within a few months because I am convinced that a tragic accident should’ve taken me several years ago. If you go out far enough you will in fact see the emptiness that remains in my life – by a freak miracle I’ve outlived most of my relatives, leaving the remaining points of my support network few and far between, the emptiness between them stretching on for miles and years, filled with the occasional postcard or missed call. Zoom out. I am buried and slowly disintegrating because no matter how advanced coffin technology gets, bodies will still decay. I am slowly falling apart, disintegrating into oblivion. Zoom out until the coffin is gone and I really am buried under six feet of dirt, no wood or steel separating me from </p>

<p>Here the tape stops. Past this point there’s only grainy static. Occasionally you think you see an image flash by for a tenth of a frame but really, it’s just your imagination. Really.</p>

<p>Now zoom in. Rewind through all the years and then pause on present day. Zoom in to middle school, when I decided rebelling against society was the best way to adjust to a move. This – this desperate desire to fit in by making myself as socially unapproachable as possible- persists for three years; this is the boring part of the movie, where it’s all talk talk talk, the heroine tries to reinvent herself, fails, tries again, fails, gives up. It’s all been done before but if you ever wanted to see the details of the train wreck up close you can just keep watching. Zoom in to elementary school, notice the girl reading Stephen King during recess. Past 11, 10, 9 years old, you’re watching me board a plane; sick and not knowing where we’re going but going anyway because when you’re eight years old the world doesn’t give you much of a choice. </p>

<p>Zoom in. I am seven years old and chasing the family cat around with a spray bottle to gauge “reaction time,” dropping the next cat off the second floor porch to calculate “impact force,” all in the brave name of science. Keep zooming and you’ll get even closer; I’m reading books and reciting poetry for the old ladies in the yard, recycling bottles and buying candy with the money I make. When you’re this close I am all action, all boundless energy; I fill up the space around me, stretching to the farthest corners of possibility. I am intricate, wonderful, full of all existence, a rich array of all that life has to offer.</p>

<p>The camera is in freefall now, closing in faster and faster. The years fly by; I recede. Zooming in through childhood and infancy, see how I have the same wrinkles as a baby that I will get as an adult, only they’re smaller now, closer together, and endearing. In the last few seconds the camera shows you the complexity of the fetus, the elaborate arrangement of cells; everything, everything down to the smallest atom is delicate, deliberate in its complicated arrangement.</p>

<p>Finally you reach the other end of the tape, and the camera rests as close to the beginning of life as possible. You stare at the TV for another minute, then stand up and begin stretching the muscles that have grown stiff in the awkward position.</p>

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<p>oh god i'm screwed. everyone here is so good... i took a bit of a weird approach i think.. i dunno ugh i didnt really talk about myself at all in mine:</p>

<p>Essay Option 4. Argonne National Laboratory and Fermilab (both national laboratories managed by the University of Chicago) have particle accelerators that smash bits of atoms together at very high energies, allowing particles to emerge that are otherwise not part of the everyday world. These odd beasts - bosons, pi mesons, strange quarks - populated the universe seconds after the Big Bang, and allow their observers to glimpse the fabric of the universe. Put two or three ideas or items in a particle accelerator thought experiment. Smash 'em up. What emerges? Let us glimpse the secrets of the universe newly revealed.
Inspired by Katharine Bierce, a third-year in the College.</p>

<p>Through the particle accelerator experiment I have mashed together a piece of rubber and a sample of human skin. After days of malfunctions, glitches, and some alarming mutations, a creation of genius has come forth, and I call the material iManSkin. Yes, it may remind consumers of the popular iSkins used to enclose the even more popular iPods in fashionable designs. But the important thing is that all new technological products have the lowercase letter “i” at the beginning of the product name to ensure marketability. This iManSkin is a most practical, revolutionary material that shall change the face of consumer America—one must wonder why God himself did not design human flesh like this in the first place. It is self-regenerative and textured just like skin, but embedded in its DNA are some properties of rubber: bounciness, stretchiness, and snappiness.
iManSkin, primarily made as stretchy, one-size-fits-all body suits for humans (and pets, if one wishes), will allow people to bounce to ridiculous heights, forever changing the way we approach walking. Imagine—your grandchildren will always spend their days outside for fresh air, and those petty GameBoys and Playstations will be rendered obsolete. Children will make up a whole new generation of classic outdoor games like extreme hopscotch and leap frog with kid-stacking. These skin-thin body suits will even trouble both the textile industry and clothing companies. iManSkin is extremely fashionable and comes in different designs, including those used on iSkins. If they are smart, designers will be quick to join forces with iManSkin. From there, iManSkin will become a symbol of progress, status, and sex appeal. Kanye will rap about it, Time magazine will honor it, and Hillary will wear it, in place of pantsuits.
However, critics claim that iManSkin’s strong, snappy quality could make for a potential weapon of mass destruction. Airport security, they claim, will tighten up dramatically, detracting travelers and spreading fear of attack among the general public. More taxpayer money would have to go into funding Homeland Security, and it would take a lifetime to come up with legislation to regulate its use in a justified manner. However, in a new world of iManSkin suits, people will not even need airplanes to travel: they shall bounce from city to city. Additionally, for women, whacking assailants in the face with iManSkin may well work as a perfect alternative to pepper spray. iManSkin, at worst, could only be a weapon of mass defense. In spite of fear mongering from detractors and strong opposition from the bouncy castle lobby, iManSkin will win consumer confidence, rejuvenate the economy, and bring world power back to America.</p>

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<p>pianostrike, that was great. i think it might have gone a little fast and you could have spent a little more time giving details through different ages, but it was very original and well done. i enjoyed reading it.</p>

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<p>Thanks, MBP :)
Yeah, I was worried it was a little fast but it was getting pretty long (1.5 pages single spaced) and I didn't want to go overboard.</p>

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<p>Well done, pianistonstrike! I loved it. Way better than my "Powers of 10" essay. :)</p>

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<p>pianistonstrike, i love your essay!</p>

<p>i'm so tempted to post my own...</p>

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<p>Oh alright, I'll post it. I did mine on the road question. They sent me a postcard about how they enjoyed reading it and my application, probably did the same for everyone else accepted though.</p>

<pre><code>Across from Captain Kangaroo’s house and around the corner of Mr. Roger’s neighborhood lies the most iconic road in all of American pop culture – Sesame Street.
The opening line of its pilot episode demonstrated clearly its future purpose – “Sally, you've never seen a street like Sesame Street before. Everything happens here; you're gonna love it!” Throughout the years, everything has, in fact, happened here. Sesame Street has dealt with all of the pain and misgiving the human race offers, packaging these condensed sorrows neatly into cutesy, curious characters.
Back in reality, the environment was just right for the show. Civil unrest had reached its height, new genres and cultures were being defined, and children were confused out of their minds. It should come as no surprise that such a progressive show as this one stemmed from this time period. Turbulence and chaos are oftentimes the best generators of newness, like John Conway’s “Game of Life” giving rise to Turing machines and other automata.
While MIT’s Opencourseware and Wikipedia cater to quite a different beast than this humble little street, the concept is the same – to educate the masses. The goal was to provide opportunity where none previously existed, be it for disadvantaged inner city children or anxious, slightly nerdy high-schoolers. Those that wanted to could learn.
And learn they did. Rarely had learning been as fun for the Average Joey as when Sesame Street sang its songs about numbers and danced around with letters of the alphabet. Its creators tried very hard to make learning an enjoyable process, though enjoyment should be an intrinsic factor in the experience. Many children have gazed at the phosphorescent screen in astonishment as they learned that two plus two make four, though the amazement probably stemmed from the fact that blood sucking puppets were playing a melancholic organ. Yet the tactic worked. Terence Tao, a Fields Medalist and professor, reportedly taught himself mathematics via these bright, cheerful puppets while at the ripe age of two.
The street’s wide array of characters each contributed their own little sub-story to the overall plot. Oscar the Grouch perpetually grouched over the existential angst of living in a trash can while the Cookie Monster just wanted a cookie. This intentional diversity was aimed at the inner city children who had to deal with such issues, but ultimately it demonstrated another important educational concept, that of creativity. Each character tackled each problem in their own unique way, and the children were taught that this was perfectly acceptable. There was no cut-and-dried approach like we see in our mathematics curriculum today. Instead, a problem was more of a musical piece to be played intuitively and creatively. Even though Grover fumbled around and inevitably created havoc with his suggestions, the rest of the cast helped out, illustrating that the learning process was communal and fraught with failures.
It is only natural, then, that the show addressed heavy issues with a remarkable maturity. Mr. Hopper’s death, both on screen and in real life, must have been the hardest concept to create and communicate. Yet the Jim Henson team did not back down to address this challenging issue. It assumed much more of its young audience than society typically granted it, avoiding using any euphemisms for death or dieing. It was no cuddly show anymore. Real life happened on this street, just like it happened on the streets of kids everywhere. This simple concept which so many find difficult was the crux of the program – honesty, simple, straightforward honesty. Sesame Street, as were many people’s lives, was transparent. It sought to communicate its values through the delicate interplay of its characters.
The University of Chicago, this street, and I all spring from the same fabric of humanity and thirst for knowledge. The iconic path is a gateway that demarcates the ethereal line between me and my future. I can only say one thing to this gate, and that is, “Open Sesame!”
</code></pre>

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<p>stuck: I loved watching Sesame Street when I was little. Somewhere in there it quit airing at a time of day I could watch it, so I'll admit I'm no longer a follower (the shame!). Your essay is good, but the last three sentences are brilliant. Great work.</p>

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<p>Sesame Street :D haha SO awesome. What a perfect response to the prompt.</p>

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<p>My essay for the live the question topic:</p>

<pre><code>At present, we do need to live the question. But what is the question we are living? Who asks the question? Why exactly are we living a question subconsciously? Why can additional questions be derived from Rilke's original statement? The statement in itself can provide proof of the inherency of questions. Questions that arise within us are plentiful, so it would be only logical to believe that our life is a question in itself. Questions come and go in bulk, but what they answer and what we’ve learned while attempting to answer them stays within us.

We, and only we, ask ourselves the questions that we are living. Of course, we must set a question before we are able to live it. Since the word “need” indicates an imperative, why, then, according to Rilke, is it so important to live the question that we ask of ourselves? This can best be answered by considering the antithesis. Definitely, if we have no question to live, we would fall into a deep and dark abyss, much like a black hole. There would be no set goals, no self-improvement, and no opportunity for advancement. One who does not live any question is surely, then, living without purpose. If living without purpose is even possible, it would describe a unrewarding, dissatisfying, and depressing lifestyle. If the world had existed with these standards, human progress would have be stagnated. Since we actively work to avoid this state of being, living the question is therefore a necessity and most important for our, and other's, well-being.
Thus, living the question is necessary for our advancement. It unequivocally creates a competitive environment because some would strive to answer their question to a more complete degree than others. Competition, in moderation, just as in any capitalistic economy, spurs growth, improvement, and innovation. Living the question therefore creates a revolving cycle of human advancement.

We know that living the question is vital for ourselves and others, but what is the question that we are living? Because we are able to independently decide what ought to be our goals, without doubt, we set the question we are living. Naturally, it would be in our best interest. The methods that we use to live the question are similar because of the similar resources we have access to. Since the question is merely a self-determined long-term goal, we live it with passion, dedication, and perseverance. With similar means to live the question, the differences in people must then come from the differences in questions that are set.

This is where diversity, truly the most remarkable facet of the world, enters. There are an infinite number of different questions one can live, and a difference person lives each question. With such different approaches and aspirations, people mold themselves into unique individuals. The giant mix of ideas affords us to take different perspectives on issues and create new and innovative solutions, further advancing our understanding and the improvement of our world.
Rilke's statement also encompasses all divisions of time. The question that we live was set in the past. Rilke informs us that we must live the question in the present. Finally, we live the question now in the interest of our future. This indicates that our actions today are invariably connected to our past and will directly affect our future. Although we can deviate from past actions, who we are and what we do are therefore defined by our past and what we have learned from it. The quote, thus, emphasizes the importance of experience and the merit of our present actions.

The quotation itself is so broad and all-encompassing that it will be interpreted in a different light by a variety of people. To me, the quote was a three-fold discussion. What is the question? Why is it important? And why do we choose to live it? Since any quote analysis is largely objective, I have elected to reveal, by analyzing the parts of the quote, what are the values and fundamental beliefs that function as the basis for my daily decisions. In essence, I have described not what I do, but why and how I do it. I believe that the basis of action, not the action itself, is what truly describes an individual.
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<p>accepted EA with this essay</p>

336

<p>Well this is my essay on the story of a road between life and death, but after reading everyone else's it seems pretty, well, bad. I guess I should have done it before the night of the deadline haha</p>

<p>The year was 2134, and I was a proud private in Earth’s World Army, EWA for short. EWA was currently invading the distant planet of Allusion 3, located in the Orion’s Headband sector. Why we were invading them I didn’t really know, all I knew was that they were bastards and that they were probably the cause of all my problems. If you don’t believe me just ask the commander, he’ll set you straight. Anyway, though, I had the privilege of being a part of the preliminary attacks. Dedicated Extraterrestrial Action Division was our official title and my superiors told me this is a very prestigious division, so of course I was doing my best to appear grateful.
When the time came for our strategic advance, I made sure I was one of the first men out the chute. Screaming, yelling, and swearing my division charged the front line of alien defense. It sure seemed like they had a lot more men than we did, but damnit we were from planet Earth and every one of us was as good as a hundred of anyone else. Well apparently, they outnumbered us 101 to 1, because we got mowed down before I ever fired a shot.
Well that brings me to my current situation, which I guess you could call being dead. I have to tell you, death isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. There isn’t really, well anything. I’m just kind of floating here, with just this white nothingness all around me. I’m starting to think that this is going to be a pretty boring way to spend eternity, so I let my mind wander. Where in God’s name were all the other dead people? I had always kind of looked forward to talking to someone really important when I died, like Gandhi or someone.
Suddenly I’m face to face with a bald headed Indian man wearing a toga and specs. He smiles pleasantly at me, a sort of fatherly smile, but as you can imagine I’m a little shaken from the whole experience, so much so that I started to wish he was gone. No sooner had I wished it and the old man disappears. Now my mind is really racing. Wondering what else I can do, I start doing a little brainstorming. I quickly whip up an image of a yellow two-headed hippopotamus with green polka dots in my head, and lo and behold, it appears right in front of me. God of my own universe eh, I can work with this.</p>

337

<p>Post #321 (mr.doug) - wow that was amazing. how did u get deferre</p>

338

<p>Caveat: I am not an adcom, don't know anybody in the business of college admission. I am an over-educated parent of a kid who would have to go through this phase later - so I am just mostly educating myself by following a few threads so that I can help him better down the road. So, my words/input may mean nothing.</p>

<p>However, in my career, I hired and fired some really, really bright people from the colleges and universities you all want to go to, so I will share my gut reaction after reading a lot of these essays, because after all, this is all about how to market and sell yourself.</p>

<p>Overall, I thought most of these essays are not very good (sorry for being blunt). Not because the writer did not come across bright and eager. All of you are. However, a very few came across authentic. So many seemingly sophisticated and clever phrases and words! Most essays seem designed to demonstrate how smart the writer is and what kind of advanced sophistry can be engineered. After reading a few of these essays, my head hurt! An image that comes to me is that of Chinese contortion artist having a stream of consciousness. After reading these essays, I still have no idea who the writer is as a person. None of these mind blowingly over-sophisticated essays stand out, since I can't tell one apart from the others they all sound about the same. They all seem like a clever mental exercise. Imagine adcoms reading these types of essays all day long. </p>

<p>You are 17 year old kids, and we the adults all know that your life is awfully short and you could not have come to some life shattering universal truth -not yet. Reading some of these convoluted essays make me feel like I am watching a kid beauty contest where 7 year old girls are presented like R rated movie stars with make up, the sultry come-hither smile and practiced phrases. </p>

<p>I like the essay posted on #291. When I read this, I feel that this is an authentic voice, an honest one. S/he managed to demonstrate a very attractive, curious, AND YES, HIGHLY INTELLECTUAL, mind in simple and unpretentious sentences. I feel like I got to know the kid, and I like this kid. </p>

<p>Again, I may be completely off: maybe this style of uber-sophistication is what the adcoms are looking for as a sign of intellectual mind. But, I have heard and given countless marketing and business proposal worth millions and billions of dollars, and the best proposal is always simply worded with no obfustication in the form and shape of tortuously clever phrases and fad slogans.</p>

<p>Just my two cents..........</p>

339

<p>stuck -- nice. very nice.</p>

340

<p>I agree with you about post 291 hyeon, it seemed very sincere and after reading it I couldn't help but feel like I wanted to know more about the author.</p>