College Entrance Essay

I liked my grandson Bennett's college entrance essay so much that I asked his permission to use it as a guest post. He agreed. Hope you enjoy it. *********

On my first run down the mountain, I fell at least ten times. I’d strapped into a snowboard for the first time that afternoon, and I was ridiculously excited. I’d pictured myself carving down the slope, hitting rails, doing tricks. Instead my hopes got smashed into the snow, and so did my tailbone, over and over. By the end of the day I was limping to my car.

This is the part where I usually quit.

I mostly stick to things I’m comfortable with, like coding, reading, and video games, because when I try something new, I tend to drop it as soon as I see how far I am from getting good at it. It’s the same reason I procrastinate. If I don’t start, I don’t have to see how far behind I am. Last year I put off my half of a US history debate on the Constitution, and every time my partner asked how it was going, I said fine. Hiding it made me more ashamed and mad at myself, which made it even harder to start.

With snowboarding, I didn’t even have to start. I’ve been skiing since I was four, and I could’ve just kept doing that. But I’d always wanted to snowboard. So around Christmas last winter, I bought a season pass and told everyone I was going to learn. That was on purpose. Once I’d spent the money and said it out loud, I couldn’t quietly drop it the way I usually did.

On my first runs I could turn right, barely, but turning left was close to impossible. Every time I tried, I’d catch the edge of my board and flip over, just to bruise my tailbone some more.

I kept coming back anyway, week after week. Snowboarding isn’t something you can think your way through. You have to get a feel for the flow, how to keep your edges where they glide instead of snag, and the only way I found to learn that was to do it wrong, a lot. Then one day, after throwing myself at it long enough, it clicked. I leaned into a left turn expecting to eat snow, and the edge just held. The scraping went quiet, and I was still standing. I made another turn without thinking, then another, and all of a sudden it was the most fun I’d had in my whole life.

After that I didn’t just want to ride, I wanted to get better. Some days the conditions were bad: icy, windy, freezing, sometimes half raining. I’d catch myself making excuses to wait until next week. But everyone knew I was learning, and the pass was paid for, so I’d make the drive anyway.

I found people to ride with, old friends and new ones I met through snowboarding, and they’re a big part of why I didn’t quit. But most of my real progress came on days I went alone. With nobody to wait for, I could pick one thing I couldn’t do yet and throw myself at it. At first it feels impossible. Then it starts to feel obtainable, and once that happens, there’s nothing left to stop you from trying until you get it, no matter how many times you fall. Nothing feels better than finally grabbing the goal you were reaching just to graze for so long.

I still procrastinate sometimes. But later that year I made a portfolio about video games for my English class: two game reviews, two research papers, and a 3D space game. I put a lot of work into it and took the time to make it special. What changed is how I see the part where I’m bad at something. It isn’t a sign to stop anymore, it’s just what comes before the click. I used to quit right there. Now I figure I’m just a few more falls away.

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