Commonapp Essay

As I climbed, the world below me shrank.

I awoke that morning on Dallas Blonde - the 48-foot catamaran on which I had lived for the past two weeks - to the clatter of pans and the barely stifled curses of one of my shipmates stubbing their toe on a propped-up hatch. I tumbled from my hammock and assumed my duties as the day's captain. While shouting words of encouragement for the dishies and deckies (dish-washers and deck-scrubbers) over BORN's "Electric Love," I danced around taking breakfast orders and helped my shipmates prepare for the day. Mornings like these allowed me a glimpse of how I want to live my life: freely offering my energy, positivity, and eagerness simply because it brings me joy to do so, and because they are worth sharing.

As the sun rose, my Dallas Blonde crew docked at Spyglass Hill on Norman Island. Then our real captain, Elliot, gave some peculiar instructions. We were each to pick up a beautiful rock and an ugly rock on our hike up the hill. Without another word, Elliot turned and led us up a rocky path so steep, it prompted multiple renditions of Miley Cyrus's "The Climb." My deafening singing was rudely interrupted as I tripped over yet another well-concealed cactus. Taking a moment before I got up, my gaze drifted off towards the horizon on the Caribbean Sea. I could conquer any hike, but it would be easier to cancel my flight home than to face my inclination to overthink the most trivial details of daily tasks. I would rather climb a literal mountain than confront my inner critic.

I am a perfectionist. Even the simple task of picking up rocks on my way up Spyglass Hill sent my mind into overdrive. I have scrutinized every word I wrote in this essay and every point I've played on the tennis court. I put my whole heart into every piggy-back-ride I gave to each hurricane-displaced child and every turtle tagging I performed over those two weeks. Every greenhouse I helped build and every rock I picked up has been subject to my meticulous effort to make everything I touch the best it can be. Being a perfectionist has given me an unrelenting work ethic, made me thoughtful, guided me to make educated choices, and motivated me to give 111%. It also has led me to question every decision I've made, convinced me that nothing I do will ever be good enough, prevented me from healthily processing criticism, and sometimes even choked the life out of my exuberant personality.

I picked myself up, removed the cactus needles from my ankles, and continued on.

As I climbed, the world below me shrank and I felt my worries shrinking too. Atop Spyglass Hill, Elliot finally explained his instructions; We were sharing something that we were bringing home from our two weeks of sailing and service, the pretty rock, and something that we were leaving on Spyglass Hill, the ugly rock. Without a second thought - for the first time in my life - I spoke my mind, uninhibited by the prospect of the words not coming together impeccably.

I have been home for two months now. My "pretty" rock still reminds me that I brought home a sense of power over how I view my life and spend my energy. Thanks to that rock, I am redefining perfection for myself, and it looks a lot like simple mornings aboard Dallas Blonde. My "ugly" rock is still where I threw it - at the bottom of the Caribbean Sea. Intermittently, I relive the moment I let that rock go, leaving its fate to gravity as it slipped through my fingers. With it, I let go of my externally imposed ideas of perfection. I am nearly as free as I felt sailing the British Virgin Islands on Dallas Blonde, setting my own course.