Despite the clueless husband trope, I love this skit — not only because it takes a simple premise straight into an existential realm, but because that existentialism hits home. How many of us feel at times like we’re grappling in the face of opaque forces?

I too want answers. Increasingly, it seems that the best place to find them (other than inside a good laugh) is in that small, private, faithful space that paradoxically connects to universal truth. Lucky for me, many have struggled to find this internal calm and to gain a larger perspective, writing essays, poems and whole novels about it. As with good comedic sketches, the best works lead us to unexpected places.

Take this little poem by Wendell Berry:

The Real Work

It may be that when we no longer know what to do
we have come to our real work,

and that when we no longer know which way to go
we have come to our real journey.

The mind that is not baffled is not employed.

The impeded stream is the one that sings.

While there are technically no question marks, there is an exchange between the first two stanzas and the last, which read to me like Zen koans (or punch lines, if you will) reminding us how moments of not knowing can enlighten us.

What’s it all for? My high achieving high schooler recently asked this question. Why study so hard, why build a resume, why chase after colleges that our family may not be able to afford?

Even as the world grows wider, college options seem to be constricting. Pre-professionalism is on the rise. Some small liberal arts schools are struggling — though maybe not as catastrophically as it may seem. Striving students are often told to prioritize strategy, make a plan, fit themselves to a major, conduct relevant research, demonstrate interest, and be “pointy” if they want to succeed.

While of course there is nothing wrong with valuing career preparation or ROI when it comes to a costly college education, we deprive ourselves of a different kind of growth when we view learning through a solely pragmatic lens — where’s the useful bafflement?

Not long ago, I reread what was written in my high school yearbook. Wow. My best friend had so much useful bafflement that her words became a found poem.

Ninth Grade: In a rhombus all sides are equal

Tenth Grade: As long as you are exactly what you feel you will live a wonderful life (maybe)

Eleventh Grade: They’re a rotten crowd, you’re worth the whole damn bunch

Twelfth Grade: What will become of you & me?

My heart! She quoted The Great Gatsby! But what moves me more is the unadorned entry from our senior year. We didn’t know what would become of us as individuals, or of our friendship. But we’re still here. We’re still friends. We’re still looking for answers. (And, yes, we both still adore Gatsby, especially in the 1974 adaptation, with Robert Redford in his pink suit and Mia Farrow as Daisy with pitch-perfect ennui.)

I try to remember my younger self and this lifelong search as I help my daughter and other young querents through the thickets of college applications. Even as I support their exploration of goals and their self presentation skills, I hope to validate their inner lives, acknowledge their fears, and encourage them to trust an authentic place inside.

What’s it all for? There’s not a clear answer, and that’s OK. No one’s path is certain, but we might remember to look for gifts in impediments, to control what we can, to keep asking big questions, and perhaps most importantly, to laugh a little as we step into chaos our truest selves.

But I’m here to say that just maybe it should be exciting? The truth is, which prompt you choose doesn’t matter much. What matters is you and your story.

When I think about personal narrative, I recall those memorable moments in life: when you befriend a stranger on a commuter train, prompt your grandmother with a photo from when she was young, encourage a teenager who tells you this is stupid but…..or, as we did this past Thanksgiving, listen to two different uncles recall encounters with BigFoot?! Shared stories are entertaining; they also create true connections.

As we take the next step and craft a story into written words, we solidify our relationship with a reader while giving substance and meaning to our own experience. Whether you’re a student tasked with college applications, or an adult who itching to examine your life, a committed approach to personal writing can be the entrance to self-discovery as well as the key to an unforgettable college application.

But how do we open that door?

There is no right way to begin writing. However, I have some ideas! First off, as hard as it may seem, forget about audience. The more we let go of trappings of perceived expectations, the more easily we can access our beliefs, examine fears, sharpen our minds. The best essays often exist at the edge of cringe—so take a break from trying to be nonchalant or impress. Just say the thing, and see what happens.

What is the “thing” you want to say? To find out, start small. You do NOT need to “hook” or “grab” the reader, you can ease them into your world. You might recall a useful piece of advice, dig into a memory, or simply observe an object that matters to you. Take the opening sentences of Hope Jahren’s memoir, Lab Girl:

There is nothing in the world more perfect than a slide rule. Its burnished aluminum feels cool against your lips, and if you hold it level to the light you can see God’s most perfect right angle in each of its corners.

Through her careful description, we learn so much about the writer: her powers of observation, her love of precision, a belief in God. A well-chosen image can let us into a life, in this case, the slide rule opens a door to where Jahren grew up—her father’s lab at the local community college.

Robert Frost once said that a poem “begins in delight and ends in wisdom.” As with many good pieces of poetry advice, this applies to personal essays, too. Clearly, Jahren is delighted by slide rules! And the whole book that follows—please read it, it’s great— might be seen as an attempt to understand why. Frost also offers this useful advice, “No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader. No surprise for the writer, no surprise for the reader.” Like poetry, personal essays require openness and some level of risk.

It helps to consider that not everything you write will make it into the final draft. In the first draft of a college application essay, give yourself permission to be rough around the edges: complain, make inside jokes, confess your fears. Some of what you write may be too personal or too vulnerable to submit. That’s part of the process. When you structure and edit your narrative through careful revision, you can take control of your spirited words. You alone decide what you want to share.

Remember your life is not the school you attend, the job you get, or the praise you earn from others. Your life is what you make of it, and your story to tell.

What’s Coming Up?

Build Your Story, Not a Brand: College Application Essay Kickoff

Saturday, March 28, 11 AM Central Time

In this two-part College Application Essay Kickoff, we’ll discuss how college application essays fit into the overall picture of admissions, and I’ll share some sane and effective strategies for getting them written. Learn more and register here.

Poetry and the Personal Statement

Sunday, April 19th, 11 AM Central Time

I’ll be joining the delightful Irena Smith of The Curmudgeon’s Guide to College Admissions for a special poetry month edition of her monthly Zoom chat.

Fool Hearty: Episode 3, The SUN

For those of you who find yourselves in Austin, TX, mark your calendars for the third installation of a tarot-inspired arts pop up I help host: April 28th, 4 PM at Captain Quacks. Subscribe to Typewriter Tarot for updates!

Recently a friend reminded me of the adage take the next best step. Anyone who has struggled with a diagnosis or hiked a rocky mountain trail or gone through any crisis (in other words all of us?) might see the importance of this one

Tree roots break through paths in Parque México: step-by-step navigation required

As high schoolers stride or stumble toward college, looking only as far as the next best step can be really helpful. It may be tempting to think there’s a clear COLLEGE ADMISSIONS MAP that moves a student from point A to B to C (take this AP class, get this SAT score, find an internship, start a nonprofit, win a competition, etc.) There is not. What helps us feel fulfilled can’t be mapped out all at once, but requires incremental choices, the best ones we can make with the terrain that we face at any given moment. Sometimes a choice may be simply to rest; yet, ultimately and at our own pace, we arrive somewhere — a college, a job, a new city.

When teenagers ask, should I take this class, join this club, or apply for this summer program, my reply is often do you want to? I know, I know, sometimes teens don’t want what’s good for them, but honestly they often know better than the well-meaning adults. The equation isn’t complicated. If a course in Organic Chemistry is offered, but your interest lies in Print Making, take Print Making. What isn’t obviously a resume builder might just help you navigate technical and creative skills. Perhaps you could even learn the origins of the word cliché — clicher, a verb meaning to “make an impression on a surface of molten metal.” Cliché (n.) the plate that was produced—in other words, a form of repeatable, scalable craftsmanship.

So I’ve come to embrace well-worn phrases and the impressions they make. Sure some clichés sound kind of like gaslighting: everything happens for a reason! But many remind us we’re not in it alone. Like countless strangers before me, I can seize a moment, control what I can and accept what I can’t. I might strive to take the next best step, which, come to think of it, could be read as either an incremental movement in the right direction, or as going for “next best.” In other words, Plan B.

When it comes to college admissions, there are countless “next bests” to choose from. As my friend and colleague Irena Smith likes to say, repeat after me: there is no dream school! Or as Angel Pérez, CEO of the National Association of College Admission Counselors, reminds us, freshman year of college, wherever you go, is essentially grade 13. Wow. Reframing it this way takes a lot of pressure off—look ahead to the next year, not to the rest of your life. (You can listen to his level-headed discussion with the College Essay Guy here)

Speaking of Plan B. Here’s a little spoken fact: not everyone loves college. At least not at first. It’s a huge adjustment. Roommates. Dining halls. Time management. Teaching assistants who pull out red pens (except mine was purple in an effort to be “nice”) every time a too familiar adage comes their way. Last night I watched a pleasantly rambling conversation between comedians Mike Birbiglia and Sarah Sherman, and both admitted that they disliked college (“...or at least half of it”). I looked up their alma maters to see what misery-inducing schools they attended: Georgetown and Northwestern respectively.

Is this Mike Birbiglia talking about Georgetown — or me advising students?

For the record, I’ve also heard Aubrey Plaza talk about rats, lots of them, in her NYU dorm. Fun fact: Plaza never made it past props intern at 30 Rock (though she later claimed while hosting that her “master plan” worked!)

Now as my own daughter embarks on applications this year, I’m reminding myself that no college is perfect, and no path is straight. We’re looking ahead to the next campus visit, but not to a final goal. Sometimes my next step will be to step aside, sometimes to step in and light the way with what I think are apt words of support. You’ve survived 100% of your worst days! I’m here for you! I will no doubt sound basic. But also, we’ve got this, right?

Coming soon!

Build Your Story, Not a Brand: College Application Essay Kickoff

Saturday, March 28, 11 AM Central Time

In this two-part College Application Essay Kickoff, we’ll discuss how college application essays fit into the overall picture of admissions, and I’ll share some sane and effective strategies for getting them written. Register here.

So I’m especially glad that the small group of friends, family, and neighbors gathered at our home for New Year’s Eve and were willing to join me in a spontaneous shared reading.

The youngest in our group was 14, the oldest 92! Like small animals drawn to a pond to drink (the image in a card I picked), we circled up and each picked a number (1-12) and a card to place on its spot. Together we pondered, What have we learned, what do we wish for, what can give us energy or strength?

Below are some of the interpretations from our 12-card lay out. Read right to left and top to bottom. If you’d like to play along, randpick a number before you read further, and then jump to that spot. Consider it a message just for you!

We used three different decks—just for fun! My favorite is Monica Knighton’s Stolen Child deck, based on the Yeats’ poem by the same name.

ONE

This past year could be summed up as a spider’s web: perhaps we were caught in the sticky weave of fate and all that we’d worked hard to make seemed to unravel, but also creation was always afoot. Visible only when the sunlight hit, or when morning dew landed like gems. If you foolishly stumbled into the weave—cursed for a moment and then brushed it aside—pause now to reflect on what may have been crafted. What beauty you might have missed.

TWO

Lots of us learned about communities close to home. We leaned on neighbors, gathered with friends, uncovered flood debris, celebrated milestones, and pooled resources. We felt one another’s generosity—asked for and gave help as we could. Our lesson was mutual support.

THREE

Now we can aspire to both let go and be strong. Pondering two very different cards, I thought about the serenity prayer: accept what you cannot change and have courage to change what you can. On the one hand, it is sometimes good to trust and surrender, but also we can feel confident in inherent abilities. Our arms are steady and our protective impulses shine even in cold places.

FOUR

What empowers us is our commune with others, especially through small celebrations. With energy renewed, we manifest something new. Like a magician, we sometimes work alone or even in secret. Alchemy happens with strong intentions, an open flame can turn ideas into gold.

FIVE

Grief and loss might seem to stand in our way, but we’re learning to let go. For each empty cup a new glass fills. When it feels as if love disappears, we can focus instead on what remains. We’ve inherited gifts from our past that we can put to good use as we move ahead.

SIX

Relationships and emotions point in new directions. Look out for honest and lively cerebral connections. Together with new energy we can decisively step in, break through confusion, and find unexpected insights.

SEVEN

Work is a hard place. Perspective helps. From high above, we look down and find sustenance even in barren or unsupportive environments; if we find nothing, we spread our wings, fly into the night, and trust in the mystery beyond the mundane.

It looks a bit scary, but I love how the blue eggs survive and grow in a barren nest.

EIGHT

Our health requires careful balance. Place one hand on your heart, and one on your stomach. Imagine surfing waves, or aisles on a moving train. Try warrior pose in yoga. It’s all in the stance. We can be the calm eye in the storm.

NINE

We return again and again to community, and when we feel steady, generously share. This is the secret to our own fulfillment.

TEN

Optimism is our clarion call. When we express our hearts freely and with good intentions, others will be summoned to join us.

ELEVEN

For the coming year, we might also call upon both stealth and protection. We may need to seek advantage by being a bit sly, or to exercise caution when caution is required. Create shelter when the outer world gets intense, and eventually learn to let the fire pass through us. We can find the pace and resources needed to survive.

TWELVE

At the end of this cycle, we arrive in the depths. Perhaps oceans of feeling are transformed into wisdom, or a single bit of troublesome grit is day-by-day shaped into a pearl. We can look up from beneath the water, and see an expanse of sky.

EPILOGUE

When our guests left (promptly at 9—because our midnight is midnight in Ireland, but this is another story!), we watched a New Year’s Eve drone shows and saw a fierce Fire Horse traversing the sky over China. I’m no expert in astrology, but it seems on brand that this year may bring more chaos. So, I hope I’ve conjured a bit of insight and nourishment. If you’d like me to pick a card for you, I’d be happy to oblige!

Since I don’t actually want you to watch True Hauntings, this post contains spoilers. The “true” story of SUNY Geneseo is about a student who enrolled a year before me and was supposedly haunted by Erie Hall’s resident ghost named Tommy. Neither the ghost nor almost anything else in the show seemed familiar. The show features spooky woods, and residence halls that look more like a public high school, complete with lockers. I remember Geneseo as a place with suite-style dorms, shared mixed tapes, and a used book store where you lined up for hours to buy texts for a horn playing legend that looked a lot like Jerry Garcia. The only thing that remotely matched my memory were photos of fluffy-haired 80s kids in togas. Oh, and dumb hats….

Me and a dear friend in Erie Hall — sporting our hats, stonewashed denim and, yep, there’s a crystal around my neck. Was it protecting me from ghosts?

The Netflix guy with an equally clever hat! But no crystal—just a clip-on toga tie.

But among other questionable details was the most questionable of all: the idea that getting into Geneseo was extremely tough, and staying there was tougher.

SUNY Geneseo is indeed a hidden gem—a state school with a small private liberal arts feel—complete with quaint brick buildings, gorgeous sunsets, committed professors, and fun traditions. But with a 66% admit rate it isn’t and never was highly selective. Close to 75% of those who enroll graduate. And here’s another fun fact: even for out-of-state students it’s more affordable than most colleges—about 17K a year.

So why do we terrorize ourselves with depictions of colleges as high stress places that only the elite can attend? I think the true specter is the one many of us who work in the field of college admissions have helped to create: that the only colleges that are worth going to have single digit selectivity. It’s an upside down notion. As Loren Pope (the author of Colleges That Change Lives) points out: judging colleges by admit rates alone is like judging hospitals based on the health of patients when they arrive. There’s been a lot of conversation about this (see: The College Game Is Changing. It’s Still Rigged) but the process of change is slow, in part because the U.S. News rankings are much easier to find than the NSSE: Evidence-Based Improvement in Higher Education surveys which poll students themselves.

Here on October 31 maybe you are celebrating having submitted early applications, maybe you need a little more time, or a year to save money at community college. Maybe you are a junior embarking on your college path and feeling overwhelmed by having to create a passion project or earn a near-perfect SAT score. Surprise! You don’t have to do either.

My Halloween reminder: DO NOT scare yourself with low-production reenactments of negligible hauntings, or skip trick-or-treating to write a last-minute EA application to MIT. Instead, wear a hat of your own choosing, count your treats, sit outside with neighbors and, while you are there, ask them if they went to college and where, and what good things they remember.

Just the other day, I was enviously looking at the abundant white blossoms on a small tree in our neighbor's yard. Why was their Anacacho orchid blooming fully while ours was still bare? After planting, I’d provided a root stimulating sludge, I’d watered during periods of drought. What had I done wrong?

The answer was nothing. My neighbor had simply planted a year (or three) earlier. Of course, I didn't reach my enlightened conclusion without help. My friend, Vivé, a gardener and writer who has an excellent Substack all about change, shared a pithy adage about perennials. Sleep, creep, leap! In other words, after you plant, the first year is the rooting year, the second is for slow growth, and the third is when flowers bloom. This seemed perfectly applicable to our little shrub of a tree—and to teenagers, too.

When families come to me for support as their student applies to college, they often ask, when is the best time to engage help, to build a list, to apply? Well, deadlines aside, it depends on the growth process. Before any of us tackle big projects and life changes, it seems wise to check in with our root development to determine if we are ready. What aspects of ourselves could benefit from nurture? How can we find patience with the process? My little tree was living proof that the oft quoted lines from Ecclesiastes (and from these hep guys with bowl cuts) contain some wisdom.

Especially after the Covid years, I saw some students opt to stay closer to home post-high school and study for a year or two at community college, wisely incubating an extra season. There’s nothing wrong with moving at our own pace. “To apply” after all doesn’t carry just one connotation. Yes, an application is a request from authority, a chance to be accepted, rejected, or temporarily pushed aside. But, more broadly speaking, application is what puts things in motion and brings earnest effort to a task. When I listen to that old Byrds song now, the refrain feels like wheels in motion. Turn, turn, turn. As our lives and environments changes, we might all do well to ask ourselves, am I ready to shift gears and engage?

We experience dormant stages, slow and steady stages, and moments when the energy builds and we jump into our brightest work. Most of us have felt the sting of engaging too soon, especially if you have a teenager living with you: the awkward silences, the eye rolling. When it comes to applying to college, I’ve found that those who start too soon have a hard time identifying interests, producing personal essays, and just plain moving along.

Sleep, creep, leap! I confess, my default as a writer is to try to move from straight from sleep to leap. But I’m getting more curious about creeping along. After writing a Fast Forward piece about my growing acceptance of intermittent inspiration, I’m taking a different tack with a 100-day journaling challenge with the help of Suleika Jaouad’s The Book of Alchemy. Funny. As soon as I gave myself full permission to be dormant, I found the will for steady work.

So here we are: turning with the seasons. With summer approaching, my work ramps up, but I’m going to aim for consistent growth, encourage my students to pace themselves, and watch for all that blooms.

What’s New

College Admissions. A few spots remain this season for personalized undergraduate admissions coaching. I provide support as students uncover their interests, develop college lists, and build compelling applications. As a published author with years of teaching coaching experience, I specialize in guiding students through the thickets as they compose meaningful college app essays. Contact me at laurie@lauriefilipell.org

Graduate School Application Support. For students applying to graduate school, I am expanding on my existing grad school essay coaching by partnering with MBA specialist Raja Ashraf of Bancroft Advising. If you’d like to benefit from her admissions expertise alongside my writing support, let’s talk: laurie@lauriefilipell.org

How many parts make us whole? How can we find these parts?

When someone is anxiously spinning out, we might tell them to “pull yourself together,” meaning control your emotions. Meaning fix it so I can feel more comfortable. But I see it differently. When faced with uncertainty, we might reach out to collect symbols and trinkets that enhance our beauty. We might stretch ourselves out to embrace the roles and beliefs that shimmer at our edges, and then tuck them in place. Like a fitted sheet, or a tightly woven braid. A gentle pull to counteract the spinning.

The more I work with writers, especially young college applicants, the more I believe stories are gathered and woven as much as they are plotted. Sure, advertisers, college admissions folks, teachers and coaches will talk about cohesive step-by-step narratives. I myself often look for signs of a hero’s journey to help align the pieces of a personal essay. But what’s more magical is the gathering of small things that intrigue us, and trusting that together our varied elements make meaning.

As an exercise, I started cataloguing glimmers of life I’ve recently felt. And by this I’m referring to moments when I welled up inside and felt lucky after all to be human. One such event was viewing art at the Tamayo. Another was at San Antonio’s Majestic Theater, watching the folk opera Hadestown. Also, at my desk reading the poetry of the multifaceted Muriel Rukeyser. I lined up these encounters and found a link! Here he is, the figure of Orpheus.

You may remember him as the ancient Greek guy with a lyre, blessed with music that could enchant even fierce animals. He trekked to the underworld to bring back his love, Eurydice. You may remember he failed; Eurydice was returned to Hell. He wandered in sadness and died in pieces, ripped apart by the Maenads.

David Medalla created a mask of Orpheus Descending, made of newspaper, nylon tapestry, strings, coins, and an arrow pin. So many different parts! Hadestown retells the Orpheus & Eurydice myth, and asks that we raise our cups to Orpheus and all of us who sing in spite of the cruelty of fate. In the Poem as Mask, Rukeyser looks back at a previous portrayal of the death of Orpheus and sees herself.

when I wrote of the god,

fragmented, exiled from himself, his life, the love gone

down with song,

it was myself, split open, unable to speak, in exile from

myself.

I’d venture that many artists and writers, like me, create in an attempt to pull ourselves together. The poet Joy Harjo, who I often turn to in anxious moments, calls it spirit. In a poem titled Calling the Spirit Back from Wandering the Earth in Its Human Feet, she writes,

Welcome your spirit back from its wandering. It may return in pieces, in tatters. Gather them together. They will be happy to be found after being lost for so long.

Being whole is varied, not singular; wholeness may require collaboration among seemingly disparate parts, and shared effort with others. In the late 1960s, Medalla made a series of ‘participation works' where the audience sewed small ‘objects of importance’ onto a large cloth in a public space. This propulsive arts event toured the world and landed in Austin, where I live, in the late 90s. I like thinking of the varied tapestries and all the people who were brought together.

Every time we create, alone or with others, there’s a chance to call our truest selves into existence, periodically checking our work to see how the buttons and ribbons and coins and dried flowers come together. Our art and our lives (and yes even our college application essays!) can be fleeting but sturdy. We can tell our own stories, not by dismissing some parts, but by embracing images, collecting ephemera and committing ourselves to some meaningful stitching.

Coming up soon….

Build Your Story, Not a Brand: College Application Essay Kickoff

Saturday, March 29, 10 AM — Noon CDT

In this two-part College Application Essay Kick Off, we’ll discuss how college application essays fit into the overall picture of admissions, and I’ll share some sane and effective strategies for getting them written.

When I finished doing a celebratory jig at my desk, I started thinking about the strange, erratic cycle of rejection and acceptance. What makes us dance with delight or raise a hearty toast is the sheer rarity of success. If you’ve searched for a job, volunteered for a political campaign, tried out for a team, if you’ve dated, and, yes, if you’ve written a book, you know the deflated feeling when an imagined future simply doesn’t come to pass. As a writer and a human who happens to work in the field of college admissions, I’m over the moon when a coveted acceptance comes in, but the truth is many high school seniors are hearing “no” from colleges in myriad forms for unknowable reasons: a rejection, deferral, being CAPed or waitlisted. These cold communications can drain our sense worth and agency, and lead to existential questions. There’s a reason Hamlet’s monologue is so often conjured up: should we suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or take arms against a sea of troubles? Those are two options. But the dispiriting times in which we live make me wonder what other choices can be made when faced with grief and injustice.

What if Hamlet self-published a tirade against his murderous uncle, or went back to the University of Wittenberg (in an early draft, he was only 16) and studied more Humanism? What if instead of ruminating alone, he had taken a revelatory class in Poetic Self-Portraits (as I just did) with the poet Ayokunle Falomo who has a background in storytelling and psychology. He reminded us to take stock of our lives: the places, friendships, objects, and beliefs that shape us. And also that we are more than what we lack. If our current situation doesn’t sustain us, we can imagine something new.

We looked at this portrait by Frida Kahlo. Perhaps no artist captures struggle and reinvention better. She lived with failed surgeries, chronic pain, and, yes, a lack of recognition; yet, here she claims both heartbreak and agency by radically changing her look.

People won't always accept us or celebrate our talents. This is profoundly unfair. But in most cases, we can make a start somewhere. When feeling helpless, my friend Irena organizes her silverware drawer. My friend Carla, in need of hope and community, reached out with the seed of a seemingly foolish, creative idea. (More about Fool Hearty below!) There are almost always options, if we widen our view. Sometimes it helps to cut your hair.

I’ll close with a note to parents like me. If you’ve got a teenager on the cusp of a new chapter, try reflecting back to them who they already are. Scroll through old photos. Tell stories. Listen to songs. They may curse you for being corny, but chances are they are missing the days when they climbed trees, made mud, dressed as unicorns. (And if they didn’t, it’s not too late!) Sometimes we want to manage their time, help build a resume or improve test scores, and they are trying to tell us how hard it can be just to exist. We all need permission to adapt our course, as well as reminders of who we’ve all always been: beautiful and curious, extraordinary from the start.

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What’s New?

Fool Hearty: Episode 1

Sunday, March 2, 3 PM

With friends Carla McElhaney, Cecily Sailor and Dee Susong, I’m hosting Fool Hearty a playful arts event, centered on the theme of the Fool, the first card of tarot. We’ll celebrate possibilities through storytelling, music, and poetry. Indeed, there will be kazoos! So, if you’re in Austin, join us and take heart.

How to Build a Successful College Application Story

Tuesday, March 11, 7 PM

Parent and Friends of LASA Master Class

In support of Austin’s Liberal Arts and Science Academy, college admissions consultant Irena Smith and I are leading an interactive session for families to help identify what truly matters and provide meaningful support in the lead-up to college admission. Tickets here.

Build Your Story, Not a Brand: College Application Essay Kickoff

Saturday, March 29, 10 AM

In this two-part College Application Essay Kick Off, we’ll discuss how college application essays fit into the overall picture of admissions, and I’ll share some sane and effective strategies for getting them written.

It’s that moment of light I want to hold on to. When Emily Dickinson was 16, she wrote poignantly about the passage of time: “Let us strive together to part with time more reluctantly, to watch the pinions of the fleeting moment until they are dim in the distance & the new coming moment claims our attention.” Emily! How on Earth do you create both nostalgia and hope in one beautiful sentence?

If there’s one thing I’ve learned reading her poems with friends, it’s that she is agile. Expansive and succinct. And one thing I’ve learned by Googling just now: pinions can be wings.

Original painting by Eliana Champion

Lest you think I am a Dickinson scholar, I read the pinions snippet in the introduction of “Envelope Poems,” a small book placed lovingly on display at Basket Books in Houston. (And my husband lovingly snuck it to the counter and bought it for me while I had my back turned.) It’s a collection of writings Dickinson penned thriftily on envelopes, all photographed and graphically transcribed. With each page you can pause to decipher her words.

Transcription by Marta L. Werner and Jen Bervin

It’s almost a requirement that you take your time, appreciate how such a fragile form has endured—much as we endure in our short lives. I like pausing there in the middle on the word “merely.” Is it an alternate choice for “only” or did she mean to include both words stacked one upon the other?

The kind of stillness Dickinson suggests seems to be in the air. On Friday, I read a rather slow Chris Haye’s piece in the New York Times. In large part, it was a celebration of boredom. If you don’t have time to read the whole thing, consider the passage below (or consider the Zen proverb that says something like, you should meditate for 20 minutes a day, unless you don’t have time, then meditate for an hour).

Ironically enough, having an intellectual project to work on (like writing a book about attention) now serves as my antidote to mental restlessness. It’s a place to put my attention when I am alone in my own chamber. It provides, in its strange way, the kind of comfort I derived from thinking of baseball stats or comic book characters in the idle hours of my childhood. It provides a framework for structured daydreaming, mind wandering with a purpose.

I’m almost certain Dickinson had a mental restlessness, and that prolific writing gave her a place to land.

When I was a girl, the only thing I liked better than staring out my window was organizing my bookshelf (alphabetically by author, of course). I’d then sit back on my bed and review each title, checking off in my head what I’d already read, and what new stories still awaited me. Giddiness. Potential.

So where does this lead? To the importance of wonder, expectancy, purpose. But also I’m following a thread where so many thoughts lead me: to students on the path to college. At 16, when Emily Dickinson wrote to her friend about “the pinions of the fleeting moment” she was in fact attending Mt. Holyoke. Let’s imagine for a moment what she would have had to say about young applicants who are pushed into promoting themselves like products, or worse, building neat and cohesive narratives whose next chapter has already been written. (Years later she gives us a blatant clue: How dreary – to be – Somebody! / How public – like a Frog –) In fact, Dickinson thought so little of her public perception that she was branded by Revivalists as one of 29 students who were “without hope.”

Let that sink in. Emily Dickinson without hope? (You may insert your own feathers here.)

Maybe this January I will have no resolution other than to watch the past recede and imagine what still might be. I might encourage students to do the same: spreading their lives out before them, losing themselves a little in things they love, cataloging their wishes, watching the pinions disappear. And preparing to sprout wings.

Happy New Year!

Through writing, research, and inquiry, I help students navigate the college admissions process and guide them toward authentic college application essays. Find tips and exercises at the Mighty Writing blog, and learn more about my services at lauriefilipelli.org

Even before what I’m calling “the fall of our discontent,” I’d been thinking life just seems harder these days. Though I have many comforts, there is loss to grieve, there are worries to worry. And always work to be done. So how do we manage? I wrote a few sad poems, shared hugs, tossed flowers on a grave, tossed aside a darkly comic book I was reading in favor of Niall Williams’ This is Happiness. A few times I had to ask for grace from my clients when I got behind or couldn't meet as planned. 

I also watched students navigate vulnerability in their writing. As most of you know, I work in college admissions; there's nothing like a personal statement to bring out the tension between wanting to perform your most competent self and wanting to just say the thing. But of course that dichotomy is wrong. When we find the words for the truth of the turmoil we live with, we are our best selves, and stronger for it. 

One student, when writing about a person she’d most like to meet, came around to the perfect answer: Stevie Nicks. As we talked about her choice, she reminded me of the song Silver Springs. How did Nicks stand on stage and so powerfully sing her pain—directly to its source, no less? 

(I don't usually read comments, but here's my favorite: This is how you win a breakup.)

These days my vulnerability looks less like sheer heartache and more like nostalgia, my girl-self longing to be remembered. As Niall Williams writes, so beautifully, 

When you are born in one century and find yourself walking around in another there's a certain infirmity to your footing. Maybe we all will be so lucky to live long enough to see our time turn to fable. 

It just started to rain. I feel a little less rough for having written. A little more confident and content. I hope for anyone reading that you find your own small valves of release. Maybe through writing, or singing, or a good book, or friendship. We’ll get to the brighter side.

Years later, as a high school teacher, I struggled to teach a more complicated book: A Tale of Two Cities. Several students were hindered by dyslexia, and all of us found Victorian language hard to process. So I read aloud. My students, of course, felt they’d pulled off a great coup, but none-the-less they stiffened when Madame Defarge entered the scene, groaned at the saccharine dialogue of Lucie Mannette, and (spoiler alert) gasped finally when Carton went to the guillotine. I still hear the moving repetitions in his last words (not in my voice, but in the deep tones of Simon Callow narrating an audio version):  “It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known."

When my daughter was born, we received a great gift: a classic British box set of A.A. Milne’s books. And while she was still in her crib, my husband started reading. (For the record, I thought I should be the one to have the honor, but his Eeyore voice was way better than mine!)  Over the years, he read those books 100 times, and she came to use charming phrases like, “I'm thinking my thinks.” (Which isn’t in the books, but it could've been?) One fine Father’s Day, we even gifted him a T-shirt with our favorite Eeyorism: “merriment and whatnot.” 

My old copy of Winnie-the-Pooh alongside my daughter’s copy of The House at Pooh Corner

Because I hear cadences when I read to myself, I’ve been told I’m an auditory learner and a slow reader. I guess I have a listening setting? In the online poetry room I join on Sundays, we read long works together, taking turns with sections of Louise Glück's Averno or Etel Adnan’s Arab Apocalypse. Sometimes we surprise each other. We get choked up. We laugh. My poetry friends are not people I know well… and yet. 

Some words are simply meant to be voiced—flabbergast, mercurial, chonky. But I enjoy hearing all kinds writing aloud. When college applicants share a personal essay during a Zoom call, I ask them to read it to me. Most, in the oft-quoted words of Melville’s Bartleby, “prefer not to.” So I read to them, trying to catch the rhythm of their words. To see what they see. Sometimes they can’t help but edit as they listen. They want it to sound right. 

I’ve gone back, read this post aloud, moved some sentences, cut others, and adjusted small errors in tone. I’ve discovered “British box set” is a pleasing phrase. I also paused to ask my husband to go find that T-shirt and, when it didn’t appear, I said, in my lesser Eeyore voice, “Don’t apologize. It’s just what would happen.”  

Part of me really wants to end there, but it might sound a little sad. Let’s imagine instead Pooh high in the air and dark as a mud puddle, trying to trick bees out of their honey. “Every little cloud/ Always sings aloud.” Sure, we might give ourselves away. Anyhow, let’s indulge our voices. 

A few years back, I wrote a blog post titled after that old secret agent parody show, Get Smart. While agent smart bumbles his way through each caper, his savvy partner, 99, observes evidence and makes connections, leading to the catchphrase “good thinking 99!” My post was less about Mel Brooks and comedy, and more about “good thinking,” or what admissions folks might call “intellectual vitality.”

“Intellectual vitality” is admissions speak for deep-seated curiosity, a desire to engage with and understand the world. It’s a quality that can’t be faked, but it can be cultivated—by spending time in libraries and museums, by listening to TED talks and podcasts, by solving tough math problems, or reading to find the sweet spot between literal and literary translation from one language to another. In other words, being interested is what makes us interesting.

I rarely take my own advice to heart, but as I edged further into my 50s, I thought more about invigorating my own tired brain. I took classes through Rice University’s extension program to up my understanding of college admissions (and believe me, it’s complex; the class on FAFSA almost killed me) and, to indulge myself as a poet, I joined an online poetry room (aka grad school without the mean people!) and a few of Rachel Zucker’s wonderful classes in embodied poetics. The result: I got smarter! But more than that, I felt connected to others who share my to desire to do something more, to be engaged, to learn.  

“Books are the key to smart”

When students come to me for support on their path to college, many feel filled up with the responsibilities of work, classes, test prep, research, and the like. And, yes, frankly, tired, too. So, I assign them books. I honestly don’t know how many read my curated offerings: Joy Harjo’s Crazy Brave for the writer who loves music! Hope Jaren’s Lab Girl for a blossoming scientist!  But once in a while, a student takes up my suggestion. A dedicated soccer player and his dad drive up the Oregon coast listening to Between the World and Me, and it makes my heart sing. (For the record, this student wrote a gorgeously vivid college essay about longing for seemingly simpler times.) 

If you know me, you know I can be overly earnest, so here’s Nate Bargatzi with a lighter reminder about the importance of reading.

@nbcsnlevery book is the most words

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Yes, books have the most words. And, in an age of soundbites and out-of-context quotes, complete books can be a little tough to ingest.

Yet, when we inhale something full and satisfying, we can exhale something meaningful. A great college application essay is a happy side effect of engaging our brains. And our active brains help us find where we fit into the world, taking one step at time, breathing in, breathing out.

The sign below is posted on a walking path along Avenida Amsterdam in Condesa, Mexico City, my favorite calm spot in a loud, bustling city. I love the perfect symmetry of the stacked words, how the “in” and the “ex” align. With joyful effort, our inner lives can provide the refreshment we need to thrive through these sweltering times.

As part of our regular practice, students set their pens to paper for a set number of minutes. Just write and write, our instructors said, there are no wrong answers, it could be total nonsense! And kids wrote! Motivated by the promise of publication in a professionally-bound anthology, they revised their work as well. At the end of the program, some even donned suits and dresses as they read original work in front of an audience of hundreds.   

Our team was so loved that it broke my heart a little. Was there no one else telling kids try hard, invent your way, what you think matters, break a few rules, smile when you read aloud and others will smile, put on this crazy cap, it will make you brave?

As the program manager, I was once asked to lead a very large group of kindergarteners in a writing activity — which presented a particular challenge, since they didn’t yet know how to write. I based the exercise on Maya Angelou’s inspiring poem Life Doesn't Frighten Me at All accompanied by artwork by Jean Michel Basquiat. To start us out, I asked if any in the large group (all sitting criss-cross applesauce on the floor) had a favorite animal. One eager boy said, “Miss. Miss! I have a dragon living in my backyard!” WOW, I thought, this session was going to be great.

I was about to ask for more details when his teacher admonished loudly: “Enough of that. Don’t lie.” There was an eclipse-like chill. Several hands went down. I tried to save the moment, but the moment was gone. Or was it? I read the book aloud, and the kids invented animals, picked talismans, and conquered fears.

One of my favorite poems ever came out of that session. 

I am magic

I am tricky

I am stealin’

I be a stealin’

It might sound ill-advised to encourage “lying,” or to praise a poem that is seemingly about theft. But spirit and bravado is well worth celebration. Here was a confidence that wasn’t based on something concrete the kids had been given: a grade, an award, specific praise. I handed them only a bit of time, a few basic tools, and maybe, with the help of Angelou and Basquiat, a sprinkling of magic. When they wrote something truly original, they just knew it, and felt proud. 

In my college admissions work, we often talk about the missing piece, the spark and wonder that some applicants naturally exhibit but others struggle to find. Thinking back to the the moment when the dragon kid got shut-down, I see how early students are programmed away from their imaginative impulses. Pressured by funding linked to standardized tests, schools lean into skill-based learning, strict schedules, and rubric-based assessment. Even poetry is taught as a fill-in-the-blank exercise, with a simplified acrostic form that require the first letter of each line spell out a word, often the student’s name. (The acrostic, alas, often doubles as a mnemonic for motivational posters promoting school-wide rules. )

Kids learn that learning means getting things right. At the same time, social media promotes unrealistic, and often unattainable, personal standards. How can young people begin to know themselves when they are busy checking boxes, paralyzed by comparison, frantically working to meet standardized expectations while also creating their own brand?

In this climate, applying to college is fraught with both fear and drudgery: build an extensive resume, earn a high GPA, stuff every hour with impressive extracurriculars, and deposit these achievements into a college application. (Or worry extensively that you haven’t done those things, and therefore can’t possibly compete with superior peers.) Even if a student gets into a coveted program, if they don’t know themselves, disappointment may ensue. 

It’s all overwhelming, but there are simple ways we can resist the pressure of stifling academic culture, learn freely, and claim our own magic. It starts with grabbing a notebook and pen and making time for a bit of nonsense. Set a timer for 10 minutes, look out a window, listen to music, or stare for a moment at a strange piece of art, then give yourself permission to just write and write. Describe the world as you see it: dragons and all. 

What’s to Come

• College Application Essay Kick-Off. I’m offering a two part College App Essay session Saturday, May 18th, from 10 AM -12:30 PM (CT). The first hour is open for both applicants and their families to learn more about best practices; the remaining time will be a student-only writing workshop. Sign up for one or both parts of this virtual session by emailing laurie@lauriefilipelli.org

• Poetry and Imagination Tween Summer Camp. In conjunction with Kids with Pens, I’m offering a weeklong in-person poetry camp for tweens, June 10-14. Learn more and register here.

The answer was YES.  After a wonderful session in which we gathered details, imagined recipients for our poems, and read work aloud, there was a palpable warmth in the air. I realized how much we have in common. We all have memories that fill us up, worries that keep us awake, and a desire to listen and be heard. I came away with a full heart, feeling curious about how to continue to make human connections with those who love technology. 

I didn’t have to look far. My husband and daughter are avid readers and talented visual artists who also kick butt at math and embrace AI. In fact you can see that love on full display in Mario’s human/robot art collaborations like this one:

Don’t we all need a kindly robo-butler to give us a moment of shelter? I like to imagine he’s providing guidance, perhaps directions home.

Also, because I’m a bit of history nerd, I found myself thinking about the Statue of Liberty!  In my recent reading The Statue of Liberty: A Transatlantic Story, I’ve learned how the project was originally unpopular in the U.S. for a host of reasons, not the least of which was the general chaos and divisions of the era. To counter the negativity, a French delegation promoted the statue as an impressive feat of engineering, which it most certainly was.

While Bartholdi was the artist who worked tirelessly to make his dream happen, it was Gustave Eiffel's strong and flexible design that won Americans over. Yet, for years, the meaning of the colossus was unstable. Did she stand for abolition, enlightenment, freedom?  The poet Emma Lazarus gave the impressive monument a clear message. Thanks to the her sonnet The New Colossus, the statue became the Mother of Exiles, speaking these iconic lines:

Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!

As a poet who is also a college admissions coach, I hope that I can light my own humble lamp, and show students how their seemingly disparate interests might be combined: art and entrepreneurship, history and business, writing and pre-med. Each combination brings a balance between structure and meaning, scaffolding and deep purpose. What seems to matter most — an impressive resume, an achievement of colossal stature —  may have an emotional counterpoint that matters just as much, if not more. Over spring break, I toured a super-star college with my daughter, and amid all the impressive offerings, one small detail stood out: every newcomer was welcomed by three students who helped them unload the car. Such a small thing, such a big deal for a new freshman.

So, yes, let’s build spreadsheets to help engineer our future, but also, let’s build meaning as we go, and appreciate the bonds that we share.

What’s to Come

• College Application Essay Kick-Off. I’m offering a two part College App Essay session Saturday, May 18th, from 10 AM -12:30 PM (CT). The first hour is open for both applicants and their families to learn more about best practices; the remaining time will be a student-only writing workshop. Sign up for one or both parts of this virtual session by emailing laurie@lauriefilipelli.org

• Greater Austin Book Festival: I’m thrilled to be taking part in panel with acclaimed writers Roger Reeves, KB Brookins, and Sergio Hernandez at Austin’s Central Library on May 11 at 4 PM. Come join the celebration.

• Poetry and Imagination Tween Summer Camp. In conjunction with Kids with Pens, I’m offering a weeklong in-person poetry camp for tweens, June 10-14. Learn more and register here.

. 

As a poet, teacher, and college access counselor, I spend a lot of time thinking about why poetry matters.  An easy answer: poems can help us process big emotions like love and loss. I’m often called upon to read at weddings or funerals, and feel honored to find the perfect occasional verse. But more often than not, poems defy ease. Like an awkward guest, they make people uncomfortable. What is the poem thinking?  Why can’t it speak more plainly? Or worse: is it secretly laughing at me?  

Why bother with such an inexplicable presence? Because the unknown builds our  imaginative capacity.  If we welcome a strange poem as we would an unexpected friend, it can help us to slow down and apprehend the world in new ways, to be flexible, to give up on being “right.”

In his 1821 Defense of Poetry, Percy Shelley defined poetry as an expression of the imagination, which he saw as a counterpoint to reason. Reason might encourage us to enumerate facts, but imagination could create synthesis and connect us with a higher purpose, and each other. Funny enough, he was responding to a satire that claimed poetry was “useless in an age of technology.” 

I recently read an NYT guest essay, The A.I. Economy Will Make Jobs More Human. As workforce experts, the writers conclude that “the knowledge economy is giving way to a relationship economy, in which people skills and social abilities are going to become even more core to success than ever before.” Perhaps poetry is useful after all! In truth, I don’t know if ambiguity, empathy and heart will ever bear economic fruit, but I believe poems can help us navigate our lives with more patience and purpose. And, yes, process big emotions, too. 

I’ll leave you with these mysterious and heartfelt lines from e.e. cummings — read for me and my husband, Mario, at our slightly uncoventional wedding.

​​here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

What’s New

• College Access and Application Essay Coaching. Through writing, inquiry and online tools, I help students navigate the admissions process and guide them toward their most compelling college application essays. Find tips and exercises at the Mighty Writing blog, and learn more about my services at lauriefilipelli.org

• Poetry and Imagination. In conjunction with Austin-based Kids with Pens, I’m offering a weeklong in-person poetry camp for tweens, June 10-14, 10 am-1 pm.

  Learn more and register here. 

• Greater Austin Book Festival. I’m thrilled to take part in Austin Public Library’s gathering of local authors and book lovers on Saturday, May 11th. Come join the celebration!

If you’re like me, you’re now tempted to be forward focused. I will build a new website! I will finish writing my book! We all have to-do lists, resolutions, and plans. But the god Janus has two faces: he looks into the future with one, and turns back to the past with the other. 

Because the previous newsletter service I used is expiring, I spent this morning archiving my tiny letters. It’s weird reading past writing. When I started the newsletter I was living in a different house, my hair was straight, and my daughter was in 4th-grade. Now I look out my window at a different view. Everyday I have to tame my weird middle-age curls. And, yep, my daughter is in high school.

Yet, in truth, my concerns haven’t changed much. Different circumstances, similar beliefs. It turns out that I still seek calm amid chaos, and I’m against man-made walls. I still believe in careful observation, gratitude, and the joy of wacky discoveries.

As the juniors I work with start exploring colleges, I remind them (and their parents!) to appreciate how experiences have shaped their beliefs. In fact, I often suggest that they read and write a This I Believe essay. If you’ve never checked out this old NPR series, or tried to write your own personal manifesto, I highly recommend it. In one of my favorite essays in the series, a young man recalls a spectacular moment in which a Little League game was derailed by simple curiosity: Finding Out What's Under Second Base - This I Believe

I also recommend taking a moment to commemorate 2023. For Christmas my husband and daughter framed my new College Access Counselor certificate. I wouldn’t have thought to do this myself, but seeing it on the wall, I’m reminded that I put effort toward a goal. That experience has been preserved, its value recognized.

What are you saving from the year that has passed? Please feel free to share.

Happy Writing!

Laurie

What’s to Come

• If you are new to this letter, please know you won’t be bombarded. I aim to send notes quarterly, with just an occasional update in between.

• College Access Coaching. I offer support for students, using writing, inquiry and online tools to help find a good college fit. Try out some fun exercises at mightywriting.org.

• College Application Essay Coaching. If you’re interested in avoiding a boiler-plate personal statement process, you can start with the Mighty Writing College App Essay Guide, and contact me for help. 

• Writing Guidance: I always make room to work with a few poets who wish to improve their craft, as well as high schoolers who want to hone their critical thinking and academic writing skills in preparation for college.

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