Harvard Application Essay
I’m a lucky guy.
I’ve been fortunate all my life, ever since my birth in the heart of Manhattan’s Upper West Side, a storied locale steeped in success and privilege. Opportunity was my birthright, as illustrated by my attendance at Phillips Exeter Academy; there, I nurtured the awareness of just how fortunate I was to swim in such an elite milieu. Every day there felt like a testament to the luck which had graced my life.
Academically, I thrived at Exeter. With a sharp interest in economics and a natural aptitude for numbers, I quickly distinguished myself in subjects like mathematics and Global Business. During the summers, I gained educational exposure to the world of derivatives by shadowing professionals at my father’s brokerage firm. One of the top traders there was fond of quoting Seneca: “Luck,” he declared, “is what happens when preparation meets opportunity.”
In addition to my academic blessings, my luck also extended to being blessed with a robust physique. With the apt guidance of former Olympic coach Charles Silva, I matured into a top competitive swimmer. This athletic endowment was also the means by which I managed to give back to the less fortunate–by volunteering as a lifeguard at an urban YMCA.
In that trusted position, I gleaned life lessons which have served me ever since. There, perched atop my lifeguard’s chair like a throne, I peered down at my young splashing charges and contemplated how fragile life really is. Unlucky accidents happen in the water constantly: a sudden cramp, a split-second misstep, a breath gasped at the wrong moment… How easy it would be, I realized, for a bit of innocent horseplay to have fatal consequences in the water! These realizations enhanced my vigilance as a lifeguard; I suddenly saw myself as very much a gatekeeper between life and death.
Of all the strokes of luck in my young life, I’m most impressed by my good fortune of having exceptional people in my social circle. No one exemplified that better than my best friend, Paul. Paul was always one step ahead–a little more charismatic, a little more successful, always seeming to glide through life with effortless charm. We shared the same privileged upbringing, the same drive, but Paul was special in a way that pushed me to work harder, to strive for more.
No matter how assiduously I applied myself, Paul was always a cut above. In fact, to be entirely forthright, if Harvard had to make the choice between us, Harvard would choose Paul over me–and I would understand completely.
It’s difficult to write about Paul now because his life was cut short so tragically. His sudden, unexpected demise has left a hole in my life, one that I still don’t fully comprehend. I even have hours where I blame myself for what happened to Paul, but my friends tell me that this is just a touch of “survivor’s guilt.” I did everything I could, they assure me.
It’s strange–how fleeting success can be, how fragile even the most perfect lives are. I miss Paul every day, and this essay is, in many ways, a tribute to him, to the role he played in shaping who I am. His passing reminds me to appreciate my own good fortune even more.
Last year, Harvard’s acceptance rate was 3.59%. If I were fortunate enough to be admitted as one of these lucky few, I would hold Paul in my thoughts each day. His abrupt passing remind me to cherish my own life; he is my ever- present reminder of the delicate balance between luck and fate.
I’m only in the springtime of my life. Yet, despite all the luck I have enjoyed, I’ve learned from experience that true success isn’t something handed to you on a proverbial silver platter. Rather, success is something that must be grasped with all the fervor of a drowning man. For as Ernest Hemingway once instructed his son: “You make your own luck.” How true that is.