August 24, 2026

I used to cry a lot

I used to cry a lot.

When I didn't understand a math problem.

When I fell on the soccer field.

Every time I got scolded, not even yelled at, just being told I did something a bit wrong.

Most little kids cry over spilt milk, but I would cry if the cup wobbled.

My dad hated it, of course.

Getting caught crying meant there'd be a real reason to cry.

And it successfully bred the habit out of me in the way an iPad these days can't.

Although I have him to thank for no longer being a pushover, I do still have tears in private from time to time as a 24-year-old man.

But I've noticed that a higher propensity to cry correlates with something important:

You're more in tune with what makes others feel too.

It's a form of sensitivity, a writer's best instrument, and I've been running it at full volume my whole life.

Now, why do you think you've read this far?

You do not know me.

This is an email about college applications.

Yet you're still here, because I told you something a little embarrassing about myself and you wanted to see where it went.

That is the entire thing your essay has to do to a stranger reading three hundred of them in one day.

So when you sit down to write, do not go looking for your most impressive story.

Search for the one you'd rather not tell.

The thing you got in trouble for.

The part of yourself you matured out of, but still keep around just in case.

Find it, and put it proudly on the page.

If you have not gathered your material yet, start with the brain dump.