"I'm sort of still in shock. I don't think I've processed everything yet," she excitedly told Business Insider.
The Ivy League is notoriously hard to get into, as the hundreds of thousands of other applicants to the eight elite schools are well aware. The schools Stinson was accepted into have acceptance rates ranging from 13.96% to 4.69%. Stinson graciously shared her Common Application admissions essay with Business Insider, which we've reprinted verbatim below.
Prompt 1: Some students have a
background, identity, interest, or talent that is so meaningful they
believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds
like you, then please share your story.
Managing to break free from my
mother’s grasp, I charged. With arms flailing and chubby legs fluttering
beneath me, I was the ferocious two year old rampaging through Costco
on a Saturday morning. My mother’s eyes widened in horror as I
jettisoned my churro; the cinnamonsugar rocket gracefully sliced its
way through the air while I continued my spree. I sprinted through the
aisles, looking up in awe at the massive bulk products that towered over
me.
Overcome with wonder, I wanted to touch and taste, to stick my head
into industrialsized freezers, to explore every crevice. I was a
conquistador, but rather than searching the land for El Dorado, I
scoured aisles for free samples. Before inevitably being whisked
away into a shopping cart, I scaled a mountain of plush toys and
surveyed the expanse that lay before me: the kingdom of Costco.
Notorious for its oversized portions
and dollarfifty hot dog combo, Costco is the apex of consumerism. From
the days spent being toted around in a shopping cart to when I was
finally tall enough to reach lofty sample trays, Costco has endured a
steady presence throughout my life. As a veteran Costco shopper, I
navigate the aisles of foodstuffs, thrusting the majority of my weight
upon a generously filled shopping cart whose enormity juxtaposes my
small frame. Over time, I’ve developed a habit of observing fellow
patrons tote their carts piled with frozen burritos, cheese puffs, tubs
of ice cream, and weightloss supplements. Perusing the aisles gave me
time to ponder. Who needs three pounds of sour cream? Was cultured
yogurt any more wellmannered than its uncultured counterpart? Costco
gave birth to my unfettered curiosity.
While enjoying an obligatory hot dog,
I did not find myself thinking about the ‘all beef’ goodness
that Costco boasted. I instead considered finitudes and infinitudes,
unimagined uses for tubs of sour cream, the projectile motion of said
tub when launched from an eighty foot shelf or maybe when pushed from a
speedy cart by a scrawny seventeen year old. I contemplated the
philosophical: If there exists a thirtythree ounce jar of Nutella, do
we really have free will? I experienced a harsh physics lesson while
observing a shopper who had no evident familiarity of inertia's
workings. With a cart filled to overflowing, she made her way towards
the sloped exit, continuing to push and push while steadily losing
control until the cart escaped her and went crashing into a concrete
column, 52” plasma screen TV and all. Purchasing the yuletide
hickory smoked ham inevitably led to a conversation between my father
and me about Andrew Jackson’s controversiality. There was no questioning
Old Hickory’s dedication; he was steadfast in his beliefs and pursuits –
qualities I am compelled to admire, yet his morals were crooked. We
both found the ham to be more likeable–and tender.
I adopted my exploratory skills, fine
tuned by Costco, towards my intellectual endeavors. Just as I sampled
buffalochicken dip or chocolate truffles, I probed the realms of
history, dance and biology, all in pursuit of the ideal cart–one
overflowing with theoretical situations and notions both silly and
serious. I sampled calculus, crosscountry running, scientific research,
all of which are now household favorites. With cart in hand, I do what
scares me; I absorb the warehouse that is the world. Whether it be
through attempting aerial yoga, learning how to chart blackbody
radiation using astronomical software, or dancing in front of hundreds
of people, I am compelled to try any activity that interests me in the
slightest.
My intense desire to know, to explore
beyond the bounds of rational thought; this is what defines me. Costco
fuels my insatiability and cultivates curiosity within me at a cellular
level. Encoded to immerse myself in the unknown, I find it difficult to
complacently accept the “what”; I want to hunt for the “whys”
and dissect the “hows”. In essence, I subsist on discovery.
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