Writing Who You Are
a celebration of personal stories (and a proud wife moment)
One of my favorite jobs I’ve ever had was helping high schoolers write their college admissions essays1. I loved it because 90% of the deal was giving teenagers permission to be and express themselves with a freedom that most other authority figures in their lives did not permit. We would talk and they would tell me stories while I pointed out the parts that seemed to spark something in them. I helped them draw connections between experiences that felt disjointed but together added up to something meaningful and specific. I told them what things about them were just a little bit weird, which, I tried to emphasize, was the highest possible compliment I could bestow.
I spent so much glorious time telling 17-year-olds “you are allowed to say that,” “it’s okay to write how you talk,” and “that’s actually unique to you! I think you should write more about it!” It was awesome. They didn’t always believe me at first. But over the years I helped some incredible kids tell incredible stories, mostly just by telling them that the things they cared about were okay to care about. And that writing about those things was worthwhile.
My prime adversaries were, more often than not, well-meaning college counselors and parents who would read the stories and essays that their students or children had written and who would then offer the criticism that became the bane of my entire creative tutoring career: “There’s not enough you in here.”
College essays, these adults said, were an opportunity for the applicant to show who they were. It was the only chance, they warned, for a student to talk directly to the admissions officer. “So don’t you want to tell them about yourself? To talk yourself up? To make them want you?”
They weren’t wrong about the objective. But 9 times out of 10 they were wrong about the execution. These counselors and parents often wanted students to say directly how things made them feel. To explicitly lay out that they had been “persistent” or had “used their social skills” or “have always been passionate about helping others.”
“You have to say that,” my benevolent enemies insisted. “Talk about you. This essay is about you.”
They knew, I think, intuitively that “showing was better than telling” but in such a high stakes situation, it was probably better to do both.
More than anything, this mandate of self-obsession made the students anxious. They found themselves writing about what they thought, or felt, or experienced and then stopping to worry that their work was lacking a “personal element.” How could they, in 650 words, possibly show enough of themselves. Would the admissions officer learn anything about them if all they did was tell a story of losing their favorite necklace.
“Is this story enough about me?” they would ask, sighing, frustrated, and freaked.
“Yes.” I would say, “Because it’s the story you chose to write.”
“These admissions officers have looked at your resume, your grades, your extra-curricular everything. They’ve read recommendations from your teachers and seen a breakdown of your school day and environment. They have your test scores and your family education history. They have a picture, in numbers, of how hard you work and how busy you are. And then, they have these 650 words that you wrote. They are learning about you, because you are telling them what’s important to you. You are showing them what you would do if you only had 650 words to give your on-paper self three dimensions.
“This essay is about you because, with the limited time and space you were given, this is what you decided to write.”
My favorite person in the world published a book today. He worked on writing the book for years and on living the book even longer than that.
It is a desperately funny, deeply heartfelt, and formally fun journey through the American immigration system that he’s spent such an infuriating amount of time in. Reading it feels like playing a game but also hanging out with maybe the coolest, smartest, funniest person who ever lived. It’s a book that makes me furious with America. It’s a book that makes me ache for America. It’s a book that makes me love America. And it’s a book that dunks hard and fast on the French for like 12 straight pages.
I have watched Felipe over the past 8 years constantly struggle, as all writers do, with finding time and space and energy and motivation to write. He’s stolen it in snippets of time at advertising jobs he hated, snuck in moments in the evenings after coming home exhausted from his dream job, tried desperately to squeeze some in on weekend mornings while some blonde lady dances around like a human “which disney princess are you?” quiz while interrupting herself every 10 minutes to reheat the cup of coffee she’s not going to finish. (That’s me. I do that.)
With the limited time and space he was given, this is what he decided to write. And with those fleeting and precious pockets of creation, he made an incredible, helpful, frustrating, compassionate, hysterical work of art and hope. He decided that his valuable creative energy was going to be directed toward “Making learning about the immigration system approachable and also funny.” What a ridiculous undertaking. What a preposterous proposal. What a noble experiment. What an American dream.
This is all very serious and moody because I am very proud and crying and all of the things you feel when someone you love and adore does something at the height of their abilities. But the book itself is fun! It’s joyful! It’s entertaining! It will help some people to understand and some people to feel understood. It will make everyone go “hehehe” or “jajaja.”
I hope you’ll buy the book. (Here is another link!) I hope you’ll read it. I hope you’ll comment on Amazon or Goodreads about how much you liked it and how much you learned and laughed. I hope you will appreciate whatever kind of lucky you are. I hope you’ll be the lucky thing in someone else’s life.
I am so proud of the man I married for putting so much of himself in the world. And I am so grateful, for all of us, that own chosen adventure led him here.
<3 TKP
HERE IS A SCHEDULE OF BOOK-ORIENTED HANGS!!
If you’re in New York - I hope you’ll come hang out at Caveat tomorrow night for a comedy show and book signing!
If you’re in Kansas City on March 20th, I hope you’ll come to The Bird Theatre for a comedy show and book signing hosted by Rainy Day Books!!
If you’re in Boston on April 10th, I hope you’ll come to the Brookline Booksmith conversation and book signing.
If you’re in Miami on May 27, I hope you’ll come to Books & Books
A NOTE: I don’t mean “help” as in “write the whole thing for them and then charge 400 dollars an hour” and I don’t mean “help” as in “give them a perfect essay formula and then have them fill in the blanks like external affirmation mad libs.” I mean “help” as in “coach.” I mean “help” as in “offer support.”