The system is broken, but the students? They’ll impress you.

It's easy to be discouraged about education in the US. In two days alone, the New York Times ran a story on the nationwide learning regression, the Wall Street Journal on ChatGPT making it impossible to measure what students are learning, and the Austin American-Statesman on the bleak state of the local job market for college graduates.

But in my role coaching admissions essays — working closely with students through several drafts as they try to capture who they are — I get to see that the students are not the system.

These students are clear-eyed about the problems they face in school: social media, grade inflation, AI in their classrooms. They are also worried about what awaits them on the other side: the environment, the country’s growing political division, and whether the jobs they're being prepared for will still exist.

They are equally clear-eyed about their own struggles. They know they are addicted to their phones, that they over-commit, that they chase grades over learning, that their mental health is suffering — and they wish they knew what to do about any of it.

And yet. The kids I know aren’t the TikTok-obsessed, self-absorbed, entitled Gen Zers portrayed in the media. These kids are remarkable. Yes, some of them are valedictorians, varsity athletes, and student leaders, but more importantly, what I see are exceptional people: curious, driven, passionate about the world and the people in it. Here are five of them:

A student sitting in the back of the room on the day an environmental lobbyist passed around a sign-up sheet. When it reached her, it was blank. She felt she had to put her name down anyway, and now lobbies local legislators — and has convinced other students to join her.

A star math and science student who is heading to a top engineering school next fall, yet he wrote his college essay not about robotics or research but about what he learned while helping a neighbor clean up her yard — because that's what mattered most to him.

A student hiking through a riverbed, who stopped by an imbricated (her word) gravel deposit in wonder at the force of the water that formed it.

A student who recognized that their autism spectrum traits were also their superpower, and who, on their own, made a deep study of cognitive science, neuroscience, and human relationships, becoming the go-to person for relationship advice.

A student so determined to help change the law around social media that she had written two different versions of her law school personal statement a year before her application was due.

And this list doesn't even include the future teacher with a vision for the next generation, the activist protesting on weekends, the poet thinking deeply about what it means to be human, the club swimmer driving himself to outdoor practices at 5:30 AM and again at 6:00 PM — all winter.

And here's what frustrates me. These kids did all this despite the issues with the education system. They've taught themselves what their classes didn't have time to cover. They've carried group projects after their teammates checked out. They've shouldered schedules that would break most adults.  They’re remarkable. Imagine what they could do if the system met them halfway. Until it does, I will keep counting myself lucky that I get to know them.

To test or not to test, that is the question. Well, one of them anyway (Part 2)

Part 1 of this series discusses how test scores still matter at selective schools and walks through how to decide whether to invest in test prep. This post is about the second decision: how your test score situation — whether you have a strong score you'll submit, no score at all, or one in between — should shape the colleges you apply to.

The short version: not all test-optional schools function the same way, and treating them as a single category overlooks publicly available, useful information.

What the Common Data Set tells you

The Common Data Set is a standardized document every college publishes annually. The relevant section is C9, and you can find it on each school's institutional research page (search "[school name] common data set"). C9 reports what percentage of enrolled students submitted SAT scores and what percentage submitted ACT scores.

At most selective test-optional schools, somewhere between 30% and 65% of enrolled students submitted some kind of test score. Where the school falls in that range tells you a lot about how it operates under its test-optional policy.

A school where 60-70% of enrollees submit scores means that, while the school may not require submission, admission without a score is far less common. Applying without a score at a school like this is a steeper climb than the school's overall admit rate suggests.

A school where 30-40% of enrollees submitted scores is one where the admissions office has built real capacity to read files without scores. A larger share of admitted students went through that path. Applying without a score is still harder than applying with one, but it's a more realistic choice than at schools where the non-submitter pool is small.

Your odds aren't equal across schools just because they're all called test-optional. Keep that in mind as you decide how to invest time and other resources on supplemental essays and research into the school.

Calibrate to the tier you're targeting

As I discussed in Part 1 (read HERE), the substitute-signal requirements vary by tier. At single-digit-admit-rate schools, applying without a score requires heavyweight credentials — strong AP exam scores, real academic awards, and substantive research. At schools that aren't quite as competitive, the bar is lower, and demonstrated interest can do some of the work.

That tier distinction matters for your list, too. If you're applying without scores at the most competitive schools, be honest about whether your file has the substitute signals to compete in the non-submitter pool. If it doesn't, consider whether it’s worth investing your time in that application, or reconsider whether studying and retaking the test could help.

At the tier below, the calculus is more forgiving. Strong grades, rigorous coursework, and clear engagement with the school can carry an application without scores. But it's still worth using the submission rate as a check on which schools at this tier are genuinely realistic for you as a non-submitter.

Build your list strategically

If you're applying without scores, build in more “safeties” than you otherwise would. The non-submitter pool is harder to crack at every selective school. The way you protect yourself is by having more schools where the admission math works in your favor.

This doesn't mean avoiding your dream schools. Apply if they feel right for you, but be clear-eyed about how your test situation changes your odds at each school. A non-submitter applying to a school where 70% of enrollees submitted scores is in a harder spot than the school's overall admit rate suggests. Set yourself up for success by including more schools with high enough admit rates or a large enough number of test-optional applicants that the math works in your favor.

The takeaway

Your test score decision isn't separate from your college list — it shapes it. The information you need is publicly available. Use it! Look up the submission rates at the test-optional schools you're considering. Dream schools? Absolutely apply, but have a realistic understanding of your chances.

To test or not to test, that is the question. Well, one of them anyway. (Part 1)

The conventional guidance from college counselors is to submit your SAT/ACT scores at highly selective schools if those scores are above the school's published 50th percentile. That advice is as good as any, but before you ever get to the submit-or-withhold question, you've already made two earlier decisions that matter more — whether to take the SAT seriously in the first place, and what your test score situation should mean as you consider how to build your college list. You'll make better decisions if you understand the reality of test-optional schools, not just the marketing language. Here's what you need to know.

What you should know about test-optional schools

The policy language at test-optional schools tends to converge on a single message: submitting scores is optional; there is no penalty for not submitting. That message has been repeated so often that most students and parents now treat it as a given. The data tells a different story.

At every selective school that has published the numbers, students who submitted scores were admitted at substantially higher rates than students who didn't. Yale's admit rate for submitters before they reinstated testing was 6%. For non-submitters, it was 2% — three times the odds. The Common App's aggregate analysis showed submitters at highly selective schools admitted at roughly twice the rate of non-submitters. Fordham reported 63% admit rates for submitters versus 49% for non-submitters. Boston College: 25% versus 10%. The pattern is consistent across schools that have shared the data.

Some of that gap reflects underlying differences in applicant strength — students who submit scores tend to have stronger files overall. But not all of it. Yale's dean of admissions, when they reinstated, acknowledged that the gap was bigger than the rest-of-file differences could explain. He called the policy as practiced "disingenuous." That's the strongest signal yet that test-optional, in practice, doesn't mean what the marketing says it means.

So the first thing to remember is this: at selective test-optional schools, scores matter even when they're not required. The policy gives you the choice of whether to submit, but it does not give you the same odds either way. That changes how to think about the decisions that come before the submit-or-withhold question.

Should you focus on your SAT score?

A generation ago, this wasn't really a decision. Junior year meant test prep — a rite of passage, an unavoidable part of getting into college. Now, test-optional policies have changed that. Many students decide early, often before junior year, that they're going to apply without test scores. The reasoning sounds something like: "scores aren't required, my GPA is strong, I'd rather spend the time on essays and activities."

It's a defensible position. It's also based on the assumption that the data discussed above contradicts. If scores didn't matter at test-optional schools, skipping test-prep would be a reasonable trade-off. But scores do matter – at least at highly selective schools.

The other thing worth knowing is that scores genuinely go up with sustained practice. This isn't marketing from test prep companies. Students who commit to two or three months of consistent work — not a one-time class, but actual practice — typically see meaningful improvement. A 100 to 150 point gain on the SAT isn't unusual for a student who does the work.

That kind of gain isn't just incremental. It's often the difference between a score you'd withhold and a score you'd submit, which would bump you into the applicant pool with the higher acceptance rate. The decision not to prep means you'll never know if your score could have made a difference.

Here's a way to think about whether test prep is the right investment for you specifically. Most students applying without test scores don't realize they need more than their GPA — admissions officers at selective schools are looking for some externally-validated evidence of academic ability, and without a test score, the burden falls entirely on what else is in your file.

The substitutes that work are externally graded or externally validated. Multiple strong AP or IB exam scores — 4s and 5s, not 3s — are the closest direct substitute, because they're nationally normed and not subject to your school's grading. Note the distinction: AP exam scores count, AP course grades don't.

Genuine academic awards count too — AIME qualification, Scholastic Art and Writing Awards, regional or national recognition in a subject area. Substantive research where you personally contributed. Recommendation letters from teachers who can speak to your intellectual seriousness with concrete evidence.

We need to be honest about what doesn't count. Recognition from organizations like National Honor Society, while something to be proud of, won’t be enough. At most high schools, NHS membership requires a minimum GPA and attendance at a few meetings, and almost every applicant to a highly selective school has it. The same is true of class officer positions, club memberships, and most school-based honors that everyone applying to selective colleges also has.

If those externally-validated signals are already strong in your file, you have a real case to make without a test score, and your time may be better spent deepening what's already there — more AP exams, consequential research, a more distinctive academic project.

If they're not strong, test prep is probably the most efficient way to add credible evidence to your application. A 100-150 point score gain is faster and more achievable than building up academic awards from scratch in junior year.

So, when considering the question, to test or not to test? Both options work. Understanding the dynamics will help you make the choice that works best for you.

What? I Have to Decide Now?!! How Elite Schools Shift Their Admissions Risk to Students

In 2011, the University of Chicago's yield rate, the percentage of admitted students who enroll, was about 40%. Last year, it was nearly 90%. A school spokesperson recently explained the change, claiming that more students now consider Chicago their first choice.

Read that again. In a little over a decade, a school that already turned away most of its applicants somehow doubled the rate at which admitted students picked it over every other option. Not because the school changed. Not because of increased competition. But because, supposedly, students love it more now. If you find that explanation difficult to take seriously, you are not alone. The assumption that we'll accept it is itself a flex of the power these schools hold over a student's future.

What's Actually Happening

This week, the Wall Street Journal covered this in detail, and the article is worth reading in full. The short version: elite schools have spent the last decade trying to lock students in earlier and earlier, with tools like an even earlier binding round called "early decision zero." Schools like Chicago have been quietly asking students who applied early action to switch to binding early decision, implying that those who don't are not showing enough commitment. Michigan added a binding early decision this year for the first time, a notable move for an elite public university. "Likely letters," once reserved mainly for recruited athletes, are now used to lock in academically attractive students before formal decisions go out.

Each of these tactics serves the same goal: to maximize the percentage of admitted students who enroll while keeping the admit rate as low as possible. Both numbers feed rankings. Rankings feed prestige. And prestige feeds the tuition revenue.

The Part Nobody Names

The schools themselves frame these tactics as responses to a competitive system they cannot escape. The media tends to take them at their word. They must use these tactics, the argument goes, because everyone else is using them, and any school that unilaterally disarmed would lose ground.

However, this argument falls flat.

In 2011, the University of Chicago was already a school that turned away the majority of its applicants. It was not in any sense struggling to fill a class with strong students. The move from 40% yield to 90% yield was not a survival move. It was optics—a deliberate ploy that created the appearance of demand by taking choice away from applicants and giving the institution certainty. Chicago did not need to do this. Chicago chose to do this.

The same is true of Michigan. The school's spokesperson said the decision to add early decision was made partly to allow students to enjoy their senior year of high school. This is the kind of justification that falls apart the second you say it out loud. If reducing student stress were the actual goal, the school could have expanded non-binding early action and stopped there. Binding early decision does not reduce student stress. It reduces institutional uncertainty by reducing student choice. Those are not the same thing, and dressing one up as the other feels deceitful.

Each of these tactics, once you see them clearly, redirects risk from the school to the student.

The elite schools have built a system that reduces their own uncertainty by transferring risk to the seventeen-year-old.

Early decision asks a student to commit to a school before knowing what financial aid they'll receive, before comparing offers from peer institutions, before they've even attended an admitted student day. The school, meanwhile, knows exactly what it's getting: a guaranteed enrollment, a yield-rate boost, and a staggeringly low acceptance rate. The student takes the risk. The school takes the certainty. The framing of these tactics as inevitable responses to market pressure obscures what they actually are: a choice to care more about the institution than the students.

Schools That Made a Different Choice

Some schools are working to mitigate student risk rather than transfer it. Whitman College, a small liberal arts school in Walla Walla, Washington, offers an early financial aid guarantee—applicants can find out what their aid package will look like before they apply. Even early decision applicants.

That's the part worth sitting with. Most schools claim that binding decisions must come before financial information. Other schools, on the same timeline and with the same constraints, have made a different call about who should absorb the uncertainty.

The Belief That Fuels the System

Every spring, around May 1, a particular kind of article runs in the major papers. It explains the admissions chess game, walks through the latest tactics, quotes consultants on optimal strategy, and ends with some version of, and that's why this year was the most competitive ever. The articles are accurate. They also reinforce the sense that the system is a fact of nature. That the only question is how to play it well. And that the families who can afford consultants and the students who can game deadlines are simply being smarter than everyone else.

Top schools know that parents tolerate the manipulation because they believe it's the price of a good outcome for their child. The media and the college counseling industry profit from that belief, too. But it isn't the whole truth. Exceptional students reach exceptional outcomes from many places—including small liberal arts colleges that don't have the same access pipelines elite schools advertise. The elite schools are not the only path.

The question isn't whether these tactics work. They do. The question is who they work for, and at what cost. When a student applies early decision, they aren't just signaling interest. They're accepting a shift in leverage, often without realizing it. That doesn't make it a bad choice. But it should be a conscious one.

What do you mean, I can’t have a lazy summer? Getting a jump on the college application process.

Most rising seniors I talk to in April are looking forward to a break. And they've earned one. But lazy days in May mean frantic days in October. The Common App opens August 1, and many colleges (including UT Austin and other state universities) begin accepting applications that same day. UT's early action deadline is October 15, which sounds far away until you're staring down a supplemental essay in early October with three others still to write. Some schools also use October deadlines to decide their top merit scholarships, which is the kind of thing nobody mentions until it's too late to matter.

The case for starting now isn't about getting ahead. It's about giving yourself room — to retake a test if the first score isn't what you want, to write an essay you’re proud of instead of one you settle for at 11 pm, to have a senior year that isn't entirely consumed by applications.

Get started — now — your future self will thank you.

Want the longer version? My Senior Summer Planning Guide walks through everything in this post in more detail, with checklists you can work from.

Now (April–May)

• Take a hard look at your extracurriculars and coursework. Where are the gaps? What would meaningful summer work (a job, an internship, volunteering, a class) look like for you?

• Register for tests. The June 6 SAT registration closes May 22; the June 13 ACT closes May 8. Testing in June leaves time for a fall retake if needed. Plan any prep now.

• Contact your recommenders before they scatter for the summer. (How to get an effective letter)

• If you can manage college visits, schedule them.

June and July

• Draft your activities list for the Common App. This takes longer than students expect, and doing it early means you can paste it in cleanly when the Common App opens. (How to fill out the activities list)

• Research schools and build your preliminary list. Write down every deadline — or use my free planning tool.

• Draft the Common App essay. The prompts barely change year to year, so there's no reason to wait for the application to open. Aim to have a finished essay by August 1 — not to be staring at a blank document on August 2.

August 1 onward

• Create your Common App account and start entering information. The biographical and family sections take longer than anyone expects. Upload the essay. Decide whether to retake the SAT or ACT in the fall.

• Get started on supplemental essays. They are an important part of your application that deserves as much time and attention as your Common App essay.

• Check on rec letters early in the fall. Your writers may need a (very polite) nudge.

One last thing: summers get busy in ways you can't predict — jobs, family obligations, last-minute trips, the odd emotional weight of a final summer before college. Leave yourself a buffer. Everything takes longer than you think.

Also, starting now leaves you time to get the help you didn’t know you’d need. I’m always available to answer questions.  And, you can enjoy a few lazy days next summer!

Will They Say Yes? (A Rec Letter, Not a Promposal)

You've seen the promposals - the poster boards, the scavenger hunts, the flash mobs in the cafeteria. All that effort just to ask someone to prom. But when it comes to asking a teacher for a recommendation letter, something that actually affects your future, most students send a two-line email and hope for the best.

Grade inflation has quietly taken away one of the biggest differentiators that admissions committees relied on. When almost everyone has a high GPA, your recommendation letters, like your essays and activities, need to do the heavy lifting. A generic letter won't hurt you, but it won't help you either. Here's how to get a letter that has an impact.

Who to Ask

Before you think about how to ask, think about who. A few guidelines:

Pick a junior-year teacher. Admissions committees want someone who taught you recently. A sophomore-year teacher can work if the relationship was strong, but a freshman-year teacher is too far back.

Pick someone who knows you, not just your grade. An A in a class where you never spoke up gives a teacher very little to write about. A B+ in a class where you asked sharp questions or came to office hours? That teacher has a story to tell.

Think about fit with your application. If you're applying as a STEM major, a letter from your AP Chemistry teacher carries more weight than one from your art teacher — unless your art teacher can speak to something no one else in your application can.

Two teachers, two perspectives. Most schools ask for two recommendations. If one teacher can speak to your intellectual curiosity, choose a second who can speak to your character, collaboration, or growth. You want the committee to see you from different angles.

Ask Early

Teachers, especially the best ones, get buried in requests. At large schools, a popular teacher might write several dozen letters a year. This means that some may limit how many requests they accept.

Ask by the end of your junior year. You're not asking them to write anything yet — you're just getting on their list. They'll appreciate having the summer to think about what to say, and you'll avoid the panic of finding out in September that your first choice already said no.

Be Considerate

Appreciate that you're asking someone to spend real time to help you, so make it easy for them.

Follow your school's process first. Many schools have a formal system for recommendation requests like Naviance or a guidance office form. Use it. Then, when you approach your teacher in person, keep it simple: "I'm hoping you'll write me a recommendation. Do you have a preference for when and how I ask?" You're not asking for the letter yet. You're showing them you respect their process.

Respond to everything immediately. If your teacher emails you a question or asks for additional information, reply that day. Nothing will change a teacher's impression faster than having to chase you down. This is also, by the way, just good professional behavior, and they'll notice.

Give Them Something to Write About

This is the part most students get wrong. They hand over a resume or brag sheet and assume that's enough. It's not. Resumes give a teacher your list of accomplishments. What they need is a moment. Something specific and personal that only they would know about makes it easier for them to write more than a generic recommendation.

When you make your request, include one or two highlights from your time in their class. You're not telling them what to write. You're reminding them of something real and giving them an easy starting point. And you're giving them a sense of what would be most helpful to highlight.

Here's what this can sound like:

"Your class had a big impact on me. I loved our class discussions and feel like they taught me how to use evidence to support my opinions.”

"I'm really proud of the work I did on [project or assignment]. I learned a lot about [the topic], but I also learned how to [build an argument / design an experiment / work through something I didn't understand at first]."

Notice what these do: they're genuine, they're specific, and they point the teacher toward a story without putting words in their mouth.

A Note for Students Reaching for Top-Tier Schools

Here's something you may not know: your recommendation isn't just a letter. It's a form that asks your teacher to rate you on several academic and personal qualities. At the most selective schools, admissions committees are looking for ratings of "Outstanding (Top 5%)" or "One of the top few encountered in my career."

That's a big thing to ask someone to say about you. So, give your teacher the space to be honest. You can say something like:

"I'm applying to some very selective schools, and I know that means I'll need strong recommendations. I also know you're really busy. If you don't feel like you're the right person for this, or you don't have the time, I completely understand — and I'd rather know now so I can plan ahead."

This isn't presumptuous. It's respectful. You're telling the teacher what you're up against, and you're giving them a graceful exit if they can't give you what you need. Most teachers will appreciate the honesty, and the ones who can write that kind of letter will usually tell you so.

A Note for Everyone Else

You don't have to be the top student in the class to get an excellent recommendation. You just need to be honest about what your teacher can speak to.

Think about what you did bring to that classroom. Maybe you helped pull a group project together when things were going sideways. Maybe you stayed after class or did extra credit when you were struggling. Maybe you asked the kind of questions that got other people talking, or you grew noticeably from the beginning of the year to the end.

Give your teacher a specific example to include in their letter. Something like:

"I know I'm not the strongest student in the class, but I'm hoping you'd be willing to write about how I [specific thing you actually did]."

That kind of honesty is disarming, and most teachers will respect it. But here's the important part: don't ask a teacher to say something that isn't true. If you barely participated, don't ask them to write about your "active engagement." They'll either say no, or worse, they'll write something lukewarm that an admissions reader will see right through.

If you're not the kind of student who forms close relationships with teachers, that's okay. It just means your recommendation letters might not be the strongest part of your application, and you'll need your essays and activities to carry more weight.

The Bottom Line

A great recommendation letter isn't something that just happens to you. You can increase your chances of a great letter by giving your teacher a real, specific reason to write something personal. You're making it easy for them to say something true and specific about who you are.

Sample Emails

Example 1

Subject: Recommendation Letter Request

Dear Ms. Carter,

I'm reaching out because I'm hoping you'll write my college recommendation letter.

APUSH was one of my favorite classes. Writing my essay on whether progress requires disruption taught me how to create an argument, and it's actually what motivated me to write my first letter to my state representative.

I'm applying to very selective schools, so I know I'll need strong recommendations. I also know you're very busy. If you don't feel like you're the right person for this, or you don't have the time to write the kind of letter these schools are looking for, I completely understand. I'd rather know now so I can plan ahead.

If you're willing, I'm happy to send you any other information that would be helpful.

Thank you so much for considering it.

[Student Name]

Example 2

Subject: Recommendation Letter Request

Dear Mr. Torres,

I'm hoping you'll consider writing me a college recommendation letter.

I know I wasn't the strongest student this semester, but I'm proud of how I handled the bridge design project. Our group hit a wall halfway through, and I ended up being the one who reorganized our plan and kept everyone on track. I learned a lot about physics, but I also learned that I'm the kind of person who steps up when things aren't going well, and I'd love for colleges to hear about that.

If you're willing, I'll send you my resume and anything else that would help. Just let me know what you need from me and the best way to get it to you.

Thank you,

[Student Name]

Your Life in 150 Characters: The Common App activities section.

You've spent years doing things you care about — leading, building, practicing, showing up. And now the Common App is asking you to describe each one in 150 characters.

That's about 25-30 words. Total.

So, each word must count (*wink*). Don't wait until the last minute thinking you can throw something in. Craft these the way you would your essays. Here's how.

A Few Things Worth Knowing First

Remember, admissions committees review your application holistically — so should you. Your activities section should contribute to a consistent picture of who you are and a strategic story about where you're headed. Are you a student leader? Service-minded? The person who quietly builds things behind the scenes? Are you a future math major or environmental scientist? You don't need all ten activities to point in the same direction, but when an admissions reader finishes scanning your list, they should start to see a person taking shape.

Along with only 150 characters, you only get 10 activities. If you're agonizing over what to leave off, think about what that limit is telling you: admissions committees care about depth more than breadth. Deep involvement with a handful of activities shows commitment and maturity. A long list of titles? Admissions readers see right through that.

Uncommon activities are harder to squeeze in. If you were the president of National Honor Society, the description almost writes itself. But if you spent your weekends building free Little Libraries for underserved neighborhoods? You're going to need every one of those 150 characters just to explain what the activity is, let alone what you did. That's a real challenge, and we'll get to strategies for it below.

A Quick Note on Order

The Common App asks you to rank your activities by importance to you, and they mean it. But "most important" doesn't mean "most impressive sounding." Your first activities should show where you had the biggest impact, what was most interesting to you, where you stood out. Think about it from the reader's perspective: Admissions readers see NHS officer on thousands of applications. Managing weekend operations at your family's restaurant? That tells them something about you that almost no other applicant can say. Put that first.

The Basics of a Good Activity Description

Before we look at examples, a few principles:

Lead with what YOU did, not what the organization does. The reader doesn't need a mission statement. They need to see your role.

Use specific numbers when they help. "Tutored peers" is vague. "Tutored 12 students in AP Calc" is a picture.

Cut every word that isn't earning its place. Articles (a, an, the) can go. So can phrases like "helped to" and "was responsible for." Abbreviate where the meaning is obvious — "yrs," "org," "w/" instead of "with."

Don't waste characters on the obvious. If your position says "Captain" and the activity says "Varsity Soccer," you don't need to write "Led the team as captain" in the description.

Common Activities: Making the Familiar Specific

These are activities admissions readers see constantly. The trick is to make yours concrete enough that they can picture you doing it — not just anyone.

Varsity Soccer — Captain

Led warmups and drills; organized dinners before away games; helped with subbing strategy during games. 2 yr team MVP; 3 yr All-Conference. (139 characters)

Notice there's no "led the team with passion" or "developed leadership skills." It's all action — small, real things that show how you showed up for your team.

Student Government — Class Treasurer

Tracked spending for 5 events; collected dues; gave budget updates to officers/advisor; helped plan junior prom logistics; built budgeting app w/ AI. (149 characters)

This isn't flashy, and that's the point. The reader can see exactly what you did. And that last detail — building a budgeting app — shows initiative without inflating the role. But, don't inflate a bookkeeping role into a finance internship. Honest and specific always beats impressive and fake.

Part-Time Job — Barista, Black Rock Coffee Bar

Trained on espresso, register, and closing procedures; opened shop independently on weekend mornings; handled morning rush solo during staffing gaps. (150 characters)

The hours and weeks are captured in separate fields on the Common App, so don't waste characters repeating them here. Use that space to show what you actually did.

Volunteer Tutoring — National Honor Society

Tutored 3-4 students in algebra & geometry; helped with homework and test prep; focused on organization and study skills to encourage self-sufficiency (150 characters)

The description shows what you did, but that last detail — encourage self-sufficiency — shows how you think. (Notice there's no period at the end; it would put you over 150 characters. Fine to leave it off.)

Debate Team — Varsity Member

Competed in Lincoln-Douglas at 14 tournaments; state quarterfinals; cases focused on environmental policy; researched & wrote all independently (143 characters)

Short, factual, and "wrote all independently" tells the reader something about how you work. But notice the case topic — if this student is applying as an environmental science major, this activity shows exceptional interest in the field. That's the consistent picture working for you.

Uncommon Activities: Making Something Different Easy to Understand

Neighborhood Seed Library — Founder

Built and installed 5 free seed-sharing stations in food deserts; stocked with seasonal vegetable seeds; 200+ families participating after 2 years. (149 characters)

You need the reader to understand the concept and see the impact. "Free seed-sharing stations in food deserts" does both quickly.

Vintage Pinball Restoration — Independent

Restore 1970s-80s pinball machines; source original parts, rebuild circuit boards, refinish cabinets; sold 4 machines, donated 2 to youth centers. (149 characters)

"Independent" as the position signals this is self-driven. The description lets the reader see the skill (electrical, mechanical, aesthetic) without listing them as abstract qualities.

ASL Storytelling YouTube Channel — Creator

Created weekly ASL storytelling videos translating children's books; 2,300 subscribers; partnered with 3 deaf education programs for content feedback. (150 characters)

Every word is doing double duty here — it tells you what the channel is, who it serves, how big it's gotten, and that it's connected to a real community.

Family Restaurant — No formal title

Worked weekend shifts at a family-owned Salvadoran restaurant; built customer engagement through daily social media posts and interaction with comments (149 characters)

"No formal title" is honest and totally fine. The description makes clear this isn't just helping out — it's real responsibility.

One Last Thing

Getting to 150 characters — the best 150 characters — will take several revisions.

Start early. You want time to revisit your descriptions as the rest of your application develops. And ask for help. Sometimes an outsider can see what your experiences say about you before you can see it yourself. (213 characters)

Start early so you can revisit your activities as your application develops. Ask for help. Sometimes an outsider can see things that you missed. (145 characters)

Oh no! I Got an A- in Biology! (What's Really Going On with Your GPA )

Something dramatic has happened to grades in the last decade. And you probably haven't noticed because you've grown up inside it.

In 2016, according to the Higher Education Research Institute at UCLA, about 64% of freshmen entering four-year colleges reported an A average in high school. By 2024, that number had jumped to 84%, and not because students got smarter or schools got better at teaching. That's grade inflation.

But here's where it gets more insidious. The best-meaning tactics to correct for inflation often made it worse. Not long ago, grades were calculated on a 4.0 scale, where a 90 was an A. Now, some schools, including Austin ISD, use a 100-point scale where you need a 100 to get a 4.0 (a 99 converts to a 3.9, a 98 to a 3.8, etc.). A 90 average? That's a 3.0 or a B.

Under this system, every single point matters. Every single point is 0.1 on your GPA. You literally cannot make a mistake if you want a 4.0.

How We Got Here

In the past, a 90 on a test was genuinely excellent. You could miss 10 points and still get an A. An A meant mastery. A B meant you understood the material. There was room to be human, to struggle a little, to learn from a mistake without it haunting your GPA forever. Moreover, Bs were considered fine grades. Even top students would graduate with several Bs on their transcripts.

Now? Many students are aiming for 100 on a 100-point scale. Not as a stretch goal. As the requirement to be at the top of their class, especially in Texas, where being in the top 5% means you are an auto-admit at UT and A&M.

This shift didn't happen because students got smarter or teachers got better at explaining concepts. As colleges became more competitive, students, parents, and school administrators needed higher GPAs to ensure admittance to top schools. Then, as the GPAs rose, the colleges became more competitive — a never-ending cycle. Under this pressure, teachers gradually lowered the standards required for an A. They curve exams so the average becomes an A-. They offer extra credit and retakes. They redefine what "proficiency" means. They change the scale itself to make higher numbers feel normal.

But the math is simple: if most students are getting A's, then the bar for an A has been lowered. Significantly. And if you need a 100 to get a 4.0, then the system is rigged from the start.

The Education Problem

Here's what gets lost when we lower standards across the board: the ability to see how high students can actually go.

When everyone can get 100%, the ceiling falls. There's no way to distinguish the student who has genuinely mastered the material from the one who has mastered the test. Top students don't suddenly become average — but the system stops being able to see them. They collect the same A as everyone else, regardless of how much further they could have gone. This compression isn't just a K–12 problem. At Yale, the share of A's awarded climbed from 67% in 2010 to nearly 79% in 2023. When the top grade is the majority grade, it stops meaning anything.

The strongest students at strong schools are genuinely more prepared than their counterparts a generation ago — but you can't tell from a transcript, because they look identical to students who arrived at the same A without the same work. The signal collapses exactly where admissions needs it most.

And here's the strangest part: students are taking harder classes than ever. Content that once lived in Algebra 1 now shows up in pre-algebra. AP enrollment has exploded. On paper, the pipeline looks more rigorous than it did a generation ago. But the achievement data tells a different story. NAEP reading and math scores have fallen since 2019, with reading at historic lows. College faculty increasingly report that students can't read full-length books or do basic arithmetic without a calculator. The pipeline got wider. What students actually absorb got thinner.

There's another unintended consequence: you've lost the freedom to take intellectual risks. Not long ago, you could graduate with a few B's and take classes that interested you, even if you weren't naturally gifted in them. You could explore, struggle, grow. Now every grade is strategic.

You can maintain a 4.0 without deeply understanding concepts, without building genuine expertise in your subject, without developing the intellectual resilience that comes from failing, analyzing why, and trying again. You're collecting A's while developing neither mastery nor confidence.

If this is making you angry, it should.

The One-Point Anxiety Culture

We've also created a culture where the margin for error is nonexistent.

Miss one question on the biology exam? That's the difference between a 99 and a 98, and suddenly it matters for class rank, for GPA, for the college essay where they'll explain why they didn't maintain perfection. One point. Lost forever.

This isn't normal stress. This is the kind of pressure that spikes cortisol levels and makes students feel like their entire future hinges on executing every single task perfectly, every single day.

And it's creating a very real epidemic of academic anxiety. Students aren't just stressed before tests; they're developing genuine anxiety disorders. They're having panic attacks. They're freezing up even when they know the material. The pressure to perform perfectly has created a mental health crisis that we're treating as though it's a normal part of high school.

The Retake and Extra Credit Trap

But there's another layer to this that makes it even worse: schools have responded to the demand for perfect grades by offering retakes and extra credit to protect students' GPAs.

This sounds helpful, but it's a cunning trap.

Here's what happens: a student gets an 80 on a test, then retakes it. This means they've studied twice for the same test, and they're still studying the material from the first test while the teacher has already moved on to new content. They're in a constant state of catching up.

Then there's extra credit. These assignments often don't feel optional for students who need a perfect GPA. And, rather than promoting learning, they add complexity and hours to an already frantic schedule. Students who are trying to maintain a perfect GPA through retakes and extra credit end up spending more time studying less efficiently.

This isn't a support system. It's a mechanism for perpetuating anxiety while pretending to solve it.

What Can You Do? Choose Differently

The hardest part isn't understanding that the system is broken. It's stepping away from the culture that keeps it alive.

Make the hard decision to mute the group chats analyzing test scores. Unfollow the Instagram accounts about college admissions anxiety. Stop comparing yourself to classmates' acceptances. Take the hard, but interesting class. And, most importantly, walk away from the conversation that's training you to focus on a number instead of an education.

When you do, something shifts. You have time and mental space for something that genuinely matters to you. Maybe that's music, coding, writing, or building something. Maybe it's work you care about, rather than work that looks good on applications.

In the end, your passion, when actively pursued, will be more valuable to colleges than a decimal place on your GPA. And more importantly, it will lead to self-discovery that sets you up for success throughout your life.

Because you are more than a number on a transcript.

Choosing a Topic: Who You Are, Not What You’ve Done

When I first meet with students, they often fall into one of two categories. Either they think they have nothing worth writing about, or they're emotionally attached to what they think is their most impressive story. But here’s the reality – you don’t need to have cured cancer or started a successful business to have something to write about.  And, what feels most impressive may not be your best topic.

Here’s the thing: your essay isn’t about what you’ve done, it’s about who you are.

What Your Essay Is Actually For

Your essay isn't a resume highlight. It's not a list of achievements. Its job is to do three things:

Show that you have self-awareness. You understand who you are - not who you think the readers want you to be.

Help the reader become invested in you as a person. They want to understand what makes you interesting. What do you notice? What matters to you? How do you think?

Demonstrate how your unique traits will help you succeed in college and contribute to the community. This isn't about being impressive. It's about being valuable.

Ultimately, you want to present a compelling version of yourself, so your reader becomes your fan – they want you enough that they’ll become your advocate.

But, I have nothing to write about.

I had a student convinced she had nothing worth writing about. During our discussion, she told me that for years, she had kept a detailed journal -- but only on vacation. She filled pages with minute details: the exact shade of the ocean, the specific birds she saw, the pattern of tiles on someone's patio. Her family teased her for being obsessed over such insignificant things.

But as we talked (and laughed) about this odd habit, she realized something: Appreciating the minute details is part of who she is. While other people start from the big picture and work down, she starts with details and lets them lead her to the bigger story. That's how her mind works. That's a strength.

When I asked another struggling student what her parents remember from her childhood, she said they’d mention playing in the dirt. She’d spend hours outside, digging, observing, building. When she thought more, she realized her childhood curiosity had grown into a passion for environmental advocacy. The essay showed where her values came from and why they matter to her.

In both cases, the starting point was small and ordinary. But the reflection revealed something distinctive about who the writer is. These students didn't think they had material. Turns out, they did.

But I know I want to write about

Maybe you know exactly what you want to write about. You're emotionally attached to it. It feels important. But when you try to explain why, it's hard to articulate. You end up describing the event without really explaining what it revealed about you.

Here's the work: dig deeper into what the moment actually means.

I had a student who was set on writing about her passion for improv.   As we talked, she realized that the ‘Yes, and’ game -- you can’t say no, you have to say yes and add another thought -- was a great metaphor for how she manages challenges in her life. When something unexpected happens, she doesn't shut down. She says yes to it and figures out what to do next. That game revealed her approach to adversity. That was the real story.

Another student wanted to write about quitting her swim team. She was emotionally committed to this moment that freed her up to pursue other activities. However, that insight felt obvious and ordinary.  As we talked, she realized that she hadn't quit the habits she'd built as a swimmer. The ability to maintain sustained effort that resulted in small gains—that was how she approaches all challenges. Ultimately, she quit the team, but she would never stop being a swimmer at heart.

In both cases, the students had the right topic. They just needed to understand how it could reveal something distinctive about them.

What do all these topics have in common?

·      They reveal something true about how the writer thinks: Admissions readers get to see inside their minds to understand not just what you did, but how you process the world.

·      They’re unique: A hundred students will write about founding a club or winning an award. Almost nobody will write about their journal habit or an improv game or playing in the dirt.

The Strategic Part Matters

Each of these essays ended with a thought about the future. Not "I want to change the world," but something like: "This is who I am, and here's how that will serve me in college and beyond."

The journal student: "I approach problems by noticing details first. In college, this will help me in research and analysis."

The improv student: "I handle uncertainty by saying yes to what comes and figuring it out. This will help me adapt to college and take on new challenges."

The environmental student: "My childhood curiosity about nature has become a commitment to environmental advocacy. In college, I want to deepen this work."

The swimming student: "I learned that persistence isn't about the activity, it's about the mindset. That's how I'll approach college coursework and challenges."

See the pattern? They're not boasting. They're making a strategic case for why their unique traits will make them successful.

The Bottom Line

Stop looking for the big accomplishment. Stop waiting for the dramatic moment. Big accomplishments make impressive essays. So do honest, authentic ones.

If you think you have nothing to write about, look closer. The ordinary moments -- the habits, the interests, the small things you do -- often reveal the most about who you are.

And, if you're committed to a story, dig deeper. Ask yourself: what does this moment actually reveal about how I think, what I value, or how I approach challenges?

That's the essay admissions officers want to read.

For more help choosing a topic, check out my free guide HERE.

Stumbling Block or Block Party: The Reality of an A/B Day Schedule

If you're a student, parent, or teacher in a block-schedule school (an A/B day schedule) you know the setup: four classes a day, about 90 minutes each, alternating days, for a total of eight courses. About a third of American high schools use some version of this system. It's been around since the mid-90s, it has vocal supporters, and the research on whether it works is... surprisingly thin.

I have some concerns. While I understand the goals, block scheduling is creating problems that nobody is naming clearly.

How We Got Here

Block scheduling didn't emerge from a breakthrough in learning science. It emerged from a set of practical pressures. Schools wanted to reduce the chaos of six or seven hallway transitions a day. Teachers wanted longer periods for labs, projects, and deeper class discussions. And proponents argued that fewer classes per day would feel less fragmented for students.

These are reasonable goals. But there was another force driving the shift that doesn't get talked about as much: states kept increasing the number of credits required for graduation. In Texas, students now need 26 credits to graduate. On a traditional six-period day over four years, that's only 24 course slots — not even enough to meet the state minimum. A block schedule, with its 32 slots over four years, doesn't just make room for the requirements. It makes them possible in the first place.

In other words, block scheduling was at least partly a logistics fix — a way to squeeze more courses into the same number of school hours. And somewhere along the way, the fix became the philosophy, as if more courses automatically means more learning. It also became a selling point. Schools, both public and private, market block scheduling as an innovative approach that gives students time for deeper projects, labs, and hands-on learning. That sounds great in a brochure. Whether it's happening in the classroom is another question.

What I've Seen (and What the Research Shows)

The 90-Minute Problem

The case for 90-minute periods rests largely on the idea that classes need extended time for labs, projects, and hands-on activities. But how often is that true? A science class might do a lab every week or two. Most other subjects (English, history, math) don’t often need 90 uninterrupted minutes.

So, here's what happens in a 90-minute block, over and over, at school after school: teachers either try to lecture for the full period — which is too long for anyone, let alone a teenager — or they teach for 30 minutes and give students the remaining hour for "independent work." In practice, that independent work time often means phones, Chromebooks, and socializing.

This isn't just my observation. Education researchers have identified these as the two most common failure modes of block scheduling. One teaching resource put it bluntly: lecturing for 90 minutes leads to behavior problems and poor retention, since student attention maxes out at around 15 minutes. And the teach-then-release model means students may only be getting direct instruction on half the material they'd cover in a traditional schedule.

One widely cited review claims block scheduling can work if teachers redesign their instruction for longer periods. But schools have been trying to do that for nearly three decades, and the results haven't materialized. That's not because teachers aren't trying. It's because for most subjects, there's no redesign that improves on shorter, daily contact with the material. You can rearrange a 90-minute lesson to make it less painful, but that doesn't make it more effective than 50 focused minutes every day. The format itself works against how students learn.

The Course Load Problem

We consider four to five courses per semester a full load for college students. But we're asking 15-year-olds to juggle eight different subjects, eight different teachers, and eight different sets of expectations and assignments. Yes, the block schedule spreads these across two days, so students only see four classes per day, but the total cognitive load of managing eight courses is still there.

Ironically, the original push toward block scheduling came partly from the recognition that students were overwhelmed by eight-period days. The solution kept the eight courses but hid them behind alternating days. The overwhelm didn't go away. It just got rearranged.

The Filler Problem

When you have eight course slots to fill, top students aiming at competitive colleges have no choice but to pack their schedule with AP and honors electives since colleges evaluate applicants based on the rigor of their coursework. The opportunity to take more classes sounds good on the surface, but it comes at the cost of less time on the fundamentals and burned-out students.

In some schools, activities like “office aide” and sports have become for-credit courses. And, to protect the GPAs of top athletes who also need strong transcripts, some schools have designated these as "honors" courses. When a school is giving honors credit for football practice, it's worth asking what "honors" means on anyone's transcript.

And there's a deeper question worth asking: Does taking more courses result in more learning? There's a strong case that students would learn more from focused engagement with fewer subjects. But the college admissions system rewards more — more courses, more APs — regardless of whether this leads to improved learning. Then, they complain that students are arriving at college unprepared.

The Spacing Problem

This one is backed by some of the strongest science in all of learning research. The spacing effect, the finding that we learn better when we revisit material at regular intervals rather than in large doses, has been replicated in hundreds of studies going back to the 1880s. Students retain more when they see material frequently in shorter sessions than when they get it in big chunks with gaps in between.

An A/B block schedule is, by design, the opposite of spaced practice. Students get a large dose of material on Monday, don't see that subject again until Wednesday, get another large dose, skip Thursday, and so on. For subjects like math and foreign language, where daily practice and continuity matter enormously, this is a real problem. The research on this isn't ambiguous. Daily contact with material, even in shorter sessions, produces better retention than every-other-day contact in longer sessions.

The Homework Problem

Block scheduling was supposed to give students more time to work during the school day, reducing the homework load. But when a significant portion of that in-class time is lost to attention and engagement problems, the work doesn't disappear. It follows students home. Not every student, of course, but we are asking a lot of teenagers in terms of self-discipline and focus. The students who struggle with this completely normal developmental reality end up with the worst of both worlds: unproductive time at school and a full evening of homework.

Making the Best of It

If you're in a block-schedule school as a student, a parent, or a teacher, you need a strategy to avoid the pitfalls.

Use the independent work time. Seriously. The students who benefit from block scheduling are the ones who treat that in-class work time as real work time. Every assignment finished during the school day is one less thing competing for mental space that evening. And teachers, when practical, can help by making assignments due at the end of the period rather than long-term work that's easy to put off. A deadline 45 minutes away focuses the mind in a way that "work on your project" doesn't.

Review on off days. The cognitive science is clear: even 10-15 minutes of review on the day you don't have a class makes a meaningful difference in retention. A quick review of notes, a few practice problems, a glance at vocabulary. It doesn't have to be a full-on study session — just a brief check-in with the material. This is especially important for math and foreign language. (Hint: this can be done if you have downtime during the school day.)

Stay organized. Organization is a superpower for all students, but it's a necessity on a block schedule. Keep a calendar and a to-do list with due dates (including interim due dates for long projects), along with meetings, practices, and everything else competing for your time. Start every day with a clear vision of what you plan to accomplish.

So, block party or stumbling block? Here's the real truth: if you don't party, you won't stumble.

Your Activities List: What Admissions Readers Actually See

Conventional wisdom says every element of your application should make you look as good as possible. That's a mistake.

Your application should make you look as good as YOU ACTUALLY ARE.

Students commonly inflate their activities list - padding it with accomplishments that sound impressive but don't hold up to scrutiny. Admissions readers see through this quickly. And if they feel like you're trying to hoodwink them, over-promoting yourself can actually count against you.

The reality is that a successful application presents the real, authentic you.

The "Founder" Problem

A common tactic is to claim you "founded a club" at your school. The listing reads: "Founder and President of the Biomedical Sciences Club for students interested in learning about careers in healthcare."

Sounds impressive. But what if that club had three members who met four times during the fall semester of senior year? Without context and details, that's what admissions readers assume.

If you genuinely committed time to founding a club, be detailed and specific: How many members did you recruit? What were significant accomplishments? Did it grow over time? What was your actual role?

If founding that club wasn't significant enough to require real time and genuine leadership, leave it off. Your application will be stronger without it.

Other Common Ways Students Inflate

The club example isn't alone. Students list "Volunteer, Local Food Bank" when they worked two weekends. They list "Tutor" because they helped a neighbor's kid study a couple of times. They list themselves as "Social Media Manager" for a family business when they posted occasionally.

The pattern is the same: trying to make something sound like more than it was. Admissions readers recognize this instantly. And what they conclude is: you don't have much to show.

So, be specific about what you actually did and how much time you invested. Two weekends at the food bank? Say that. That's fine - just be clear about the scope. And, if the activity wasn't substantial enough to describe honestly without sounding small, it probably doesn't belong on your application.

Involvement Looks Different for Everyone

Here's the thing: involvement can show up in lots of ways. Some students have a weekend job. Some do a deep study of a special interest. Some spend hours practicing an instrument, building something, helping in their community.

I worked with a student who loved Minecraft. Most students would never put that on an application. But this student learned to code so he could create mods and ended up logging several hours per week as a moderator for a large community. That's involvement. That's worth listing.

Whatever involvement has meant to you, that's what should be in your application. Not what sounds most impressive on paper, but what's actually real.

When to Start, and When It's Not Too Late

Don't wait until the summer after junior year to start building a record of accomplishments. Throughout high school, look for opportunities to follow your passion and have an impact.

But if you're a rising senior and feel behind, don't panic. It's not too late to commit your time to something meaningful. The key is to present it honestly, in detail, and with specificity - and to give yourself enough time to actually do the work.

The Bottom Line

Admissions readers want to see what you've actually done and who you actually are. Be specific. Be honest. Present the real version of your accomplishments, not an inflated one.

A unique version of what's special about you is much more powerful than padding your resume with activities that make you look like every other applicant.

Not sure where to start? Think about what your genuine interests are:

• Love to cook? Keep track of every new recipe you've tried, then pack up meals to hand out to people experiencing homelessness.

• Big reader? Keep a book list, set a goal of books or pages to read, create specialized reading lists to share with your local library or elementary school.

• Play video games? Enter tournaments or volunteer with a community that shares your interest.

• Deep dive into a topic? Document what you've learned, start a Substack, and share it.

• Build or make things? Show the progression of your work.

Whatever it is, commit to it, then present yourself honestly. That's what will stand out.