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invisibleone wrote:Hello. I'll be applying to Yale Law school this fall, for admission in 2018, and I am looking for a little feedback on my optional essay, the "Yale 250". I'm convinced it's pretty much crap, and my roommate seems to agree, but I was hoping there might be some redeeming value to the overall piece? If it sucks, don't worry, you won't hurt my feelings, since I'm pretty sure I have no shot at Yale Law School to begin with (at the LSAT and GPA medians, but I went to a "no-name" college for undergrad").

Anyway, here it is:

The first motorcycle I owned was a green Kawasaki Ninja 300. It had all the style of bonafide sport bikes without all the power (or danger) that accompanies them. I bought it new, right off the showroom floor. I worked hard to save enough money for the down payment, and although my dad graciously co-signed my loan, it was mine. I was proud. I had worked hard to be able to afford the monthly payments, and labored three weeks prior in a motorcycle safety class to earn the small “M” on my driver’s license, designating me as a legal rider. Despite having less than ten hours’ worth of riding experience, I considered myself an “official” rider the day my bike was delivered.

Unfortunately, I was unaware of a truism that seasoned riders know all too well: it’s not a matter of “if” you drop the bike, but “when”. I became acquainted with this principle quickly; the first time I rode my brand new, pristine Kawasaki Ninja 300 I crashed it, hard. Just like my new ride, my ego was scuffed. My crash back to reality taught me a valuable lesson about pretending to be something I am not, humility, and a little about actually riding a motorcycle (mind the front brake). Four years later I am still riding motorcycles, but now with the confidence and skill that four years’ worth of riding experience confers. Four years later I now know there is no such thing as an “official” rider.

invisibleone wrote:The first motorcycle I owned was a green Kawasaki Ninja 300. It had all the style of bonafide sport bikes without all the power (or danger) that accompanies them. I bought it new, right off the showroom floor. I worked hard to save enough money for the down payment, and although my dad graciously co-signed my loan, it was mine. I was proud. I had worked hard to be able to afford the monthly payments, and labored three weeks prior in a motorcycle safety class to earn the small “M” on my driver’s license, designating me as a legal rider. Despite having less than ten hours’ worth of riding experience, I considered myself an “official” rider the day my bike was delivered.

Unfortunately, I was unaware of a truism that seasoned riders know all too well: it’s not a matter of “if” you drop the bike, but “when”. I became acquainted with this principle quickly; the first time I rode my brand new, pristine Kawasaki Ninja 300 I crashed it, hard. Just like my new ride, my ego was scuffed. My crash back to reality taught me a valuable lesson about pretending to be something I am not, humility, and a little about actually riding a motorcycle (mind the front brake). Four years later I am still riding motorcycles, but now with the confidence and skill that four years’ worth of riding experience confers. Four years later I now know there is no such thing as an “official” rider.

invisibleone wrote: The My first motorcycle I owned was a green Kawasaki Ninja 300. It had all the style of a bonafide sport bikes without all the power (or danger)that accompanies them. I bought it new, right off the showroom floor. I worked hard to save enough money for the down payment, and although my dad graciously co-signed my loan, it was mine. I was proud. I had worked hard to be able to afford the monthly payments, and labored three weeks prior in had taken a motorcycle safety class to earn the small “M” on my driver’s license, designating me as a legal rider. Despite having less than ten hours’ worth of riding experience, I considered myself an “official” rider the day my bike was delivered.

Unfortunately, I was unaware of a truism that seasoned riders know all too well: it’s not a matter of “if” you drop the bike, but “when”. I became acquainted with this principle quickly;: the first time I rode my brand new, pristine Kawasaki Ninja 300 I crashed it, hard. Just like my new ride, my ego was scuffed. My crash back to reality taught me a valuable lesson about pretending to be something I am not, humility, and a little about actually riding a motorcycle (mind the front brake). Four years later I am still riding motorcycles, but now with the confidence and skill that gained from four years’ worth of riding experience confers. Four years later I now know there is no such thing as an “official” rider.