My conscience is my albatross. My albatross is my legacy. Ever since I was young, I strived to be right and good, to the frustration of everyone around me. One of my earliest memories of this was in the first grade. I forced myself to sit out of recess as punishment for not finishing an assignment before the bell. I watched with a blank stare as my classmates ran across the blacktop, chasing after tennis balls and hollering with glee. The disappointment in myself that I felt was immeasurable. I stewed in my own negativity in silence, and was unable to move on from my failure for the rest of the school day. This was the first time I had worn an albatross. I learned about its significance first in my AP English class, when my teacher introduced us to The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, written by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. My teacher explained that in the poem, the albatross serves as a metaphor for burden, psychological curse, or penance. I immediately grabbed my journal and wrote the words, “My mind is a nest of albatross,” under a doodle of an oak tree done only minutes prior. Albatrosses are typically native to the Northern Pacific and southern oceans. Although I’ve spent my entire life in temperate New England, I know the gigantic seabird well. If my conscience is an albatross, then every day I wake up in an albatross coat. I walk through life weighed down by a flock of dead seabirds, not knowing why I was cursed with such a fate. Because the error-induced anguish I put myself through is so exhausting, I occasionally catch myself looking on with envy at those who can wear their own skin, instead of a bird’s. However, as I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to realize that a strict conscience is grounding. believe that I am blessed, and that the discomfort which comes with my adornment is not in vain. My albatross makes me honest. My albatross makes me kind. My albatross makes me want to make the world a better place. It’s what makes me recycle my trash, eat vegan, and put bugs outside instead of squishing them. But most importantly, my coat is what lets me give back to the people I love. When I was fourteen, a single albatross perched on my shoulder. My grandfather, my most beloved friend, was slowly falling victim to the cancer he battled for twenty-six years. Being around him would make my heart swell and eyes water with joy. In February of 2018, the tears came from the deepest sorrow I had yet to know. His death was not kind. He remained unconscious for three days until his passing, all of which I spent in the hospital. It was three days of hearing him cry out in pain only to return to a coma, and three days of hearing his lungs rattle with death. I wanted so desperately to escape from it all, but I knew what I must do. I slept in the chair next to his bed, holding his warm hand throughout the night. I crawled into his bed and held him as he took his last breath on Earth. My albatross allowed me to add pocket change to a debt I could never repay. This is my greatest accomplishment. Sometimes I hate my coat. It can torment me over the smallest of things, which I am working to grow past. But in the end, I know I’m better with it.

When asked to describe what I want to be known for, I think of one word: tenacity. Oxford’s dictionary defines tenacity as “the quality or fact of being very determined; determination.” It is without doubt that I am a determined individual, motivated by big sights and even bigger dreams. But the definition I feel fits me best is the second, more forgotten one: “the quality or fact of continuing to exist; persistence.” In my mind, physical existence is a mediocre vessel through which we can barely touch our world. What really matters to me is the persistence of the whole self– who we are, what we believe in, what we desire, etc. I am tenacious in the sense that while my body will someday die, the determination and fire that is me will never cease to exist. It will be my legacy. To me, a legacy is whatever lasting impact we have on the world, good or bad. Some people leave behind subtle legacies present only in the hearts of friends and loved ones. Others are akin to Midas- spreading their essence across the world and history books. In all cases, impact requires change. In a world already established, change means the old is culled for the new. In order to truly leave our mark, we must leave destruction in our wake. My legacy will burn through the Earth. My heart has been set aflame ever since receiving that fateful phone call from Yale University this February. Not only does Yale offer my desired major of Cognitive Science, the program is of the highest caliber. The importance of this goes beyond the most obvious, rational reasons– the degree is versatile due to the study’s interdisciplinary nature, it offers career opportunities into the ever-growing field of technology, etc. Cognitive Science (the study of the human mind and how it functions) is the key to my final goal, and my existence in this world. I want to develop the language necessary to both describe and facilitate the treatment of a specific genre of mental sufferings. In short, I want to define an unrecognized category of mental illness and disorder, inspired by my own experiences. Ever since I was young, my tenacity took form as the determination to be a moral absolute. One of my earliest memories of this was in the first grade. I forced myself to sit out of recess as punishment for not finishing an assignment before the bell. I watched with a blank stare as my classmates ran across the blacktop, chasing after tennis balls and hollering with glee. The disappointment in myself that I felt was immeasurable. I stewed in my own negativity in silence, and was unable to move on from my failure for the rest of the school day. Although this punishment isn’t severe in nature, the context of both my age and the intrinsic nature of the guilt speaks volumes. This was only the beginning of a life where self-punishment, shame, and restriction were common themes, but never aligned with a pre-existing diagnosis. Even after significant healing, I am still lost on what possibly could have been done to prevent my turmoil at such an early age. Because of this, I want my legacy–my existence–to be one that helps people. My goal is a daunting one, but I will not fall underneath it. I’ve dared to exist in mind and soul for this long, even through the confusing pain and guilt associated with it. It’s time to use the opportunist hand’s deal to me for the sake of others. I’d be incredibly honored to receive any help in realizing my existence. Thank you for reading, -The self-proclaimed tenacious Madison Laprise

Up until recently, I was not familiar with failure. I grew up as the token "smart kid" in the class who could ace tests and quizzes without a minute of studying. I won the lottery of privilege- I have two loving, supporting parents, a roof over my head, and a dinner plate that is always full. Though this is not to say that I haven't gone through my own share of hardships, but rather, that I had not experienced a hardship at the cause of my own hand. My first taste of failure was in my sophomore year of high school, when I tried out for the girls' volleyball team at my school. I was confident. The previous year I started nearly every game, and I rarely took a bench over the winter club season. And yet, I didn't make the team. I remember it so clearly, being called into the hallway and being told my skills just weren't enough. The language my coach used was vague enough to warrant further questions, but I wasn't thinking. My normally chatty inner monologue being silenced by pure spite. It was only after I made it into my mother's car that I let myself cry. Volleyball was the only sport I could call my own. All the parts of the game - the rotations, the feel of the ball, the burns from the floor - were part of me, until they suddenly weren't. I was devastated. I remember revising over and over the speech I was going to give to my coach, to plead with her to give me a chance. By the nature of this essay, it's safe to say she didn't. For the first time in my young life, I had suffered a catastrophic failure. I simply wasn't good enough. But it made me understand why I was special beyond that one failure. I am tenacious. Oxford’s dictionary defines tenacity as “the quality or fact of being very determined; determination.” It is without doubt that I am a determined individual, motivated by big sights and even bigger dreams. But the definition I feel fits me best is the second, more forgotten one: “the quality or fact of continuing to exist; persistence.” In my mind, physical existence is a mediocre vessel through which we can barely touch our world. What really matters to me is the persistence of the whole self– who we are, what we believe in, what we desire, etc. I am tenacious in the sense that while my body will someday die, the determination and fire that is me will never cease to exist. My fire is unrelenting. Although volleyball's door of opportunity closed several years ago, I have not laid down to rot. I pursued other passions, like swimming and my academics- especially the latter. My heart has been set aflame ever since receiving that fateful phone call from Yale University this February. Not only does Yale offer my desired major of Cognitive Science, the program is of the highest caliber. The importance of this goes beyond the most obvious, rational reasons– the degree is versatile due to the study’s interdisciplinary nature, it offers career opportunities into the ever-growing field of technology, etc. Cognitive Science (the study of the human mind and how it functions) is the key to my final goal, and my existence in this world. I want to develop the language necessary to both describe and facilitate the treatment of a specific genre of mental sufferings. In short, I want to define an unrecognized category of mental illness and disorder, inspired by my own experiences. Because of this, I want my legacy–my existence–to be one that helps people. My goal is a daunting one, but I will not fall underneath it. I’ve dared to exist in mind and soul for this long, even through the confusing pain and guilt associated with it. It’s time to use the opportunist hand’s deal to me for the sake of others. Thank you for reading, -The self-proclaimed tenacious Madison Laprise

Last year I learned many things- how to make a mask, how to eyeball six feet, and how to sanitize like a professional. The most important thing I learned though, had nothing to do with the pandemic. I learned about love. As a child, I despised the “relationships” my peers were constantly getting into. I found them childish and shallow, which makes sense, considering that we were in fact children (I was a rather critical child). Throughout elementary and middle school, I often questioned the merits of love and affection at such a young age. As a senior in high school, I have been able to understand for the first time how my peers can hold such deep regard for one another. I don’t think there is a specific age that people must reach in order to be capable of romantic love, but I know I only recently reached mine. This is not a happy story, but due to the nature of this prompt (and the year in general), I can't imagine many stories are. In fall of 2019, I entered my very first romantic relationship- a prospect that had always terrified me. I had heard so many horror stories about my peers despising their partners that I was wary of any promise of respect. The end of this relationship came almost a year later, in the late summer of 2020. After quarantining for a large portion of the relationship, I just didn’t feel the same way that I used to. I was hesitant to write this because I still question if I was truly in love, but I’ve come to realize that it doesn’t matter. The emotions of a relationship matter the most while one is in them, but the actions matter the most afterwards. Regardless of whether I was “in love” or not (however arbitrary that concept may be) I learned how to love. I learned what it meant to care for someone else, to put their needs before my own. I think people underestimate the emotional capability of teenagers- a judgement I too was guilty of. I did not expect to intertwine my life so closely with someone outside of my family. We are capable of great joys, sorrows, and everything in between. Part of being human is making the choice to love. Loving someone else when it’s hard, when you don’t have to, and when you don’t want to. That’s what my relationship was for me. The foundation for the love we had was not made of blood or time, but choice. So to my first love, thank you. Thank you for letting me smile brighter than ever before, and cry with more anguish. Thank you for the disappointment, the anger, and the compassion. Thank you for letting me see into the world I was for so long locked out of. Being introduced to my humanity has clarified my goals for the future. I want to help people who have shared my struggles with mental health by defining a specific set of symptoms as a diagnosable mental illness. My sufferings never aligned quite right with any diagnosis, and still don't. My strict adherence to self-imposed rules is similar to OCD, but doesn't quite fit. My obsessive thoughts are similar to Generalized Anxiety Disorder, but I don't fit that description either. This February I received a call from Yale University notifying me of my exclusive likely letter status. In short, I was selected to be accepted into Yale early, guaranteeing my admissions letter in the spring as long as I stay at the same academic level. Although I am still in shock, I recognize the amazing opportunities now available to me, and intend to use them to the fullest. A degree in Cognitive Science at Yale University would give me the opportunity to pursue my passion for psychology. With enough hard work and dedication, I believe I can help define a category of mental anguish and create an appropriate treatment plan for healing. I want to set people free.

1.) Depop 2.) ThreadUP 3.) Ebay All three of these options allow me to shop for clothes I'll love while rejecting fast fashion. Buying secondhand is one of my favorite sustainable practices.

1.) Honey Honey is a free chrome extension that helps me find the best possible deal for online items by searching through a database of thousands of online coupons. I love it because it's no work at all but helps me save money a large portion of the time. 2.) Depop Depop is a free mobile app and desktop application that allows users to buy and sell used clothing. I like to shop secondhand because it's sustainable and inexpensive, and Depop allows me to do that right from the comfort of my own home. 3.) Ibotta Ibotta is a free mobile app that is similar to Honey in that it helps save money. However, it searches for cash-back deals rather than price reductions.

This is my cat, Boston! He loves to nap and play. My Instagram is @madisonlaprise

I may not look it, but this moment was one of the most nerve-wracking of my life. These pictures capture one of my very first meetings with the Board of Education. I was the student liaison for the Board, and I would deliver reports about what was going on in my school. This position eventually lead to my involvement in drafting the reopening plans for all the schools in my town in 2020!