When I Dropped Out At 20, My Sister Told Everyone: “She’s The One Who Didn’t Finish.” Twelve Years Later, I’m Yale’s Dean Of Admissions. One Essay Read: “My Family Moved Past My Aunt’s Setback.” The Name? Amanda Chen. My Niece. I Picked Up My Red Pen And…

me had to stretch. My classmates ranged from terrifyingly polished to gloriously messy. We argued about structure and ambition and whether writing should comfort anybody at all. My thesis advisor once covered an entire chapter in ink and wrote in the margin, “Stop protecting the reader from your actual intelligence.” I carried that page around for continue reading …