By Sebastian Lutts ’25

I grew up in Russia speaking English as a first language with an American accent. I have lived across three continents, traveled to over fifteen countries, hold dual citizenship, and regularly visit my family across the globe. My cultural background is a mosaic of often contradictory characteristics. Alternately growing up on the sophisticated streets of London and navigating the untold opportunity presented in America, enduring the harsh traditional Russian culture, and adapting to the contrasting blend of rich heritage and modernity present in the UAE, I have had to develop a personal identity that simultaneously balances flexibility and consistency.

With all that in mind, I had only 650 words. No more than 650 words to provide my story in the common application. Seniors know the challenge all too well. My first draft was three thousand words, or five pages, single-spaced. That draft bounced around from my experience growing up boxing in Russia and facing my brother in the ring (and, of course, winning every time) to an inner philosophy centered around personal development and the struggle of becoming a refugee, leaving my home unsure of when I would return. There was so much to talk about. It was nearly impossible for me to pinpoint one crux of my essay. There was nothing I hated more than getting rid of pieces I loved or information I keenly wanted to share. I faced a similar challenge when writing this Chapel Talk. From the unimaginable complexities of our minds to the one in four hundred trillion chances of being born, or the importance of living in the moment and making the most of the opportunities we are presented with, I wrestled with countless messages and lessons I wanted to share with you all.

When Covid hit and quarantines began, I had to search within myself to find interests and passions that would keep me occupied. That was when I discovered the beauty of ancient history and the stories of the great empires. Submerging myself, I watched every YouTube video and documentary I could find on the topic. Among the copious amounts of information, I stumbled across an intriguing character: Socrates. I was fascinated and inspired by his wisdom and philosophy, primarily the quote, “The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing.”

Having always supported me in my endeavors and encouraged me to explore beyond what I already knew, I asked my dad about this quote. Pulling out a pen and paper, he drew three concentric circles. “This is what you know,” he said, pointing to the inner circle. “This is what you think you know, and this is what you don’t know. The more you think you know, the less room there is to learn. That simple explanation became a pivotal moment in my life, knowing that I know nothing can be a frightening thought. It encourages uncertainty, a trait that some might view as a weakness. However, it also creates a sense of awe, a natural skepticism, and an excitement for all the lessons yet to come. I have found myself fascinated by the endless avenues of inquiry down which to explore, each one altering my attitude and reshaping my perspective.

Among them was chess. At the age of seven, I sat across from my father and prepared to go to war. Between us stood the rank and file, warriors and castles, kings and queens, all upon a checkered field of battle. Captivated by the mysteries of the intricately carved pieces, I analyzed the chessboard, immersing myself in a new world. After spending an hour memorizing the rules, I began obsessively formulating strategies to lure the opposing army into traps, divert their attention with feints, and get into their heads. “Poydem! Follow me!” I shouted, dragging my long-suffering dad to play yet another round. I was quickly signed up for chess classes (my father was, no doubt, eager for a more challenging opponent) and proceeded to spend the next few years fascinated by this simple yet complex game.

Whether hatching a flawless plan or rallying to defeat impossible odds, I lost myself in a sense of flow, strategically navigating the uncertainties of the future, approaching problems holistically, thinking several steps ahead, and persevering through seemingly impossible situations. Just as I work constantly to improve my position on the chessboard, I search continuously for new knowledge and skills.

The power of loving to learn is an extraordinary concept that can lead to unimaginable growth and change. This learning goes far beyond the reaches of a classroom and even academics or intellect as a whole. It includes learning what you like, learning what you don't like, learning to try new things, learning to broaden your perspectives, learning gratitude, learning appreciation, learning to listen, learning to understand, learning to love, learning to suffer, but above all, learning to learn. After all, the quest for knowledge is a lifelong journey that we should never abandon.

In chess, the number of possible unique games, known as the Shannon number, 10 to the power of 120, exceeds the estimated quantity of atoms in the observable universe.The fact that simple, small decisions can create compounding chains of unimaginable complexity mirrors how we constantly and actively engage in the construction of our lives. Balancing that dizzying freedom with responsibility, I believe, is the key to the real Noble Game, in which there is no checkmate, and all that matters is how we play.

Watch this Chapel Talk

This story first appeared in the Winter 2025 issue of Pomfret Magazine.

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