Personal Statement Help/Critque--take a look!
Posted: Sat Feb 06, 2010 5:14 pm
Any advice is appreciated!
About four years ago I was slouched in front of my high school guidance counselor for routine college advising in which I was met with an open-ended request to describe myself in one word; I paused, smirked, and then responded, “ultimate.” The implications of my response should suggest nothing less than ridiculous and I knew that. I knew that I was supposed to give a praising word that would convince others of my prowess but I didn’t care. Ironically, however, it was my flaw of passivity and hubris that would put me in a position to achieve my greatest strength.
I walked out of the office reflecting on the probing questions of my counselor. The feelings of apathy were pressingly familiar. As I made my way back into class, I slouched into another chair and proceeded to take another test for which I hadn’t prepared. The predicament wasn’t notably unusual for a student of my temperament; I prided myself in scoring high test marks sans studying. With slightly above average grades and negligible effort, I found no reason to explore my subjects any deeper than required. Hence, my response to the counselor in my one-word descriptor really captured the height of my arrogance at the time.
In tandem with this complacency, however, was a biting sense of uncertainty. It was nearing the end of my senior year and college deadlines were quickly approaching. Being indifferent for the past four years wasn’t conducive to finding a particular interest, to say the least. Yet, despite my apprehensiveness in regards to what I would do at college, I wanted to at least get it; the base reasoning of not wanting to work at Ledo’s Pizza for the rest of my life compelled me to apply. In this way, I viewed college, like high school, as another requirement.
At orientation I was handed a paper filled with possible majors. I skimmed down the page and eyed over criminal justice. It was field my father had worked under his entire life and so I believed it to be suitable start. And that it was. During one of the classes, we began to examine the link between morality and punishment and I was surprised to see that we could debate what the truth of the matter was; something I always enjoyed doing, but never thought it had a place in school. For the first time, I stayed after and pressed further. My intrigue was short-lived, nonetheless, as the class, and others of the major, became increasingly focused towards police work—something of which I had no desire in pursuing.
As I was signing up for classes my sophomore year I had a sick feeling that college would be a dismal repeat of high school. With the class requirements laid before me, I noticed I had the choice of introduction to philosophy or introduction to religion. I just so happened to choose philosophy on a mere whim. And although my decision was capricious, it had a lasting effect on my academic trajectory. The introductory course was anomalous to any prior class I had taken and as it literally put me in aporia—a state of puzzlement—I realized I had met my match. Philosophy frustrated my arrogant attitude as I was being forced, for the first time, to really think about the subject matter. No longer could I review scribbled notes five minutes before a test and walk out feeling satisfied. As a result, it provided a seriousness about learning that I had up till then brushed off with the quip of “ultimate.” A few weeks later I found myself situated in front of the philosophy department chair with a declaration to change majors.
The best thing about being a philosophy major was that it showed me what I was certain about. I was certain in my interest in an analytical approach to learning: constructing arguments and the use of the laws of reasoning to form those arguments. It was no insignificant wonder why I was attracted to arguing the place morality had in punishment during that criminal justice class. Furthermore, not only would my first logic class teach me all the laws of inference but it would also reveal my uncanny knack for logical reasoning. I ended up consistently scoring the highest grade on every test that was administered for that class and would repeat this again in the next level of the course. In contrast to my earlier self, I wasn’t afraid to admit, much to the dismay of classmates, that I even enjoyed working through unassigned logic problems.
While I was passionate about the entire methodology of philosophy I still had an attraction for criminal justice. Exploring the field, specifically in its relation to morality, had piqued my interest, but, as mentioned earlier, the program offered at my school didn’t seem apt to my own proclivities. Studying law, on the other hand, is a perfect synthesis between my remaining interest in criminal justice and my passion for analytical reasoning.
When I look back at myself, four years ago, sitting in the counselor’s office, I recognize that I really never had an appropriate word to describe myself; I had meandered through high school and part of college with no objective in mind and hadn’t the vaguest idea of what I wanted. I claimed that I was ultimate. I just didn’t know what I was ultimately about.
About four years ago I was slouched in front of my high school guidance counselor for routine college advising in which I was met with an open-ended request to describe myself in one word; I paused, smirked, and then responded, “ultimate.” The implications of my response should suggest nothing less than ridiculous and I knew that. I knew that I was supposed to give a praising word that would convince others of my prowess but I didn’t care. Ironically, however, it was my flaw of passivity and hubris that would put me in a position to achieve my greatest strength.
I walked out of the office reflecting on the probing questions of my counselor. The feelings of apathy were pressingly familiar. As I made my way back into class, I slouched into another chair and proceeded to take another test for which I hadn’t prepared. The predicament wasn’t notably unusual for a student of my temperament; I prided myself in scoring high test marks sans studying. With slightly above average grades and negligible effort, I found no reason to explore my subjects any deeper than required. Hence, my response to the counselor in my one-word descriptor really captured the height of my arrogance at the time.
In tandem with this complacency, however, was a biting sense of uncertainty. It was nearing the end of my senior year and college deadlines were quickly approaching. Being indifferent for the past four years wasn’t conducive to finding a particular interest, to say the least. Yet, despite my apprehensiveness in regards to what I would do at college, I wanted to at least get it; the base reasoning of not wanting to work at Ledo’s Pizza for the rest of my life compelled me to apply. In this way, I viewed college, like high school, as another requirement.
At orientation I was handed a paper filled with possible majors. I skimmed down the page and eyed over criminal justice. It was field my father had worked under his entire life and so I believed it to be suitable start. And that it was. During one of the classes, we began to examine the link between morality and punishment and I was surprised to see that we could debate what the truth of the matter was; something I always enjoyed doing, but never thought it had a place in school. For the first time, I stayed after and pressed further. My intrigue was short-lived, nonetheless, as the class, and others of the major, became increasingly focused towards police work—something of which I had no desire in pursuing.
As I was signing up for classes my sophomore year I had a sick feeling that college would be a dismal repeat of high school. With the class requirements laid before me, I noticed I had the choice of introduction to philosophy or introduction to religion. I just so happened to choose philosophy on a mere whim. And although my decision was capricious, it had a lasting effect on my academic trajectory. The introductory course was anomalous to any prior class I had taken and as it literally put me in aporia—a state of puzzlement—I realized I had met my match. Philosophy frustrated my arrogant attitude as I was being forced, for the first time, to really think about the subject matter. No longer could I review scribbled notes five minutes before a test and walk out feeling satisfied. As a result, it provided a seriousness about learning that I had up till then brushed off with the quip of “ultimate.” A few weeks later I found myself situated in front of the philosophy department chair with a declaration to change majors.
The best thing about being a philosophy major was that it showed me what I was certain about. I was certain in my interest in an analytical approach to learning: constructing arguments and the use of the laws of reasoning to form those arguments. It was no insignificant wonder why I was attracted to arguing the place morality had in punishment during that criminal justice class. Furthermore, not only would my first logic class teach me all the laws of inference but it would also reveal my uncanny knack for logical reasoning. I ended up consistently scoring the highest grade on every test that was administered for that class and would repeat this again in the next level of the course. In contrast to my earlier self, I wasn’t afraid to admit, much to the dismay of classmates, that I even enjoyed working through unassigned logic problems.
While I was passionate about the entire methodology of philosophy I still had an attraction for criminal justice. Exploring the field, specifically in its relation to morality, had piqued my interest, but, as mentioned earlier, the program offered at my school didn’t seem apt to my own proclivities. Studying law, on the other hand, is a perfect synthesis between my remaining interest in criminal justice and my passion for analytical reasoning.
When I look back at myself, four years ago, sitting in the counselor’s office, I recognize that I really never had an appropriate word to describe myself; I had meandered through high school and part of college with no objective in mind and hadn’t the vaguest idea of what I wanted. I claimed that I was ultimate. I just didn’t know what I was ultimately about.