PS Drafts (Too many ideas, nothing is sticking, need help)
Posted: Thu Aug 25, 2011 12:40 pm
So, I've drafted about five different personal statements. Most center around my three years working and living in Alaska. I'm having a really hard time picking a direction to go in and just cannot seem to make the right connection between a good story and persuasive essay. I don't want to put down a laundry list of "why you should accept me," but I don't want to totally miss the mark either.
So, what I am going to put below is my current top pick of my PS stable, followed an alternative direction. I hope the cheese is not too rich.
I should say that, "These are both terrible, start over," is totally valid criticism.
Thanks
------------
I was born in Muskegon, Michigan to a frightened teenage girl, the youngest of ten siblings from a lower class family. Muskegon suffers from some of the highest unemployment in the country and I grew up in a shared household with my mother and my aunt and I wore hand-me-down clothes and often watched the adults go hungry so the kids could eat. So, when I say that the prospect of financial security is alluring, I hope you’ll understand that I do say so not strictly from a sense of greed.
Security is, also, not my only motivation. A career in law is one that I believe will help to define me and I think it is one to which I am well suited, and I believe this has been shown in my work, in the lessons I have learned and the perspective I have found since undergrad.
I wouldn’t have gained this perspective had I not spent the last three years working as the only reporter at a small newspaper in Wrangell, Alaska, a remote fishing town in the Tongass National Forest that’s accessible only by two Alaska Airlines flights a day, a handful of ferry ships a week and various charter services.
Aside from the learning to write strong articles every week, I learned that sometimes no matter how well you check your facts that you’re going to be told you’re wrong at least once a week. And, no matter how delicate you try to be, someone is going to tell you you’ve been sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. You’ll be told while walking to work, in the grocery store or at the school basketball game. When everyone knows who you are and where you work you’re held accountable for the things you do and the things you say.
There’s a flipside, too. If you’re humble and correct your errors then you learn. If you listen then people will respect you, even if they don’t agree with you and, in many cases, even if they dislike you. If you show that you work hard not just for your paycheck but because your name, and the community on the whole will be affected by what you do or fail to do, then you might start to make a difference.
When you leave you know that these simple lessons are not invalidated by the size of the next city.
When I left Wrangell Rick ******, a marine surveyor, wrote, “In reading the Sentinel the last few months, I have been very impressed with the contributions of **** Long. **** writes most of the articles and takes many of the photos that appear in the paper. He would have to attend endless meetings and events to bring all this information to us. So, thanks ****.”
Rick doesn’t make his living from eloquence, but when he expresses thanks for a job well done the words stick, and I kept that letter to the editor when I moved away to remind me of the things I learned and the person I’ve become and how the skills I’ve developed will aid me now and in the future.
-------
When I applied to graduate school in late 2006-2007 Professor Diane ******* told me that she didn’t think that I had had a very good education. Since she was supposed to be writing one of my letters of recommendation I took what she said to heart.
She was right and it took a move across the continent and starting my life over again and one particular incident for me to see what she meant and change it.
She said that she thought I was particularly bright, serious and would succeed in academia. She simply meant that I did not know what it was to work. One of my strongest traits is my ability to pick up concepts and their applications almost intuitively. This helped me to keep pace with other students despite moving ten times before high school and attending seven different schools. It did not, however, help me learn how to buckle down and push through real challenges as I knew that I would, at the very least make a passing grade on whatever I picked up in class and through homework.
This slowly changed during my time in Alaska, but there was one incident that stands out as the clear breaking point.
I rested against a tree and eased my pack down. I had maybe 500 feet to go until I reached the summit of the highest peak on Wrangell Island, Alaska. The snow broke beneath my snowshoes like freeze-dried ice cream. The summit attempt began before the sunrise that morning, and it had been some time since the sun had set. I massaged my calves and honestly considered giving up.
To stop in Alaska, in the winter in sub-zero temperatures before reaching camp is a gamble with your life. I knew it. If I set up camp where I was I would never get a fire started, and I would run a significant risk from the avalanche prone slope. I rested for a few more minutes and tried to pick out a few constellations in the sky.
I decided that I did not want to die that night so I tightened my snowshoes, shouldered my pack and continued my march. I broke the summit after a long traverse along a sheer face following a two-foot wide track. Behind a small dip at the summit, I dug out frozen blocks of snow that I set up on the north side of my snow cave as a makeshift wind sheer and I settled into my sleeping bag and shivered away and slept badly until just before sunrise.
I set up a mat to keep my tripod from sinking straight down through the snow and spent the next half an hour shooting some of the best photos I’ve ever made before my fingers grew too cold to work and my batteries had died due to the cold.
I came back to summit camp, made some tea and hot oatmeal, tried to massage life back into my icy feet and work my boots until they both were warm enough to flex. I packed my gear and broke camp.
When I made it back home late that night I took a hot bath to warm my body. The heater hummed and steam rose from my soaked clothes where they hung. I thought about what had happened as the photos loaded on my laptop in the living room and new how lucky I was to be home with all my digits.
I had an intuitive understanding of the value of tenacity, but it took facing the prospect of death to really understand that often a contest will come down not to just who has the most advantages, but to the one that admits what they want and can keep giving their all the longest.
The Alaska Press Club awarded me with first place in the Best Scenic Photo category for one of the photos I took just before sunrise.
So, what I am going to put below is my current top pick of my PS stable, followed an alternative direction. I hope the cheese is not too rich.
I should say that, "These are both terrible, start over," is totally valid criticism.
Thanks
------------
I was born in Muskegon, Michigan to a frightened teenage girl, the youngest of ten siblings from a lower class family. Muskegon suffers from some of the highest unemployment in the country and I grew up in a shared household with my mother and my aunt and I wore hand-me-down clothes and often watched the adults go hungry so the kids could eat. So, when I say that the prospect of financial security is alluring, I hope you’ll understand that I do say so not strictly from a sense of greed.
Security is, also, not my only motivation. A career in law is one that I believe will help to define me and I think it is one to which I am well suited, and I believe this has been shown in my work, in the lessons I have learned and the perspective I have found since undergrad.
I wouldn’t have gained this perspective had I not spent the last three years working as the only reporter at a small newspaper in Wrangell, Alaska, a remote fishing town in the Tongass National Forest that’s accessible only by two Alaska Airlines flights a day, a handful of ferry ships a week and various charter services.
Aside from the learning to write strong articles every week, I learned that sometimes no matter how well you check your facts that you’re going to be told you’re wrong at least once a week. And, no matter how delicate you try to be, someone is going to tell you you’ve been sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. You’ll be told while walking to work, in the grocery store or at the school basketball game. When everyone knows who you are and where you work you’re held accountable for the things you do and the things you say.
There’s a flipside, too. If you’re humble and correct your errors then you learn. If you listen then people will respect you, even if they don’t agree with you and, in many cases, even if they dislike you. If you show that you work hard not just for your paycheck but because your name, and the community on the whole will be affected by what you do or fail to do, then you might start to make a difference.
When you leave you know that these simple lessons are not invalidated by the size of the next city.
When I left Wrangell Rick ******, a marine surveyor, wrote, “In reading the Sentinel the last few months, I have been very impressed with the contributions of **** Long. **** writes most of the articles and takes many of the photos that appear in the paper. He would have to attend endless meetings and events to bring all this information to us. So, thanks ****.”
Rick doesn’t make his living from eloquence, but when he expresses thanks for a job well done the words stick, and I kept that letter to the editor when I moved away to remind me of the things I learned and the person I’ve become and how the skills I’ve developed will aid me now and in the future.
-------
When I applied to graduate school in late 2006-2007 Professor Diane ******* told me that she didn’t think that I had had a very good education. Since she was supposed to be writing one of my letters of recommendation I took what she said to heart.
She was right and it took a move across the continent and starting my life over again and one particular incident for me to see what she meant and change it.
She said that she thought I was particularly bright, serious and would succeed in academia. She simply meant that I did not know what it was to work. One of my strongest traits is my ability to pick up concepts and their applications almost intuitively. This helped me to keep pace with other students despite moving ten times before high school and attending seven different schools. It did not, however, help me learn how to buckle down and push through real challenges as I knew that I would, at the very least make a passing grade on whatever I picked up in class and through homework.
This slowly changed during my time in Alaska, but there was one incident that stands out as the clear breaking point.
I rested against a tree and eased my pack down. I had maybe 500 feet to go until I reached the summit of the highest peak on Wrangell Island, Alaska. The snow broke beneath my snowshoes like freeze-dried ice cream. The summit attempt began before the sunrise that morning, and it had been some time since the sun had set. I massaged my calves and honestly considered giving up.
To stop in Alaska, in the winter in sub-zero temperatures before reaching camp is a gamble with your life. I knew it. If I set up camp where I was I would never get a fire started, and I would run a significant risk from the avalanche prone slope. I rested for a few more minutes and tried to pick out a few constellations in the sky.
I decided that I did not want to die that night so I tightened my snowshoes, shouldered my pack and continued my march. I broke the summit after a long traverse along a sheer face following a two-foot wide track. Behind a small dip at the summit, I dug out frozen blocks of snow that I set up on the north side of my snow cave as a makeshift wind sheer and I settled into my sleeping bag and shivered away and slept badly until just before sunrise.
I set up a mat to keep my tripod from sinking straight down through the snow and spent the next half an hour shooting some of the best photos I’ve ever made before my fingers grew too cold to work and my batteries had died due to the cold.
I came back to summit camp, made some tea and hot oatmeal, tried to massage life back into my icy feet and work my boots until they both were warm enough to flex. I packed my gear and broke camp.
When I made it back home late that night I took a hot bath to warm my body. The heater hummed and steam rose from my soaked clothes where they hung. I thought about what had happened as the photos loaded on my laptop in the living room and new how lucky I was to be home with all my digits.
I had an intuitive understanding of the value of tenacity, but it took facing the prospect of death to really understand that often a contest will come down not to just who has the most advantages, but to the one that admits what they want and can keep giving their all the longest.
The Alaska Press Club awarded me with first place in the Best Scenic Photo category for one of the photos I took just before sunrise.