In need of critiques for my Personal Statment
Posted: Mon Jan 16, 2012 6:00 pm
Here is my PS. I need to know if I am headed in the right direction. Also, please let me know if there are serious holes in it. I admire honesty and brutality. Please try to be constructive, though. Thank you.
I bounced my glance from the computer screen to last weeks print. The subtle design in a tabloid reminded me of an intricate art piece where even the smallest detail played a vital role. I dismissed this musing. The sting from my strained eyes coupled with the blink of a text cursor reminded me I did not have time for such thoughts. I had less than a few hours to layout my page, edit my writers stories, and complete the three rounds of edits from the copy editors. The blank page of my design and story struck me with the feeling that I was less than prepared.
My phone vibrated. I read the flashing text notifying me I had missed a call and proceeded to play the message. It was my professor. He offered me a co-coordinator position with the only undergraduate literature conference in the nation. I scratched my head. I had applied for the position months ago and assumed someone else received the offer.
“The President of the University personally contacted me, and I will need a poster for the Dean by the end of the week. You also need to start planning the conference now.”
My professor had just handed me a fellowship and the task of coordinating one of the university's largest conferences. At the same time my editor-in-chief had just hired me as the new Arts and Entertainment editor for a student-ran tabloid. I had little experience in journalism, had no experience in design, and certainly had no idea how to run a conference that the President had her eyes on. My editor had hired me because I had software experience and the tabloid was desperate for someone to take over the section. My professor had hired me based on a reference. This was the proverbial sink or swim scenario, and I had never had swimming lessons. I had been a laborer for the last three years. This was not kicking a shovel. It required untested intellect. How was I going to keep afloat in these unfamiliar waters?
My eyes had dried, and my back ached from sitting in front of the computer for hours. I rolled my chair away from my desk and stared at my excuse for a newspaper page. Was all of this more than I could chew? I looked down at my hands. The callouses reminded me how I dug trenches to remain in college. Their leather texture was similar to those of my past co-workers who were not fortunate enough to pursue their education. I thought about my aspirations, the possibility of going to law school and serving as an officer in the United States Military. I had already began working with recruiters. The cursor, the two computer screens, the message from my professor illuminated my reason for being here. Nobody placed me in these waters, they simply allowed me to jump. I wanted to learn how to swim.
More than a year later a head hunter recruited me for a technical writing job with an international engineering firm. The company hired me because of my experience with complicated CAD software, despite have any experience as a technical writer. My first day echoed a familiar scene. My supervisor showed me my cubicle, handed me drawings of a million dollar machine and left me to do my work. These waters were unfamiliar and less than calm, but that didn’t matter.
After a few months, my head hunter took me to lunch and said the company was impressed with my performance and my ability to adapt to the type of work. After working with the tabloid for half a year and receiving several awards for both my journalism and tabloid design, the tabloid offered me a more senior role. Like the founders of the literature conference, they expressed their disappointment when they learned I was graduating and therefore could not stick around.
Occasionally, I will roll my seat away from my computer. I will look at my hands, the awards on my wall, the blinking cursor. I will take a breath and then keep swimming.
I bounced my glance from the computer screen to last weeks print. The subtle design in a tabloid reminded me of an intricate art piece where even the smallest detail played a vital role. I dismissed this musing. The sting from my strained eyes coupled with the blink of a text cursor reminded me I did not have time for such thoughts. I had less than a few hours to layout my page, edit my writers stories, and complete the three rounds of edits from the copy editors. The blank page of my design and story struck me with the feeling that I was less than prepared.
My phone vibrated. I read the flashing text notifying me I had missed a call and proceeded to play the message. It was my professor. He offered me a co-coordinator position with the only undergraduate literature conference in the nation. I scratched my head. I had applied for the position months ago and assumed someone else received the offer.
“The President of the University personally contacted me, and I will need a poster for the Dean by the end of the week. You also need to start planning the conference now.”
My professor had just handed me a fellowship and the task of coordinating one of the university's largest conferences. At the same time my editor-in-chief had just hired me as the new Arts and Entertainment editor for a student-ran tabloid. I had little experience in journalism, had no experience in design, and certainly had no idea how to run a conference that the President had her eyes on. My editor had hired me because I had software experience and the tabloid was desperate for someone to take over the section. My professor had hired me based on a reference. This was the proverbial sink or swim scenario, and I had never had swimming lessons. I had been a laborer for the last three years. This was not kicking a shovel. It required untested intellect. How was I going to keep afloat in these unfamiliar waters?
My eyes had dried, and my back ached from sitting in front of the computer for hours. I rolled my chair away from my desk and stared at my excuse for a newspaper page. Was all of this more than I could chew? I looked down at my hands. The callouses reminded me how I dug trenches to remain in college. Their leather texture was similar to those of my past co-workers who were not fortunate enough to pursue their education. I thought about my aspirations, the possibility of going to law school and serving as an officer in the United States Military. I had already began working with recruiters. The cursor, the two computer screens, the message from my professor illuminated my reason for being here. Nobody placed me in these waters, they simply allowed me to jump. I wanted to learn how to swim.
More than a year later a head hunter recruited me for a technical writing job with an international engineering firm. The company hired me because of my experience with complicated CAD software, despite have any experience as a technical writer. My first day echoed a familiar scene. My supervisor showed me my cubicle, handed me drawings of a million dollar machine and left me to do my work. These waters were unfamiliar and less than calm, but that didn’t matter.
After a few months, my head hunter took me to lunch and said the company was impressed with my performance and my ability to adapt to the type of work. After working with the tabloid for half a year and receiving several awards for both my journalism and tabloid design, the tabloid offered me a more senior role. Like the founders of the literature conference, they expressed their disappointment when they learned I was graduating and therefore could not stick around.
Occasionally, I will roll my seat away from my computer. I will look at my hands, the awards on my wall, the blinking cursor. I will take a breath and then keep swimming.