Personal Statement
Posted: Sun Aug 18, 2013 8:43 pm
I feel like this is pretty close to what my final draft will look like. What I'd most help with is my last paragraph. I want to give the sense that I have an idea of my plans after law school but anything I write feels out of place to me. That I'm trying to keep this to two double-spaced pages probably exacerbates that problem. Any (constructive) feedback is sincerely appreciated.
To many people, classical music puts forth a picture of performers in tuxedos with tails; affluent, white haired audiences; beautifully ornate concert halls. I had been familiar with this side of classical music; throughout my time in and after college I played my share of engagements that fit such a picture. Whether it was a private concert in a patron’s home, a performance in an intimate theater at Lincoln Center, or a concerto with the Winston-Salem Symphony; whether background music at a cocktail hour or at Maya Angelou’s 83rd birthday party, I had existed in just about every stuffy scenario the phrase “classical music” could possibly bring to mind. It was a yearning to play such gigs that fueled hours upon hours of practice, and as I closed my guitar case at the end of each one I felt a sense of satisfaction I didn’t think could be surpassed. Little did I know that not but eight months after graduation, those hours of practice would show me that the satisfaction I sought might not lie in music but in public interest law.
Just as unexpected was the fact that for this to be revealed to me, I would have to end up in The Bronx. The South Bronx. Far from what anybody would consider the cultural epicenter of New York, this region is arguably the most dangerous in the entire city and the last place one would expect a classical music school to pop up. Yet in defiance of that notion (to say nothing of my own better judgment) I found myself, every Saturday, traveling an hour each way from Bay Ridge, Brooklyn to teach classical guitar lessons in the rundown building that was the ____________ of Music at ____________ Church.
I had been involved with underserved communities in the past, most memorably as co-music director at an African American church in Winston-Salem, NC. But for all that that position had in common with ___________ – the shoddy, previously abandoned buildings; the inability to pay anybody, just offer a bit of money to help with travel expenses – this was a brand new experience in many ways. Instead of helping to lead a small band, I was giving group guitar lessons to about twenty-five students ranging in age from six to sixty. Few of them spoke fluent English, and the ones that did spoke it with varying degrees of competency and preferred their native Spanish. I was flummoxed. Even the most basic concepts of music tend to be somewhat abstract and can be difficult enough to communicate without any language barriers. On my first day, as I struggled in spite of my very best efforts, I wondered if I was really up for this challenge.
A few months later my students gave their very first recital in front of an audience of their friends and loved ones. Many of them told me it was the one of the proudest days of their lives and I told them it was one of mine, too. As I stood back and watched my students receive well deserved congratulations for jobs well done, I realized that this concert meant more to me than any I had personally given in the past. I had worked harder, grown more as a person, and not had to doubt for a moment that music had given me a chance to do something positive in people’s lives.
I still think fondly about that day and feel a great sense of pride regarding the work I did at _________. However, in the weeks after the concert, an uncomfortable reality began to set in that made me question the impact I thought I had made. I realized that I had done something to help my students cope with their situations, but I had done nothing to actually lift them out of their situations. Violent crime, addiction, poverty, issues related to immigration and racial profiling, all of this would shape their existences more than guitar lessons and that left me feeling powerless. The more I thought about it, the more I knew that being a professional musician just wasn’t going to be as fulfilling as I always imagined it would be. Eventually, I determined that the legal field would be my best chance at making a difference in communities like the ones in which music had allowed me to work. With this in mind, I returned home to North Carolina to learn as much as I could about the field and to start getting involved.
The lessons I’ve learned since then have broadened my awareness of the issues facing North Carolinians of every stripe and have strengthened my resolve to be part of the solution. The time I’ve spent observing attorneys in the office and in the courtroom, volunteering weekly with the ACLU of North Carolina, and attending events sponsored by the NAACP of North Carolina has shown me how the law can affect social change while also giving me an understanding of what it is lawyers really do to help bring this change about. From what I can tell, public interest law seems like the most satisfying way I could possibly spend my career. I can’t claim to know exactly how this passion will manifest itself – maybe I’ll land my dream job working for the local ACLU affiliate, maybe I’ll end up with some sort of private public interest firm – but law school is the first step and it is one I would be proud to take at __________ Law.
To many people, classical music puts forth a picture of performers in tuxedos with tails; affluent, white haired audiences; beautifully ornate concert halls. I had been familiar with this side of classical music; throughout my time in and after college I played my share of engagements that fit such a picture. Whether it was a private concert in a patron’s home, a performance in an intimate theater at Lincoln Center, or a concerto with the Winston-Salem Symphony; whether background music at a cocktail hour or at Maya Angelou’s 83rd birthday party, I had existed in just about every stuffy scenario the phrase “classical music” could possibly bring to mind. It was a yearning to play such gigs that fueled hours upon hours of practice, and as I closed my guitar case at the end of each one I felt a sense of satisfaction I didn’t think could be surpassed. Little did I know that not but eight months after graduation, those hours of practice would show me that the satisfaction I sought might not lie in music but in public interest law.
Just as unexpected was the fact that for this to be revealed to me, I would have to end up in The Bronx. The South Bronx. Far from what anybody would consider the cultural epicenter of New York, this region is arguably the most dangerous in the entire city and the last place one would expect a classical music school to pop up. Yet in defiance of that notion (to say nothing of my own better judgment) I found myself, every Saturday, traveling an hour each way from Bay Ridge, Brooklyn to teach classical guitar lessons in the rundown building that was the ____________ of Music at ____________ Church.
I had been involved with underserved communities in the past, most memorably as co-music director at an African American church in Winston-Salem, NC. But for all that that position had in common with ___________ – the shoddy, previously abandoned buildings; the inability to pay anybody, just offer a bit of money to help with travel expenses – this was a brand new experience in many ways. Instead of helping to lead a small band, I was giving group guitar lessons to about twenty-five students ranging in age from six to sixty. Few of them spoke fluent English, and the ones that did spoke it with varying degrees of competency and preferred their native Spanish. I was flummoxed. Even the most basic concepts of music tend to be somewhat abstract and can be difficult enough to communicate without any language barriers. On my first day, as I struggled in spite of my very best efforts, I wondered if I was really up for this challenge.
A few months later my students gave their very first recital in front of an audience of their friends and loved ones. Many of them told me it was the one of the proudest days of their lives and I told them it was one of mine, too. As I stood back and watched my students receive well deserved congratulations for jobs well done, I realized that this concert meant more to me than any I had personally given in the past. I had worked harder, grown more as a person, and not had to doubt for a moment that music had given me a chance to do something positive in people’s lives.
I still think fondly about that day and feel a great sense of pride regarding the work I did at _________. However, in the weeks after the concert, an uncomfortable reality began to set in that made me question the impact I thought I had made. I realized that I had done something to help my students cope with their situations, but I had done nothing to actually lift them out of their situations. Violent crime, addiction, poverty, issues related to immigration and racial profiling, all of this would shape their existences more than guitar lessons and that left me feeling powerless. The more I thought about it, the more I knew that being a professional musician just wasn’t going to be as fulfilling as I always imagined it would be. Eventually, I determined that the legal field would be my best chance at making a difference in communities like the ones in which music had allowed me to work. With this in mind, I returned home to North Carolina to learn as much as I could about the field and to start getting involved.
The lessons I’ve learned since then have broadened my awareness of the issues facing North Carolinians of every stripe and have strengthened my resolve to be part of the solution. The time I’ve spent observing attorneys in the office and in the courtroom, volunteering weekly with the ACLU of North Carolina, and attending events sponsored by the NAACP of North Carolina has shown me how the law can affect social change while also giving me an understanding of what it is lawyers really do to help bring this change about. From what I can tell, public interest law seems like the most satisfying way I could possibly spend my career. I can’t claim to know exactly how this passion will manifest itself – maybe I’ll land my dream job working for the local ACLU affiliate, maybe I’ll end up with some sort of private public interest firm – but law school is the first step and it is one I would be proud to take at __________ Law.