Personal Statement Critique
Posted: Wed Oct 15, 2014 2:26 pm
First off, thanks to anyone who takes the time to read this. I've really struggled with writing a personal statement I feel is worthy, so I'm hoping that a few outside eyes on it will help me polish it up to a satisfactory level.
Bhangra is a dance of happiness embodied; a display of energy, grace, and power all unified under a central state of unadulterated enjoyment. If you do not smile while you dance, the entire performance suffers. This is because a smile indicates you are happy to be doing what you are doing and you are exactly where you want to be. One of the first things you learn as a Bhangra dancer is that if you are performing, you must be smiling. I was not the most talented dancer, but I never needed to be told to smile. When I first witnessed a Bhangra performance, I could not help but grin as wide as a truck. I felt the energy. I wanted to be a part of it. When I tried out for the team for the first time, I was lauded for smiling without being told to. It was nice, but a poor consolation prize for not making the team. And when I danced Bhangra for three years, from the humid practice rooms in Miami all the way to national competitions in California and Washington D.C., I smiled all the while.
Although I made the team my second year trying out, I was only added as an alternate. Each individual on the team had a partner, a position in every formation, and a distinct purpose. I was nothing more than an insurance plan, added in case someone else was not able to perform. While everyone else on the team was given the chance to present their efforts on the stage through competitions and other performances, I was relegated to working in the background without the promise of the same opportunity. In spite of my misgivings with these limited opportunities to perform, Bhangra itself was intrinsically fulfilling. I could not doubt that the dance brought me happiness, so I pressed on. I learned every Bhangra step, of which there were many. I learned their names, their use, and which segments of the performance called for which moves. Every practice, I toiled with sweat and heavy breath on the sidelines facing a curtain while the rest of the team stood on the stage. In spite of my efforts, the year proved to be extrinsically fruitless as I was not given an opportunity to perform.
My junior year however, eight of the twelve members of the previous years starting roster either graduated or did not join. I was suddenly thrust into a starting position on the team due to my experience. Besides being a starter, I also acted as a mentor. I was able to help the captain teach the new members everything I had spent so many hours perfecting the year prior. The captain even admitted that while I was viewed as a sore thumb during my sophomore year, I was a boon as a junior. Not only was I finally allotted the opportunity to perform on stage with the team, I was an integral part of a team that went to places it had never been. The team performed at its first ever national competition during my second year and achieved its highest achievement yet during my co-captainship final year by placing 3rd at the oldest and one of the most prestigious national competitions. I had progressed from an individual incapable of making the team to someone who served as both a senior mentor to a nationally recognized team of peers and an example of what was possible through disciplined persistence.
Curiously, this experience made me realize that the external performances and acknowledgements of my skills that I craved paled in comparison to the intrinsically rewarding nature of painstakingly learning and teaching a craft. By simply following my passion for the dance, my happiness was never a question. I was not worried about the excitement of actually being involved in these endeavors, whether on stage or behind the curtain, and I realized extrinsic recognition was unnecessary to feeling successful and fulfilled.
These lessons prepared me for my current experiences in a courthouse under the tutelage of Judge [name]. During my time here I have had discussions with jurists, prosecutors, public defenders, and private attorneys, each of which seem to offer the same warning: work in the legal field can often be a thankless endeavor saturated with efforts that lead to no extrinsic success. A situation where I pour hundreds of hours into the research of a case that ends up never going to trial is not uncommon. During these moments of warning, I am reminded of my time spent standing on the sidelines of the stage practicing behind a curtain and I realize that I am comfortable with this reality. Dancing in college taught me that the possible lack of extrinsic success is trumped by the intrinsic prosperity that comes from determined improvement and dedicated study in an area I am passionate in. Sitting beside the judge watching purveyors of the law in action, I feel the same way that I did when I watched Bhangra. I can feel their passion. I want to be a part of it. And though I try to hide it, I sometimes catch myself smiling.
Bhangra is a dance of happiness embodied; a display of energy, grace, and power all unified under a central state of unadulterated enjoyment. If you do not smile while you dance, the entire performance suffers. This is because a smile indicates you are happy to be doing what you are doing and you are exactly where you want to be. One of the first things you learn as a Bhangra dancer is that if you are performing, you must be smiling. I was not the most talented dancer, but I never needed to be told to smile. When I first witnessed a Bhangra performance, I could not help but grin as wide as a truck. I felt the energy. I wanted to be a part of it. When I tried out for the team for the first time, I was lauded for smiling without being told to. It was nice, but a poor consolation prize for not making the team. And when I danced Bhangra for three years, from the humid practice rooms in Miami all the way to national competitions in California and Washington D.C., I smiled all the while.
Although I made the team my second year trying out, I was only added as an alternate. Each individual on the team had a partner, a position in every formation, and a distinct purpose. I was nothing more than an insurance plan, added in case someone else was not able to perform. While everyone else on the team was given the chance to present their efforts on the stage through competitions and other performances, I was relegated to working in the background without the promise of the same opportunity. In spite of my misgivings with these limited opportunities to perform, Bhangra itself was intrinsically fulfilling. I could not doubt that the dance brought me happiness, so I pressed on. I learned every Bhangra step, of which there were many. I learned their names, their use, and which segments of the performance called for which moves. Every practice, I toiled with sweat and heavy breath on the sidelines facing a curtain while the rest of the team stood on the stage. In spite of my efforts, the year proved to be extrinsically fruitless as I was not given an opportunity to perform.
My junior year however, eight of the twelve members of the previous years starting roster either graduated or did not join. I was suddenly thrust into a starting position on the team due to my experience. Besides being a starter, I also acted as a mentor. I was able to help the captain teach the new members everything I had spent so many hours perfecting the year prior. The captain even admitted that while I was viewed as a sore thumb during my sophomore year, I was a boon as a junior. Not only was I finally allotted the opportunity to perform on stage with the team, I was an integral part of a team that went to places it had never been. The team performed at its first ever national competition during my second year and achieved its highest achievement yet during my co-captainship final year by placing 3rd at the oldest and one of the most prestigious national competitions. I had progressed from an individual incapable of making the team to someone who served as both a senior mentor to a nationally recognized team of peers and an example of what was possible through disciplined persistence.
Curiously, this experience made me realize that the external performances and acknowledgements of my skills that I craved paled in comparison to the intrinsically rewarding nature of painstakingly learning and teaching a craft. By simply following my passion for the dance, my happiness was never a question. I was not worried about the excitement of actually being involved in these endeavors, whether on stage or behind the curtain, and I realized extrinsic recognition was unnecessary to feeling successful and fulfilled.
These lessons prepared me for my current experiences in a courthouse under the tutelage of Judge [name]. During my time here I have had discussions with jurists, prosecutors, public defenders, and private attorneys, each of which seem to offer the same warning: work in the legal field can often be a thankless endeavor saturated with efforts that lead to no extrinsic success. A situation where I pour hundreds of hours into the research of a case that ends up never going to trial is not uncommon. During these moments of warning, I am reminded of my time spent standing on the sidelines of the stage practicing behind a curtain and I realize that I am comfortable with this reality. Dancing in college taught me that the possible lack of extrinsic success is trumped by the intrinsic prosperity that comes from determined improvement and dedicated study in an area I am passionate in. Sitting beside the judge watching purveyors of the law in action, I feel the same way that I did when I watched Bhangra. I can feel their passion. I want to be a part of it. And though I try to hide it, I sometimes catch myself smiling.