PERSONAL STATEMENT PART TWO -or- WHEN I DON'T GET IN, I COULD ALWAYS JUST TELL MYSELF THAT COMPETITION WAS FIERCE THIS YEAR
Then during college, I discovered the world outside of New York. Yes, apparently there was one and I wanted to see it. Like a Napoleon enrolled in university, I sought to commence on my world domination--of course my forthcoming domination would be the non-violent sort (but if you consider abusing a credit card a violent activity, well then, call me Bonaparte). The only problem was my sufficient lack of funds and it's hard to see the world when the world costs a great deal of money. This is when my roommate at the time introduced me to the glories of the volunteer educational programs.
Over the next three summers, I would travel to the Ukraine, Belarus, Russia, Finland, Sweden, Norway, Denmark, Australia, New Zealand, Germany, England, Scotland, Ireland and...err, Canada. While others saw my summer plans as valiant and selfless, I rejoiced in the satisfaction that I finally got the chance to see places outside of a New Jersey mall. Granted I did some great things during those trips like leading summer camps for poverty-stricken Ukranians, teaching adult education courses in Jewish law and tradition, running multi-media getaways for troubled high school teens; nevertheless, my priority was to check off the countries on my traveling 'grocery list.' I was seeing the world and to quote myself from back then, that totally ruled.
In between those summers away, life had reverted back to normal. The years were full of movies, concerts, buying CDs, the occasional comic book (in secret), pizza and hamburgers, and sadly, very little, if any, volunteer work. Dad still carried on with his unspoken mission of healing the world, one phone call at a time. Every day, Mom came home exhaustedly from her role as principal of a reputable and ever-growing (size-wise and demand-wise) elementary school. My sister, Aliza, was away in graduate school studying to be a teacher and a school psychologist. All the while, I was preparing both a portfolio and myself for a potentially lucrative career in advertising as a copywriter. My encouraging parents recognized my creative side and accepted the fact that not everyone had to partake in making this world a better place. Some, like those in the advertising industry, were better at diminishing the souls of the masses.
Someone had to balance out the goodness in my family and as I found out from my three years in advertising, there was plenty opportunity for me to do that. In fact, the merit scale was usually tipping in my unfortunate direction.
[to be continued]
Then during college, I discovered the world outside of New York. Yes, apparently there was one and I wanted to see it. Like a Napoleon enrolled in university, I sought to commence on my world domination--of course my forthcoming domination would be the non-violent sort (but if you consider abusing a credit card a violent activity, well then, call me Bonaparte). The only problem was my sufficient lack of funds and it's hard to see the world when the world costs a great deal of money. This is when my roommate at the time introduced me to the glories of the volunteer educational programs.
Over the next three summers, I would travel to the Ukraine, Belarus, Russia, Finland, Sweden, Norway, Denmark, Australia, New Zealand, Germany, England, Scotland, Ireland and...err, Canada. While others saw my summer plans as valiant and selfless, I rejoiced in the satisfaction that I finally got the chance to see places outside of a New Jersey mall. Granted I did some great things during those trips like leading summer camps for poverty-stricken Ukranians, teaching adult education courses in Jewish law and tradition, running multi-media getaways for troubled high school teens; nevertheless, my priority was to check off the countries on my traveling 'grocery list.' I was seeing the world and to quote myself from back then, that totally ruled.
In between those summers away, life had reverted back to normal. The years were full of movies, concerts, buying CDs, the occasional comic book (in secret), pizza and hamburgers, and sadly, very little, if any, volunteer work. Dad still carried on with his unspoken mission of healing the world, one phone call at a time. Every day, Mom came home exhaustedly from her role as principal of a reputable and ever-growing (size-wise and demand-wise) elementary school. My sister, Aliza, was away in graduate school studying to be a teacher and a school psychologist. All the while, I was preparing both a portfolio and myself for a potentially lucrative career in advertising as a copywriter. My encouraging parents recognized my creative side and accepted the fact that not everyone had to partake in making this world a better place. Some, like those in the advertising industry, were better at diminishing the souls of the masses.
Someone had to balance out the goodness in my family and as I found out from my three years in advertising, there was plenty opportunity for me to do that. In fact, the merit scale was usually tipping in my unfortunate direction.
[to be continued]
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home