I recently read a friend of mine's personal statement that was required for the master's program she's applying for and it got me thinking. She wanted me to critique it for her, so I did. She's applying to study at John Hopkins to get her masters in Nonprofit management. She works at a museum and loves it - she creates programs and things that help people learn to love the museum without having facts and education shoved down their throats - making the museum fun.
One of the suggestions I wrote back to her was:
"If I were an admissions person looking through hundreds if not thousands of personal statements, I would be looking for one that stood out. I'd be looking for a person that showed passion and commitment to their field. I would want to know the exact moment you knew you wanted to work in museums, why you wanted to study ancient civilization. What sparked it? Just try to make your statement different and personalize it to fit the amazing person that I know you are."
That got me thinking about me, yes as selfish as that sounds. I've thought about pursuing a master's degree, in what I don't know yet, but would be involved with writing somehow, or with books in general. I lerve books. What would my personal statement be? How would I describe the moment that I knew I wanted to write for a living? That I wanted to "touch people with the written word" and do my best to express my feelings through those written words than through speaking.
My grandmother likes to tell people this fun story about when I was little, I could carry around a notebook and a pen and ask all my relatives questions at whatever family gathering we would have.
I would write their answers down, in my beautifully child handwriting, and just talk to people, listen to their answers. I'd have the pen tucked behind my ear and the notebook stuck in my pocket. She will tell anyone that, then follow up with the fact that I work for a newspaper and isn't that just a perfect ending.
Not the perfect ending, more like a beginning. I don't want to work at a newspaper forever, though I love the place I work. I love the things I do, the people I meet, the places I go, but I have an ultimate dream that I've expressed several times in this blog. I want to write books.
The head librarian at the library in my town, whom I've known since I was like... five, told me one day that she's waiting to see my book on her selves, to have me visit the library and have a book signing/reading. She keeps waiting.
"What are you waiting for? I know you can do it. Just get cracking."
Sure, that only happened a few years ago, but it's moments like that that really seem to solidify my dream. I've had several people tell me, yes mostly family and friends but still, that I would be a great writer. Yes, they could be being polite, but to me... they don't know what that means to me. It's those moments that make me go, "Wait, I could really do this. This could be a thing that I do." Getting that reassurance boosts my confidence.
So, that's sort of my moment. But my real moment came in... oh gosh, like 10th grade. My best friend (the same friend from earlier, just the 2005 version) had a huge crush on this guy, who would later become her very serious boyfriend that she is still dating since 11th grade and they now live together, but was way too shy to talk to him. We'd giggle about him, write secret notes to each other about him (and my crush), typical girl stuff. Well, me being me, I write a story about us.
I wish I still had a copy of it because I simply loved it. I was just a kid, not a great writer but loved reading and writing papers, and I wrote her this extremely long "soap opera" about our lives after high school with our crushes. It was so stinking adorable. I can still see the cover I made for it. When I finished it and read over it, it was that moment - that little spark of an idea that had turned into this short story - that made me think, hey... that was fun. I really liked doing that. I should do that more often.
And I did. I wrote so many short stories in high school, it was crazy. I spent so much time outside of school on my parents ancient Mac computer finding the write clip art to add to make my stories "fun-looking," writing outlines of my characters and plot. It was great.
Then college happened, and a I had a few years where I didn't think I could do it. Guess what college self, you can and you have. And it's great.
I also kept a lot of diaries growing up. I remember my first one, I think I got it for my 16th birthday. It had Winnie the Pooh on the cover and he was holding a balloon. Piglet was at his side and it was yellow. I filled it with so many angst-y thoughts and emotions, a lot of the pages were dedicated to boys.
As the years progressed, I filled those pages with worries about the future, about college, about leaving my friends behind and growing up. Now they sit in a tub underneath my bed and collect dust. Whenever I'm feeling nostalgic, I'll pull one out and just flip to a page and laugh.
That's what the written word does. It has that power. To be able to use that power and make people feel certain things, certain ways - it's an amazing gift. One that I hope to hone and mold as I grow older and wiser. Use the skills that I'm learning right now and create stories about characters I love, I hate, and put them into real-life or make believe situations.
Some day.
Oh P.S. - I am now assigned to write an editorial every month for my paper... so that's a thing I have to do. Yikes...
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