My personal Statement

[dallinpackard]

This is my personal statement. Let me know what you think I could work on! I am mainly worried about the ending. I seem to be struggling to tie it all together.

The last Friday of every month was Gumbo Day at my middle school. But for my fellow students and me, it was more than just a lunch, it was a holiday. Forgetting that it wasn’t acceptable to sprint through the halls to get to lunch, I would maneuver as smoothly and swiftly as possible through the crowds of children heading towards the lunch hall. I eyed my Styrofoam bowl of gumbo with a ravenous hunger. The thick Cajun soup was, to me, a symbol of culture in a cafeteria that specialized in flavorless mush. Although I grew up an hour West of the Louisiana border, gumbo was an integral part of my identity as a Southeast Texan.
My memories of the rich, unique flavors of gumbo began to fade after two years of serving a mission in the Philippines and several more years pursuing my undergraduate degree in electrical engineering. This loss pained me, because I felt that as my memory of that cultural soup diminished, so would my connection with an important part of my identity. Seeing that I was in danger of forever losing touch with my heritage, I realized that I needed to learn how to make the dish myself. And so, I got to work. After scouring several cookbooks and websites and comparing many different recipes, I finally found the perfect authentic recipe. I learned that the fundamental base of gumbo, the roux, needed to be stirred faithfully for over an hour to create the dark, rich soup. When I finished the roux, it was so black I was worried that I burned it. However, when I took my first bite of the final product, the deep, strong flavors carried me back to that special place in my middle school’s cafeteria. I had done this dish justice.
I believe that nothing can satisfy the soul like a nice pot of authentic gumbo. I spent hours perfecting the dish until I was finally ready to present it to the world. At a get-together that I organized, I labored diligently to make sure that everything was perfect. The roux was a deep, rich black, and several unique spices were carefully added until the soup was cooked to perfection. I served the gumbo with a traditional scoop of potato salad and watched as both newcomer and veteran of the Cajun culture savored in the richness of the gumbo. My dad gave an audible and enthusiastic “Wow!” after eating his first bite, an exclamation that confirmed to me that my hard work had paid off in a wonderful way. Not only had I mastered a difficult dish, but I could give others a taste of who I was, sharing with them something that reflected a conservation of my cultural authenticity.
I have seen from this experience that I have the drive to pursue my passions to a degree of excellence that satisfies myself and the people I care about. Gumbo matters to me on a personal level, and so I put forth the time and effort to master it. Sharing beauty matters to me because I want others to experience a life filled with color. I am grateful for the many opportunities I have had to develop skills and talents that add beauty and variety to life. I am excited to attend law school, where I will learn new skills to master, and will discover meaningful ways to use them to better the lives of the people in my community. I value expressing myself and my passions in unique and personally significant ways, such as the simple act of learning to make a favorite childhood dish and sharing it with my family and some friends.

[Jon Denning]

The last Friday of every month was Gumbo Day at my middle school. But for my fellow students and me, it was more than just a lunch, it was a holiday. Forgetting that it wasn’t acceptable to sprint through the halls to get to lunch, I would maneuver as smoothly and swiftly as possible through the crowds of children heading towards the lunch hall. I eyed my Styrofoam bowl of gumbo with a ravenous hunger. The thick Cajun soup was, to me, a symbol of culture in a cafeteria that specialized in flavorless mush. Although I grew up an hour West of the Louisiana border, gumbo was an integral part of my identity as a Southeast Texan.

My memories of the rich, unique flavors of gumbo began to fade after two years of serving a mission in the Philippines and several more years pursuing my undergraduate degree in electrical engineering. This loss pained me, because I felt that as my memory of that cultural soup diminished, so would my connection with an important part of my identity. Seeing that I was in danger of forever losing touch with my heritage, I realized that I needed to learn how to make the dish myself. And so, I got to work. After scouring several cookbooks and websites and comparing many different recipes, I finally found the perfect authentic recipe. I learned that the fundamental base of gumbo, the roux, needed to be stirred faithfully for over an hour to create the dark, rich soup. When I finished the roux, it was so black I was worried that I burned it. However, when I took my first bite of the final product, the deep, strong flavors carried me back to that special place in my middle school’s cafeteria. I had done this dish justice.

I believe that nothing can satisfy the soul like a nice pot of authentic gumbo. I spent hours perfecting the dish until I was finally ready to present it to the world. At a get-together that I organized, I labored diligently to make sure that everything was perfect. The roux was a deep, rich black, and several unique spices were carefully added until the soup was cooked to perfection. I served the gumbo with a traditional scoop of potato salad and watched as both newcomer and veteran of the Cajun culture savored in the richness of the gumbo. My dad gave an audible and enthusiastic “Wow!” after eating his first bite, an exclamation that confirmed to me that my hard work had paid off in a wonderful way. Not only had I mastered a difficult dish, but I could give others a taste of who I was, sharing with them something that reflected a conservation of my cultural authenticity.

I have seen from this experience that I have the drive to pursue my passions to a degree of excellence that satisfies myself and the people I care about. Gumbo matters to me on a personal level, and so I put forth the time and effort to master it. Sharing beauty matters to me because I want others to experience a life filled with color. I am grateful for the many opportunities I have had to develop skills and talents that add beauty and variety to life. I am excited to attend law school, where I will learn new skills to master, and will discover meaningful ways to use them to better the lives of the people in my community. I value expressing myself and my passions in unique and personally significant ways, such as the simple act of learning to make a favorite childhood dish and sharing it with my family and some friends.

Thanks for posting Dallin!

Here are my initial thoughts, and I suspect others may weigh in as well. To preface, know that the best advice is typically candid/frank, so I'll be honest in my assessment and include what I see as both strong points and areas to improve

First, this is well crafted and shows that you're a strong writer, which schools will recognize and appreciate. It also serves to tell a story of sorts—rather than just tossing out the tired tropes of "here's why I want to be a lawyer" or "how a legal degree will allow me to do to serve those in need"—and that's always a smart play!

My reservations come from the nature of the story itself: an entire essay on gumbo, from its initial significance to middle-school-you to the importance of preparing it well in young adulthood, rings to me just a little small-scale and inconsequential.

That is, I get what you were trying to do, and I think it has both merit and potential, but I'd like to see this culinary dish of your youth become something bigger, more profound, as you explore it as a metaphor for the heritage you feared losing, where your efforts to reconnect with your cultural roots go beyond preparing a family dinner after mere "hours perfecting the dish." Maybe you went on a weeklong gumbo tour through Texas and Louisana and in so doing learned valuable lessons about where you come from and how that will affect where you intend to go; maybe you entered a national gumbo competition and finished fourth, encountering along the way a host of fellow gumbo enthusiasts who taught you about more than just cajun spices...anything more substantial than just "I make a mean stew and my dad agrees."

I don't say that to be dismissive of the work it took to get it right, or of the deep, arresting emotion that food can conjure up. Certain meals can no doubt be formative experiences! I just want to see the nature of what you're attempting to explore and express attain the proper gravity here, where your endeavors to reconnect with a dish of your childhood ultimately broadened your horizons beyond the rim of a crock pot.

So I would reinvestigate the middle portion of this essay and attempt to paint a bigger picture, both in terms of the things you learned and how you learned them. From there I believe a more organic, proportional conclusion will follow.

[Dave Killoran]

Hi Dallin,

I wanted to add a few thoughts, which in some respects echo Jon's analysis. But it might help to hear it from multiple readers.

You write very well and I understand the emotion you are trying to convey, but this misses the mark a bit. I'm struggling for the exact words, but it seems overwrought and I’d also like to see you pull a bit more broader meaning from this. I feel like you went for a very literary approach, but then never effectively tied it to a larger picture (I see you did attempt those connections, but they didn't resonate with me, at least). My reaction was: this is well done, but should it really have been such a big deal over gumbo?

I think you can use this as a base, but remake it and move a bit further afield from the the direct gumbo discussion.

Thanks!