I'll go ahead and say it: I talk about myself all the time. I mean, I have a self-titled blog, for crying out loud. However, I am just now discovering how difficult it is to talk about myself in a 750-word limit entrance essay to the highest caliber journalism program in the country. The autobiographical essay asks that I simply tell the university's program about myself, about my family, passions, education, whatever I want. Completely open-ended, no restrictions.
Let me just ask, is that not the entire content of this here blog?
Nonetheless, this is daunting and perplexing. I have already written two full length essays in response to the prompt, as well as about six opening paragraphs, and have scrapped them all. If I were in a movie, I would have a wastebin full of crumpled balls of paper at my feet, and would be sighing and rubbing my forehead.
Instead I am nervously shoveling handfuls of Trader Joe's trail mix into my mouth and washing them down with my daily Americano (probably an illegal act, next to a library computer).
I could write about Dibbs, and ensure that the school would not accept me.
The good news is, I suppose, that this school is the most intimidating of all those I am applying to, so once this essay is out of the way I will hopefully be on my way. For now I am going to return to my typed stop-and-start ramblings about my family, moving around while growing up, Anne Lamott's amazing books, why I hated to write in college but now do it as a hobby, etc. Hopefully I will get somewhere.
Love to you readers who stay with me while I try to get to that Somewhere,