Here we go

By Johnny Fuery ⋅ December 30, 2006 ⋅  Print This Post ⋅ Post a comment

I feel like this is all shite. Well, mostly shite. But it’s 4:40am, and this has to get to the post office before 1pm, so I’ll live with it.

I’m taking a risk, I think, spilling so much. Oh well. At least they’ll remember me.

–

Academic Preparation
I’m a software engineer and entrepreneur by trade, yet the half of my bookcase that does not contain resources related to my livelihood are all on the subjects of history and religion.

My admissions form, therefore, lists “history” and “religious studies” as my primary and alternative major choices. In truth, I am torn between the two. They seem interrelated to my mostly self-taught mind, as the allure of history is to better understand the human condition – why individuals in earlier times behaved the way they did, and how those actions have had lasting effects. With this in mind, the study of religion ought to yield similar insights, because the recognition of spiritual ritual must surely be packaged with an understanding of the historical backdrop that led to the establishment of those rituals.

My interest began at a young age – my mother was a devout Christian, and Old Testament stories and parables were taught with more fervor and repetition than all other secular tales combined. In my own study of the source material, I came to question the behavior of these heroes, and the church-based resources at my disposal were insufficient, even to my limited adolescent mind. In seeking outside resources and opinions, I came to discover a passion for the subject, losing myself in endless cross-referencing, debate with whatever experts I could find, and an insatiable hunger to discover more objective resources.

I believe that, unlike my own independent enrichment at the local bookstore, the university environment, with office hours and like-minded students, will help achieve insights I cannot presently imagine.

Potential to Contribute
I’ve lived and learned a great deal in my short number of years on the planet. My many experiences, on both sides of the socioeconomic divide, as both an adolescent and adult, offer an unparalleled perspective. I know, intimately, the details of adult life, with all of its struggles and triumphs, hopes and disappointments, smiles and tears. I know what 80-plus hour workweeks feel like, just as I know the satisfaction of completing that week and enjoying – truly enjoying – the well-deserved respite that follows.

Yet, I am still young enough to also assimilate seamlessly into university life. I expect to be looked upon as an equal, with all of the normal social anxieties every new transfer student faces and ultimately masters. I am the contradiction, bridging the gap between the juggling act of adult life and the focus, comparatively speaking, of term papers and office hours.

The friends I hope to make at the University of California will be, as I strive to be, optimistic about the world and their place in it, ambitious about experiencing everything life has to offer, and have the wisdom to savor the tapestry of existence from moment to moment.

Open-ended
It’s been, seemingly, a lifetime since the concept of student life has been on my psychological radar. It’s been even longer since I thought it a possibility. When I left home, shortly before my sweet sixteen, my father said to me, “you won’t make it.” I spent the next ten years proving him wrong. On a very fundamental level, I believed that financial success was equivalent to adulthood, that achievement in the form of corporate prestige and multiple bank accounts would bring a happiness and contentment that only existed in the childhood visions Walt Disney painted for me. I was wrong, but I did discover that the road was more important than the destination.

Since paying my first month’s rent years ago, I’ve started over a dozen small businesses, earned a directorship at a publicly traded software firm, won first place in regional roller skating competitions, conducted business in Spanish, purchased 14 California homes, fractured a vertebra, traveled to half a dozen foreign countries, produced commercial dance parties, advised CEOs, and even dunked a few basketballs. I’ve also learned a great deal “the hard way” – concepts that most teenagers look to their parents for guidance on, like wearing my retainer, always driving with insurance, and what to do when my girlfriend’s period was late.

When I first began this journey, I sought my father’s approval. I thought that by proving him wrong through financial success I could earn his love. Years of therapy and a decade more of introspection has taught me acceptance, but it has also brought a realization on the breadth of experiences I missed. There’s no question I’ve lived a very full life, but the same desperate, frantic rush to grow up that inspired secular achievement came at a very high cost. The few vague memories I have of childhood – that curious mix of limited worry, free time, and overwhelming awkwardness – are all before puberty in my mind’s eye.

So, unlike most of my soon-to-be peers, I’m not applying to the University of California because the rich curriculum your institution has to offer will provide the inspiration, guidance, and knowledge needed to mold me from the child I am into the man my parents hope I will become. I’m not applying so that I can become a marketable employee, so that I can learn how to make money, or even for detailed training on a specific profession.

I wish to attend the University of California to recapture the wonder and awe that has slowly given way to guarded cynicism. I want to learn how to appreciate the world around me with open arms, mind, and heart. I want to study where we came from as a species and culture, not how to make my fellow man part with a portion of his paycheck. I want to experience all that being an Aggie has to offer, enjoying every moment as it happens, rather than worrying about my next appointment. I want to rediscover my passion, inspiration, and hope. I want to reinvigorate the sensation and belief that I can change the world for the better.