The storied landscape of my life...

I was born nearly twenty-five years ago, on a sunny, spring-like day in March, the first and, as it were, only child to my parents. It was St. Patrick’s Day. They named me Pattie. Naturally.

I grew up in Whitby, Ontario, a bedroom community east of Toronto, and, for the most part, my childhood was happy, healthy, and carefree – as all childhoods should be. I lived in a neighbourhood peppered with playmates my age, and large trees to climb, and a creek nearby to explore, and steep tobogganing hills to conquer during the icy evenings of winter. I never lacked for friends, whether at school or after the final bell rang, and together we would ride our bikes, and build forts, and play Nintendo, and kick around balls, and create marvellously complex worlds of make-believe in which to play.

I was a delightfully odd child, awash in an imaginative energy and innate curiosity that, on occasion, could lend itself to mischievousness. From very early on it was apparent that I was a storyteller with a flare for the dramatic, content to retreat into and drift between the imaginary realms of my own making when my playmates had had their fill of games – my favourite past-time was to interview myself. But my creativity was not one for the stage – though I would often play out my daydreams for an audience when I was young. Rather, it was quiet and introspective, best reserved for those times that I could lose myself in my thoughts.

My love of writing flowed from a warm affection for stories and my introspective nature. My mom recalls that as soon I could read and write she would find me off in a corner scribbling away at a story. Although I couldn’t quantify it, I understood from a young age, the importance of stories in our lives. For me, as for most, writing had begun as an imaginative endeavour, a creative release, but as I grew older I was overcome with the knowledge of its power, and of the utility of the story as a vehicle for enlightenment as much as for entertainment.

I was blessed, or cursed depending on your frame of reference, to be met with success in the majority of my academic endeavours – except maybe fine art. Math, science, english, history, geography, french – I loved every subject I took. I fed off of knowledge; I was insatiable. I read the papers; I followed politics (I was the only eighth grader in my class to hand in an essay concerning the pitfalls facing Canadian culture and identity should Quebec separate); I watched documentaries and television news magazines. I was inquisitive, and analytical, and engaged with what was happening in the world around me. My future seemed a string of endless possibilities – I dreamed of ivy-covered, limestone buildings; of the hallowed halls of university. But for all of the many teachers I had who were adamant that I would succeed in their chosen field, it was always my english and history teachers that were the most vocal. Perhaps I should have listened more closely to them.

Instead, I let myself be swayed – seduced by the maths and sciences, the cogs of progress. I thought science was sexy. I thought it the path to success. I envisioned a future for myself that included med school and a career in pathology, days spent elbow-deep in the chest cavities of cadavers – oh! the smell of formaldehyde; the snap of latex gloves; the worn cotton of hospital scrubs. So, off I went to Kingston, to study life sciences at Queen’s. It soon became painfully apparent, however, and my transcript will attest to this, that no matter how convinced I was that science was the field for me, I, clearly, wasn’t cut out for it. Science wasn’t sexy; it was superficially enchanting, but beneath the attractive veneer was a world of nomenclature, and acid-base reactions, and metabolic processes, and rates and laws and constants, and physiological functions that, despite my efforts, really didn’t fascinate or inspire me.

My plans for med school flew out the window. I wasn’t very disheartened though, probably because I knew that I had romanticized the entire thing. Maybe I should have switched my major at that point – taken up something that interested me – but I hadn’t gotten into Queen’s without being somewhat obstinate, and I was bound and determined to leave university with an BScH, even if it meant I loathed my classes, and fumbled my way through labs, and struggled for every percent I earned in my science courses. Instead, I picked up an environmental option, which, at least, replaced some of my science classes with social sciences that, for the most part, were a much better fit for my academic abilities.

It was through my environmental studies that I found geography, which was a lovely little surprise. I had always envisioned it as a discipline rooted mainly in the sciences – in biogeochemical cycles, and geomorphic processes, and atmospheric chemistry – I had very little understanding of its role in the arts; as a social science. Nonetheless, I took to this aspect of the discipline like a fish to water, so much so that I returned for a fifth year to complete a BA in human geography. It seemed that I had found my niche. I was doing well, and it was refreshing. In my four years of struggling through science courses I had forgotten that I was capable of success; I had lost confidence in my abilities. But with geography I rediscovered my self-assurance, and more so, I was inspired again – school had never been so fulfilling, and I think my transcript will illustrate that too.

I considered, briefly, going on to grad school to study historical geography. But grad school is like marriage – a commitment not to be made lightly – and though I felt strongly about the discipline, I was convinced, as the due dates for grad school applications drew nearer, that I could hear the sound of a shotgun being cocked and loaded. I couldn’t be sure that my decision to further my geography studies wasn’t just a knee-jerk reaction to the panic that sweeps across most soon-to-be university grads when faced with the uncertainty of life after school. So, I held off on grad school, finished up my BA, and moved back home to Whitby to focus, for a little while, on those things that get lost in the bustle of life as a student – on the simple day-to-day joys and interests that help to define you as a person.

My parents had always believed in the merits of play and discovery through exploration, and encouraged me, from the time I was little, to actively participate in a range of pursuits, both in and out of school. Over the years, my interests have been varied, but I have always tried to remain active. Growing up I participated in a number of different sports – basketball; volleyball; soccer; flag-football; track and field; swimming – as both a member of school teams and as a casual player in intramural leagues. My passion, however, was always softball, which I played competitively for ten years, including two seasons on the Queen’s team, before a tear to the supraspinatus in my throwing shoulder forced me into early retirement. Today I spend a lot of time at the Whitby rec centre, in the pool and running, and slowly rebuilding the strength in my shoulder so that one day I might play softball again, but mainly enjoying the satisfying pleasures of being healthy and active.

My parents also instilled within me the importance of being a contributing member of a community; they taught me the value of volunteer work. As a little girl I was a Girl Guide (and all of its other variations), but as I got older I stayed involved with the organization as a leader and a volunteer. In grade school, I always made sure that I gave of my time whenever I could, be it to help teachers or other students. I was a prefect and a peer tutor in high school, and when I graduated I was honoured for my commitment and involvement in the school community. At Queen’s, I lived in the Science ’44 Co-op, a student run housing initiative that brought students from different backgrounds and locations around the world to live and work together. It was one of the best experiences of my life.

I have other passions, ones that extend beyond playing fields and community-living. I love music, though my musical abilities have yet to match my enthusiasm. I dabbled in choir, and clarinet lessons, and high school band, but these days I take great pleasure in simply strumming random chords on my acoustic guitar – budding folk star I am not. I wait in eager anticipation for Saturdays so I can listen to CBC Radio 3 – it’s my favourite radio station – and I love to collect vinyl records. I would rather listen to vinyl than any other music format, but the convenience of my blue iPod has ensured that I could never give it up.

I love the smell of old books. I love to read – newspapers and magazines; tattered paperbacks; sassy online blogs; letters from my friends; poems scribbled on paper napkins – and though I claim no genre as my personal favourite, I have a bookshelf littered with titles that suggest a particular zeal for science fiction and fantasy. In university I was a member of SOSR – a student club dedicated to the shared enjoyment of the sci-fi and fantasy genre. I write poetry. I have a website, and a blog, but I don’t often update because I think no one is reading what I have to write. I love to take photographs – of power lines and city lights at night, skylines and rain-soaked alleys – to tell stories in pictures.

I love being outside. When I was in university I volunteered with the Kingston Junior Field Naturalists in the hopes of passing on my love and respect for the outdoor environment to others. I love adventures – though not necessarily the types which take you into the heart of jungles or to the summits of mountains. I love hiking through the woods, or walking down a busy avenue. I love lying under the stars. I love the feel of grass beneath my skin. I love to swim in lakes, though I am terrified of fish. I love campfires.

I love history, especially that of the American Civil War. I love watching live battle re-enactments, because the smell of riffle fire is exhilarating. One day I want to travel throughout the US to tour the famous battlefields. I dream of backpacking through Europe – of watching a football game in Scotland; of wandering in the tunnels beneath Paris; of riding in a Venetian gondola. I have a strange affinity for old graveyards, and when I was ten I decided that I wanted to spend my summer cataloguing the oldest cemetery in Whitby – that is until the summer came and with it, the endless invitations of my friends to come out and play.

I don’t eat meat, but I might again one day. I am highly allergic to seafood. I drink copious amounts of tea, with milk and sugar. I love the sound my knitting needles make as I attempt to knit. I am petrified of heights. I have a tendency to name everything around me – my computer; my guitar; my stuffed animals. My favourite colour is blue, but I wear a lot of brown. I hate getting dressed up, but I realize that it is an occupational hazard that comes with being an adult. I collect concert set-lists and movie stubs. I love to run, though I swore I never would. I want to move to the coast, and play in tides, and breathe salt air.

And all of this may seem like useless packets of information, superfluous and fluffy pieces of minutiae, when all you really want to know is why I’ve chosen journalism or how I think I can succeed at King’s, as a student and as an individual. The truth of the matter is that I have been trained to see the world through the lens of geographer – to see the hidden elements that make up the landscapes we have built around us. The storied landscape of my life is constructed from more than my time at Queen’s or my extracurriculars, and everything I’ve told you is an element that is just as important to understanding not only who I am, and why I’m here writing this character sketch, but also for gauging my potential for success.

For so long, I tried to pass off my love of writing as a hobby, a hidden talent that was handy when it came time for me to pen term papers. But in my months away from school I have realized that my ability and desire to write define me more than I ever thought. I am a writer; I thrive on the sharing of stories. And when I think back to my time in school – all twenty-one years of it – I recognize that so much of what I loved about it was the sharing of knowledge. Even my love for geography was born of the hours I spent researching and writing my papers; of the opportunity if afforded me to divine the secrets and stories buried within a landscape and impart them on others.

I can’t say that I never considered a career in journalism – there was a time in the fourth grade, between dreams of working as a veterinarian and studying dolphins as a marine biologist, that I entertained notions of being a writer. I had always equated journalism with reporting, however, and as worthy a pursuit as that is, it never interested me – even today I can’t honestly say that it does – so, until recently, journalism seemed an unlikely career. But I have since come to realize that journalism is so much more than news reporting, and the more I consider it, the more I realize that for someone, like myself, who is a storyteller at heart with an insatiable appetite for knowledge and an innate curiosity about the world around them, it could be a wonderful opportunity to do both what I love and what I’m best at.

I wish I could tell you that I’ve always wanted to be a journalist – that I ran around as a little girl pretending to be a reporter – so that you would have easy proof of my motivation, but I can’t. I wish I had a portfolio an inch thick, full of clippings, evidence of my interest in, and commitment to journalism, but all I have to offer to you is a selection of new pieces, and previous school assignments that I have spent that last few months polishing up so they sound a little less like essays. I realize that there are probably many more ideal candidates than myself, but I can only hope that the effort I have put into this application is apparent; that my words speak for themselves; that you might give me a chance to prove my potential; that you believe me when I say that King’s and the one-year BJ programme is where I would truly like to be.