Personal statements I will not write

Like so many other graduate students around this fair nation, I am now in the process of drafting a proposal for the NSF Graduate Research Fellowship Program. Before I descend into petty complaints, I would like to state just how proud I am to be in a country where a program like the NSF GRFP exists; it's a fantastic way to inspire and motivate young scientists. I've met several NSF GRFP recipients, and they are brilliant people doing stellar research.

Hey, I'm a moron, and this is crazy,

…so fund me, maybe?

That being said, I have one serious issue with the GRFP…namely, the materials required for the application. NSF requires three essays from each applicant: one on past research, one on proposed research and the personal statement. 

The essay on past research? Totally legit–NSF should seek out candidates who have thought been coached through the experimental process. Proposed research? 100% necessary–if you're funding someone to do research, you need evidence that they come with good ideas. But the personal statement? Not cool, man. Not cool.

If you're not familiar with what a personal statement should look like, let me fill you in. NSF expects you to write a two-page essay detailing not just why you're interested in your research area, but what makes you special enough to study it, how this research/fellowship will make your career more awesome, and whether you and your study really promise Intellectual Merit and Broader Impact (the two holy tenants of the NSF GRFP).

Seems easy, right? Wrong. To really write a good personal statement, in addition to enumerating the aforementioned criteria, you need to incorporate them into a deeply personal narrative. This narrative should portray you as a ingenious young scientist undergoing an intellectual metamorphosis, rising to unforeseen challenges to advance our understanding of the universe. You also must relate how you've been a leader, changed the world, and brought wisdom to all the little children.

Past outreach? I made babies love science. NSF, show me some love.

If you're someone whose life story fits that bill, awesome. If you're like me, having spent your days squandering countless opportunities served on a gold platter with a side of white middle-class privilege sorbet, the personal statement is the kiss of death. No reviewer is going to look twice at your application unless you can genuinely convince them that you're the goddam scientific version of Orphan Annie. 

To vent my frustration at the inadequacy of the personal statement I'm bound to produce in the next month, so I'm going to draft three personal statements that are more honest and relevant than the one I will actually submit. Here goes…

#1: BIRDZ R COOL

Holy shit, y'all need to know how fucking amazing birds are. I'm not talking about the casual "that's amazing" you dole out to friends who just gave birth, this is a jaw-dropping "WTF, a Here Comes Honey Boo-Boo is featured on a network titled The Learning Channel?"-level unbelievable. No, really, have you ever seen shit like this:

Not cool enough for you? How about this:

Still not convinced? Then brace yourself, 'cause it gets even better:

Yeah, birds are awesome. I'm gonna study them, and you should fund me to do that. The birds I'm studying are really pretty, so you should give me even more money than you would normally give. Let's say…$200K. Sound good? Great!

Pretty bird = More $$$$

#2: Conservation is Sexy

Hey, girl. I like the way your hair looks tonight. Yeah, you're working it. You know what makes you extra hot? Your conservationism.

Is it weird that I think of Aldo Leopold as a 20th century sex icon?

Yeah, I know what they say, your mandate is more about basic science than it is about application. But honeybabes-sweetcheeks-lovemuffin, you know the natural world is circling the drain, washed out by so much anthropogenic expansion. A dollar spent on research to staunch mass extinction is a dollar well spent…a few thousand dollars would be an even better investment. And I know you'll be hankering to stuff some NSF singles in my carbon-neutral garter when I start my "Threatened Species" burlesque routine.

Yeah, I might be re-testing a method already proven effective, but I'm testing it in a novel system with broader implications for abstract things like species concepts. It's a 2-for-1 deal: basic science  AND conservation application. So…look into my eyes and tell me you honestly don't want to fund me.

#3: Field Biology Makes My Life Awesome

Once upon a time, everything was lame. I dreaded my future–years of medical school which I was pretty sure I wouldn't survive; even if I did, I'd face a career treating illnesses of which I was utterly terrified. I couldn't even touch doorknobs, let alone sick people. I didn't think I would be able to contribute anything to the world, because I was crazy, I understood so little, and I didn't excel at anything.

Then I found out I could go into field biology, and things switched from lame to F#$%ING AMAZING. Seriously.

First of all, the natural world is way more interesting than diseases and bodily fluids are terrifying. When in the field, I've been cut up, bruised, splattered in animal and human blood, accidentally fertilized by amphibians and fish (seriously gross), bitten by insects and leeches and so many ticks, dissected roadkill, been crapped on by more creatures than I can count, all without a psychological breakdown. Why? Because fascination crowds out fear.

Second, even when the work itself is tedious, the people always make up for it. Since starting my first field job, I have had the honor of working with some of the most talented, intelligent, hard-working, lovable and fantastic human beings on the planet. The AZ Cuckoo crew, the Archbold gang, folks at Manomet, everyone from Golondrinas de las Ámericas, and especially my field crew from this summer–all have a very special place in my heart.

The GWWA Crew 2012: Undeniable Rockstars

Most importantly, not only has field biology been interesting and life-changing for me, but it's also a discipline to which I think I can contribute. Sure, I have my doubts as to whether, I'm smart enough, but I want to to do good science so badly that I'm willing to risk spectacular failure (both as a graduate student and as a professional).

So really, dear NSF, it would be nice if you fund me. Heck, it would be awesome. But ultimately, if you send me a rejection letter, it's not going to stop me from chasing after my ecological aspirations. Life as a budding ecologist has been too good–I wouldn't dream of giving it up.

Feel free to fund me when I'm an adjunct making $12K for the umpteenth year in a row and trying to feed all eight of my children, though.