My experiences at Hope have certainly shaped my view of life in a number of unique and dynamic ways. Some of my experiences have shaped this view positively, others negatively. Regardless of the beneficial or detrimental outcome of my experiences, I have tried to at least glean some insight into who I would like to become and what I stand for as an individual in a growing global community. Certainly the past three and half years have made me more pessimistic when it comes to my vocation of political science. It has been quite the tumultuous time and the landscape of our country has become as divisive as ever. While I certainly would like to remain optimistic, I have come to the conclusion that a more tempered realism is a more reasonable approach.
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This has certainly contributed to the more tempered realism, if not pessimistic views that I hold now. While I certainly would like to look on the world and be filled with hope for the future, it remains difficult. This cynical outlook no doubt began at a young age and has cemented itself in my mind over the past ten to twelve years. My earliest memories of growing up centered around my volatile household and the dysfunction of my parents relationship. As an only child in an abusive home I was forced to grow up quickly. Although I found some solace in the community of the church, this was hopefulness was quickly squashed. Many of the most “christian” people I knew lived lives of total hypocrisy. This was particularly noticeable within my own family. My father in particular would go to church on Sundays and put on the facade of the most genuinely kind and gentle person you’d ever meet. However, the other six days of the week would be filled with verbal tirades against my mother. “Bitch”, “Cunt”, and other vulgarities were not uncommon. Nor was the occasional throwing of household objects. By the time I reached second grade I was actively encouraging my mom to pursue a divorce. Yet despite this miserable home life, I always held out hope. I maintained optimism based on the few times he would show “real" affection, or profess a desire to “change”. As a young child and adolescent it was easy to fall under this spell. It was easy to believe that despite the nastiness, the hatred, and maliciousness, could change. Their was always that glimmer of good underneath all the
This has certainly contributed to the more tempered realism, if not pessimistic views that I hold now. While I certainly would like to look on the world and be filled with hope for the future, it remains difficult. This cynical outlook no doubt began at a young age and has cemented itself in my mind over the past ten to twelve years. My earliest memories of growing up centered around my volatile household and the dysfunction of my parents relationship. As an only child in an abusive home I was forced to grow up quickly. Although I found some solace in the community of the church, this was hopefulness was quickly squashed. Many of the most “christian” people I knew lived lives of total hypocrisy. This was particularly noticeable within my own family. My father in particular would go to church on Sundays and put on the facade of the most genuinely kind and gentle person you’d ever meet. However, the other six days of the week would be filled with verbal tirades against my mother. “Bitch”, “Cunt”, and other vulgarities were not uncommon. Nor was the occasional throwing of household objects. By the time I reached second grade I was actively encouraging my mom to pursue a divorce. Yet despite this miserable home life, I always held out hope. I maintained optimism based on the few times he would show “real" affection, or profess a desire to “change”. As a young child and adolescent it was easy to fall under this spell. It was easy to believe that despite the nastiness, the hatred, and maliciousness, could change. Their was always that glimmer of good underneath all the