The Law School Admissions Test (LSAT) world is one I thought I’d leave after taking my test this past September—but as November has now begun, I’m wondering if I’ll ever truly escape its grasp.
I love being right. I’ve always loved being right. I hate being proven wrong and try to avoid it at all costs—being right is so much more fulfilling. So, it was no surprise when I told my parents in Grade 12 that I wanted to go to law school.
Naturally, the arrogant aura that surrounds an individual wanting to go law school, comes with the unsupported belief that “I’ll do well on the LSAT because I’m always right.” However, the Law School Admissions Council has a few other conditions they desire to test besides being right for the sake of being right.
I began my four-month study journey in May to prepare for the September LSAT by purchasing a couple logical reasoning and reading comprehension bibles online from PowerScore. Little did I know, these textbooks would change me as a human being.
Before I dove headfirst into the LSAT world, I was a blissfully unaware individual, casually strutting through life with an indifference toward the finer points of reasoning. My arguments were often fueled by passion rather than logic—relying on gut feelings and sweeping generalizations rather than structured thought— and my approach was less about deconstructing ideas and more about stirring up spirited discussions.
In discussions, I thrived on spontaneity, often losing myself in my own enthusiasm. However, that same passion sometimes meant my points were as flimsy as a paper umbrella in a rainstorm. I had a knack for weaving together passionate rhetoric, but when pressed for reasons, I often resorted to vague assertions.
My understanding of argumentation was more of an art form—beautiful but unanchored—rather than a precise strategy. I wore my opinions like badges of honour, celebrating my rightness without realizing how little I was truly engaging with the complexities of each debate.
Beyond this, I hated reading comprehension. In high school English classes, I remember being given a thick test booklet and an accompanying answer booklet and being told “to just do it.” I had no grounds of what it meant to “read adequately” as outlined by the high school curriculum. I would simply just read and then select an answer that seemed right, never fully sure in the answers I was choosing.
Reading is one of the first things we’re taught, starting with learning the alphabet and how to write letters. While we’re taught the mechanics of reading, I’ve come to realize that we’re rarely taught how to read well.
Reading for leisure is one thing. But coming to university and having to read 50-pages of dry academic journals and works of philosophy—while being expected to summarize the main argument, key supporting evidence, and suggest ways the work could be strengthened—is something that was definitely left out in kindergarten.
My PowerScore LSAT bibles taught me how to dissect a reading into separate categories. I learned to identify the main argument not as a vague impression but as a distinct claim, typically nestled within subtle linguistic cues. Words like “thus,” “therefore,” and “consequently” became my signposts, guiding me to the author’s core thesis.
I also honed my eye for supporting evidence. Instead of viewing examples and data as mere details, I began to see them as critical building blocks that bolstered the author’s argument. I learned to ask myself: “What role does each piece of evidence play? How does it relate back to the main point?” By categorizing arguments in this way, I was also primed to spot gaps and weaknesses, actively crafting objections that a less trained eye might overlook. This structured approach to dissecting readings
turned my engagement with texts from passive consumption into an enticing activity.
Now, the skills I learned from studying for the LSAT are something I use daily as I complete readings for all my classes. Beyond this, I now strive to fulfil my rightness by being structured by necessary and sufficient questions. Being right has never felt more satisfying.
Conditional reasoning has become my religion, my muse, my anthem, my addiction: if A is a necessary condition for B, then B cannot happen unless A is true. However, A being true doesn’t guarantee that B will happen. Contrastingly, if A is a sufficient condition for B, then whenever A happens, B will definitely happen as well. However, B could still happen without A occurring. This is easier understood when viewing shapes: all squares have four sides, but not all four-sided shapes are squares—geometry’s way of gatekeeping.
This logical dance between necessity and sufficiency feels like the secret code to understanding the world—just as shapes play by their own rules, philosophers reveal their truths through these admirable “if-then” structures. When I’m doing my readings in philosophy, and I see an author using “If […] then” an uncontrollable excitement overflows me. Philosophers just get it.
In pursuing a Joint Honours, I thought I was lucky to get to sideline required courses in both of my degrees—I celebrated not having to take the dreaded PHIL 260, Introduction to Logic and instead got to take the not-so- much more celebrated POLS 285, Introduction to Statistics. So, I guess I would have discovered my love for logic a bit sooner had I needed to take this course, but now, I will never turn my head away from logic again.
Even though I’m knee-deep in logical reasoning, I still find myself daydreaming about the simple joys of life—like arguing with my family just to prove I’m right, or passionately defending my favourite movie, Frozen 2 (2019), of course, against any and all criticism.
This journey has sharpened me, carved me into a better version of myself—someone who no longer settles for the shallow satisfaction of “being right.” Now, my rightness is deliberate, a stance held only after every opposing opinion has been counter-argued, and every assumption inspected. It’s like my mind went from fuzzy to focused, all thanks to endless hours of untangling if-then knots.
I’m more than a person with strong opinions; I’m someone who holds each of their arguments pieced together like Lego. Beyond academic growth, this journey has spilled into my everyday life. I find myself savouring the thrill of taking apart the intricate puzzle of a philosophy text. I’m better for it, not only because I’m now grounded in logic, but because I have a newfound patience for argumentation—a reverence for reasoning I once glossed over while exploding with emotions.
I’m not an LSAT wizard and will be taking the test again. However, the skills and knowledge I’ve gained from studying for this test are ones I will forever be grateful for.
Even if you don’t plan on writing the LSAT or want to go to law school, I strongly encourage you not to dismiss the value of logic as much as I once did.
Tags
Law school, LSAT, philosophy, Studying
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