When I nearly died from anorexia brought on by gender dysphoria and negative body image, it was the pursuit of knowledge that dragged me out of that hole. I taught myself that the world is always bigger– and through educating myself on trans and queer history I felt more at home in my body than ever. As I realized I was living a human experience fought for by people who found a way into themselves, I viewed myself as a culmination of beauty instead of disgust. After my hospitalization, most public school teachers did not help me reintegrate and left me stranded to find months' worth of missed notes on my own. Knowledge was my lifeline, I was getting desperate, and there was one person I knew, one source of endless information, who would offer to be my professor: my grandfather, with his archaeology PhD and tendency to turn every phone call into a history lecture. The day after I returned home, I asked him what he knew about the Christian Crusades, uncapped my pen, and scribbled down notes while he talked for over an hour. I got a perfect score on that essay. Intellect was my suit of armor stronger than internalized doubt and need for validation. I would not be able to live a life without directly impacting the people around me in an intentionally encouraging way. My conscience would not allow it. Naturally, I plan to double major in English and Secondary Education with the career path of a high school humanities teacher. Mental illnesses in teens are perpetuated by a cycle of ignorance from the previous generation, and the way to get my hands dirty with direct impact is to put myself in community spaces of responsibility for their educational well-being. I think it’s quite beautiful that Education is a widely available major – implying that the art of sharing and illuminating knowledge is not a commodity but a honed skill. It takes years of practice, trial and error, and flexibility to collect the necessary skills to adapt to different students’ learning styles. Youth is the most impactful time of our human lives and it sets the stage for how the brain responds to stressors, criticism, and social interactions going forward. I think the best teachers are the ones that are fully aware of the role they play and use it for good.

I would not be able to live a life without directly impacting the people around me in an intentionally encouraging way. My conscience would not allow it. Naturally, I plan to double major in English and Secondary Education with the career path of a high school humanities teacher. Mental illnesses in teens are perpetuated by a cycle of ignorance from the previous generation, and the way to get my hands dirty with direct impact is to put myself in community spaces of responsibility for their educational well-being. When I nearly died from anorexia brought on by gender dysphoria and negative body image, it was the pursuit of knowledge that dragged me out of that hole. I knew I had to live because there were still historical theories I hadn’t learned and books I hadn’t read. I taught myself that the world is always bigger– and through educating myself on trans and queer history I felt more at home in my body than ever. As I realized I was living a human experience fought for by people who found a way into themselves, I viewed myself as a culmination of beauty instead of disgust. After my hospitalization, most public school teachers did not help me reintegrate and left me stranded to find months' worth of missed notes on my own. Knowledge was my lifeline, I was getting desperate, and there was one person I knew, one source of endless information, who would offer to be my professor: my grandfather, with his archaeology PhD and tendency to turn every phone call into a history lecture. The day after I returned home, I asked him what he knew about the Christian Crusades, uncapped my pen, and scribbled down notes while he talked for over an hour. I got a perfect score on that essay. Intellect was my suit of armor stronger than internalized doubt and need for validation. As a transgender man, I grew up constantly comparing myself to other idealized versions of what masculinity was "supposed" to look like: peak physical condition, completely flat front and back, a body made of hard boxy angles and no curves. It was easy to get away with skipping meals when my neglectful mother forgot to make dinner half the time and didn't pay enough attention until I was calling her from a hospital bed. I thought I was gaining control over a part of my life that trapped me in a physicality devoid of choice, but all I was doing was shriveling away. The stigma surrounding eating disorders is infantilizing, let alone men with eating disorders. Though many well meaning parents think otherwise, they are completely mental conditions -- a declining physical health is merely a side effect, the way an addict's body wastes away when a self-destructive coping mechanism for a trauma is the true root of the problem. I do believe in hope, though. After everything I'd been through as a kid, the bullying and neglect, the cruel friends and hot-cheeked embarrassment after finally cutting my hair, I knew from the books I read that adversity bred strength. And I decided that I was going to live, that I was going to white-knuckle and fight my way to a happy ending. So I started to fuel myself again, not only with food but with literature and art and history and nature. I made choices every day to wake up and do something that would remind me that the world had more to offer than the snares of my own thoughts: wandering art museums with a sketchbook, devouring novels, busking for coins on guitar in city streets, walking along the shoreline with my earbuds cranking out punk song after punk song. My physical health grew strong. I gained weight. Fat and muscle. Finally passed the minimum healthy point. I got outside every day, moved my body with the intention of celebrating it rather than punishing it. I surrounded myself with people and things that brought me up, not down. The more I learned about history and humanities, the more I realized that the most important thing I could do as a trans person was live and embrace myself regardless of what the world slung at me. I'd be lying if I said that I was perfectly mentally okay; every day is still a choice between the road of relapse and recovery. But the right choice is unbelievably worth it. I think it’s quite beautiful that Education is a widely available major – implying that the art of sharing and illuminating knowledge is not a commodity but a honed skill. It takes years of practice, trial and error, and flexibility to collect the necessary skills to adapt to different students’ learning styles. My professional goal is to be a teacher; my personal goal is to be a good one. I've observed that most kids don't hate learning, they just hate the discouraging and competitive school environment. The joy of people's eyes lighting up upon being given the opportunity to indulge in a true passion is unmatched. For me, the pursuit of knowledge was a lifeline I clung to throughout high school and I did everything in my power to extend that appetite to my peers. I cannot watch students slip through the cracks and be labeled lost causes because no teacher gave them the chance to show their strengths.

As a high-achieving student, people are often surprised to find that my closest friend has no academic motivation or dedication. The standardized education system has failed to accommodate the way she learns and teachers opt to treat her like she is stupid and dangerous. I often sit with her through her homework when her parents don't bother to try, because I know she is very intelligent, albeit without the conventionality expected from her. She once thanked me for letting her use my "nice pens" because most people would assume she'd "break everything she touched". I understand the impact adult role models have on young people — I remember every single good teacher I've had — and I want to give classroom memories a positive connotation to inspire learning. I think it’s quite beautiful that Education is a widely available major – implying that the art of sharing and illuminating knowledge is not a commodity but a honed skill. It takes years of practice, trial and error, and flexibility to collect the necessary skills to adapt to different students’ learning styles. My professional goal is to be a teacher; my personal goal is to be a good one. The best way to achieve that is to put myself under the tutelage of as many diversely educated people as possible— and in return, encourage a variety of interests and methods with my future students to synthesize a broader worldview. I’ve noticed growing up that standardized school systems leave many people stranded behind or tired of its monotony; something as complex as the young, eager mind cannot be classified into a singular curriculum. Youth is the most impactful time of our human lives and it sets the stage for how the brain responds to stressors, criticism, and social interactions going forward. I think the best teachers are the ones that are fully aware of the role they play and use it for good. The problem with our school systems today is that teachers do not intentionally instill critical thinking and educational passion into their students; they prepare for the test and get frustrated when their students reflect their own attitude towards learning. Disciplinary action is taken to enforce obedience, and authority is taught to be accepted blindly. The most important thing a student can learn is to question everything and follow their gut instinct in pursuing the truth. It’s truly saddening how distanced from reality our public schools are leading students, especially in humanities and social sciences. It would be to the benefit of our children to raise a generation of passionate thinkers who defend the rights of their communities and are capable of forming independent ideas. The disease of anti-intellectualism gives people a false sense of stability when they remain complacent. It all starts with the teachers and the instructions we are fed as children. We need now more than ever to incite true excitement and inspiration in history, literature, art, music, sociology, psychology, and all of the liberal arts that define our identity as humans. I've observed that most kids don't hate learning, they just hate the discouraging and competitive school environment. The joy of people's eyes lighting up upon being given the opportunity to indulge in a true passion is unmatched. For me, the pursuit of knowledge was a lifeline I clung to throughout high school and I did everything in my power to extend that appetite to my peers. I cannot watch students slip through the cracks and be labeled lost causes because no teacher gave them the chance to show their strengths.

When I nearly died from anorexia brought on by gender dysphoria and negative body image, it was the pursuit of knowledge that dragged me out of that hole. I knew I had to live because there were still historical theories I hadn’t learned and books I hadn’t read. I taught myself that the world is always bigger– and through educating myself on trans and queer history I felt more at home in my body than ever. As I realized I was living a human experience fought for by people who found a way into themselves, I viewed myself as a culmination of beauty instead of disgust. After my hospitalization, most public school teachers did not help me reintegrate and left me stranded to find months' worth of missed notes on my own. Knowledge was my lifeline, I was getting desperate, and there was one person I knew, one source of endless information, who would offer to be my professor: my grandfather, with his archaeology PhD and tendency to turn every phone call into a history lecture. The day after I returned home, I asked him what he knew about the Christian Crusades, uncapped my pen, and scribbled down notes while he talked for over an hour. I got a perfect score on that essay. Intellect was my suit of armor stronger than internalized doubt and need for validation. As a trans guy, I grew up constantly comparing myself to other idealized versions of what masculinity was "supposed" to look like: peak physical condition, completely flat front and back, a body made of hard boxy angles and no curves. It was easy to get away with skipping meals when my neglectful mother forgot to make dinner half the time and didn't pay enough attention until I was calling her from a hospital bed. I thought I was gaining control over a part of my life that trapped me in a physicality devoid of choice, but all I was doing was shriveling away. I do believe in hope, though. After everything I'd been through as a kid, the bullying and neglect, the cruel friends and hot-cheeked embarrassment after finally cutting my hair, I knew from the books I read that adversity bred strength. And I decided that I was going to live, that I was going to white-knuckle and fight my way to a happy ending. So I started to fuel myself again, not only with food but with literature and art and history and nature. I made choices every day to wake up and do something that would remind me that the world had more to offer than the snares of my own thoughts: wandering art museums with a sketchbook, devouring novels, busking for coins on guitar in city streets, walking along the shoreline with my earbuds cranking out punk song after punk song. My physical health grew strong. I gained weight. Fat and muscle. Finally passed the minimum healthy point. I got outside every day, moved my body with the intention of celebrating it rather than punishing it. I surrounded myself with people and things that brought me up, not down. The more I learned about history and humanities, the more I realized that the most important thing I could do as a trans person was live and embrace myself regardless of what the world slung at me. I'd be lying if I said that I was perfectly mentally okay; every day is still a choice between the road of relapse and recovery. But the right choice is unbelievably worth it. Once I'd clawed out a future for myself, I had the world at my feet. I think it’s quite beautiful that Education is a widely available major – implying that the art of sharing and illuminating knowledge is not a commodity but a honed skill. It takes years of practice, trial and error, and flexibility to collect the necessary skills to adapt to different students’ learning styles. My professional goal is to be a teacher; my personal goal is to be a good one. The best way to achieve that is to put myself under the tutelage of as many diversely educated people as possible— and in return, encourage a variety of interests and methods with my future students to synthesize a broader worldview. It would be to the benefit of our children to raise a generation of passionate thinkers who defend the rights of their communities and are capable of forming independent ideas. The disease of anti-intellectualism gives people a false sense of stability when they remain complacent. It all starts with the teachers and the instructions we are fed as children. We need now more than ever to incite true excitement and inspiration in history, literature, art, music, sociology, psychology, and all of the liberal arts that define our identity as humans. I've observed that most kids don't hate learning, they just hate the discouraging and competitive school environment. The joy of people's eyes lighting up upon being given the opportunity to indulge in a true passion is unmatched. For me, the pursuit of knowledge was a lifeline I clung to throughout high school and I did everything in my power to extend that appetite to my peers. I cannot watch students slip through the cracks and be labeled lost causes because no teacher gave them the chance to show their strengths. We as transgender people owe it to our past to not be forgotten-- to not let ourselves submit in fear to the world that wants us to kill ourselves and shoves us into every box we fought so hard to break free from. Schools are meant to be safe places of knowledge, and now more than ever it is crucial to preserve information and history in an age that shows no regard for facts. As I grow older, I am grateful for every chance I have to teach others on our past in order to create possibility in the future.

When I nearly died from anorexia brought on by gender dysphoria and negative body image, it was the pursuit of knowledge that dragged me out of that hole. I knew I had to live because there were still historical theories I hadn’t learned and books I hadn’t read. I taught myself that the world is always bigger– and through educating myself on trans and queer history I felt more at home in my body than ever. As I realized I was living a human experience fought for by people who found a way into themselves, I viewed myself as a culmination of beauty instead of disgust. After my hospitalization, most public school teachers did not help me reintegrate and left me stranded to find months' worth of missed notes on my own. Knowledge was my lifeline, I was getting desperate, and there was one person I knew, one source of endless information, who would offer to be my professor: my grandfather, with his archaeology PhD and tendency to turn every phone call into a history lecture. The day after I returned home, I asked him what he knew about the Christian Crusades, uncapped my pen, and scribbled down notes while he talked for over an hour. I got a perfect score on that essay. Intellect was my suit of armor stronger than internalized doubt and need for validation. As a trans guy, I grew up constantly comparing myself to other idealized versions of what masculinity was "supposed" to look like: peak physical condition, completely flat front and back, a body made of hard boxy angles and no curves. It was easy to get away with skipping meals when my neglectful mother forgot to make dinner half the time and didn't pay enough attention until I was calling her from a hospital bed. I thought I was gaining control over a part of my life that trapped me in a physicality devoid of choice, but all I was doing was shriveling away. I do believe in hope, though. After everything I'd been through as a kid, the bullying and neglect, the cruel friends and hot-cheeked embarrassment after finally cutting my hair, I knew from the books I read that adversity bred strength. And I decided that I was going to live, that I was going to white-knuckle and fight my way to a happy ending. So I started to fuel myself again, not only with food but with literature and art and history and nature. I made choices every day to wake up and do something that would remind me that the world had more to offer than the snares of my own thoughts: wandering art museums with a sketchbook, devouring novels, busking for coins on guitar in city streets, walking along the shoreline with my earbuds cranking out punk song after punk song. My physical health grew strong. I gained weight. Fat and muscle. Finally passed the minimum healthy point. I got outside every day, moved my body with the intention of celebrating it rather than punishing it. I surrounded myself with people and things that brought me up, not down. The more I learned about history and humanities, the more I realized that the most important thing I could do as a trans person was live and embrace myself regardless of what the world slung at me. I'd be lying if I said that I was perfectly mentally okay; every day is still a choice between the road of relapse and recovery. But the right choice is unbelievably worth it.

When I nearly died from anorexia brought on by gender dysphoria and negative body image, it was the pursuit of knowledge that dragged me out of that hole. I knew I had to live because there were still historical theories I hadn’t learned and books I hadn’t read. I taught myself that the world is always bigger– and through educating myself on trans and queer history I felt more at home in my body than ever. As I realized I was living a human experience fought for by people who found a way into themselves, I viewed myself as a culmination of beauty instead of disgust. After my hospitalization, most public school teachers did not help me reintegrate and left me stranded to find months' worth of missed notes on my own. Knowledge was my lifeline, I was getting desperate, and there was one person I knew, one source of endless information, who would offer to be my professor: my grandfather, with his archaeology PhD and tendency to turn every phone call into a history lecture. The day after I returned home, I asked him what he knew about the Christian Crusades, uncapped my pen, and scribbled down notes while he talked for over an hour. I got a perfect score on that essay. Intellect was my suit of armor stronger than internalized doubt and need for validation. As a trans guy, I grew up constantly comparing myself to other idealized versions of what masculinity was "supposed" to look like: peak physical condition, completely flat front and back, a body made of hard boxy angles and no curves. It was easy to get away with skipping meals when my neglectful mother forgot to make dinner half the time and didn't pay enough attention until I was calling her from a hospital bed. I thought I was gaining control over a part of my life that trapped me in a physicality devoid of choice, but all I was doing was shriveling away. I do believe in hope, though. After everything I'd been through as a kid, the bullying and neglect, the cruel friends and hot-cheeked embarrassment after finally cutting my hair, I knew from the books I read that adversity bred strength. And I decided that I was going to live, that I was going to white-knuckle and fight my way to a happy ending. So I started to fuel myself again, not only with food but with literature and art and history and nature. I made choices every day to wake up and do something that would remind me that the world had more to offer than the snares of my own thoughts: wandering art museums with a sketchbook, devouring novels, busking for coins on guitar in city streets, walking along the shoreline with my earbuds cranking out punk song after punk song. My physical health grew strong. I gained weight: fat and muscle. I finally passed the minimum healthy point. I got outside every day, moved my body with the intention of celebrating it rather than punishing it. I surrounded myself with people and things that brought me up, not down. The more I learned about history and humanities, the more I realized that the most important thing I could do as a trans person was live and embrace myself regardless of what the world slung at me. I'd be lying if I said that I was perfectly mentally okay; every day is still a choice between the road of relapse and recovery. But the right choice is unbelievably worth it.

When I nearly died from anorexia brought on by gender dysphoria and negative body image, it was the pursuit of knowledge that dragged me out of that hole. I knew I had to live because there were still historical theories I hadn’t learned and books I hadn’t read. I taught myself that the world is always bigger– and through educating myself on trans and queer history I felt more at home in my body than ever. As I realized I was living a human experience fought for by people who found a way into themselves, I viewed myself as a culmination of beauty instead of disgust. After my hospitalization, most public school teachers did not help me reintegrate and left me stranded to find months' worth of missed notes on my own. Knowledge was my lifeline, I was getting desperate, and there was one person I knew, one source of endless information, who would offer to be my professor: my grandfather, with his archaeology PhD and tendency to turn every phone call into a history lecture. The day after I returned home, I asked him what he knew about the Christian Crusades, uncapped my pen, and scribbled down notes while he talked for over an hour. I got a perfect score on that essay. Intellect was my suit of armor stronger than internalized doubt and need for validation. As a trans guy, I grew up constantly comparing myself to other idealized versions of what masculinity was "supposed" to look like: peak physical condition, completely flat front and back, a body made of hard boxy angles and no curves. It was easy to get away with skipping meals when my neglectful mother forgot to make dinner half the time and didn't pay enough attention until I was calling her from a hospital bed. I thought I was gaining control over a part of my life that trapped me in a physicality devoid of choice, but all I was doing was shriveling away. I do believe in hope, though. After everything I'd been through as a kid, the bullying and neglect, the cruel friends and hot-cheeked embarrassment after finally cutting my hair, I knew from the books I read that adversity bred strength. And I decided that I was going to live, that I was going to white-knuckle and fight my way to a happy ending. So I started to fuel myself again, not only with food but with literature and art and history and nature. I made choices every day to wake up and do something that would remind me that the world had more to offer than the snares of my own thoughts: wandering art museums with a sketchbook, devouring novels, busking for coins on guitar in city streets, walking along the shoreline with my earbuds cranking out punk song after punk song. My physical health grew strong. I gained weight. Fat and muscle. Finally passed the minimum healthy point. I got outside every day, moved my body with the intention of celebrating it rather than punishing it. I surrounded myself with people and things that brought me up, not down. The more I learned about history and humanities, the more I realized that the most important thing I could do as a trans person was live and embrace myself regardless of what the world slung at me. I'd be lying if I said that I was perfectly mentally okay; every day is still a choice between the road of relapse and recovery. But the right choice is unbelievably worth it.

When I nearly died from an eating disorder brought on by gender dysphoria and negative body image, it was the pursuit of knowledge that dragged me out of that hole. I knew I had to live because there were still historical theories I hadn’t learned and books I hadn’t read. I taught myself that the world is always bigger– and through educating myself on trans and queer history I felt more at home in my body than ever. As I realized I was living a human experience fought for by people who found a way into themselves, I viewed myself as a culmination of beauty instead of disgust. After my hospitalization, most public school teachers did not help me reintegrate and left me stranded to find months' worth of missed notes on my own. Knowledge was my lifeline, I was getting desperate, and there was one person I knew, one source of endless information, who would offer to be my professor: my grandfather, with his archaeology PhD and tendency to turn every phone call into a history lecture. The day after I returned home, I asked him what he knew about the Christian Crusades, uncapped my pen, and scribbled down notes while he talked for over an hour. I got a perfect score on that essay. Intellect was my suit of armor stronger than internalized doubt and need for validation. Taking control of my own education and what I chose to fill my brain with changed my life. The summer before my senior year, I volunteered at a sleepaway camp to teach and co-lead youth arts classes. The following year I returned for a more responsible position, sleeping in a cabin with elementary-aged boys and guiding them through their daily routines. Even outside the traditional academic setting, I taught my kids new games, creative skills, and fostered social growth. I think it’s quite beautiful that Education is a widely available major – implying that the art of sharing and illuminating knowledge is not a commodity but a honed skill. It takes years of practice, trial and error, and flexibility to collect the necessary skills to adapt to different students’ learning styles. My professional goal is to be a teacher; my personal goal is to be a good one. The best way to achieve that is to put myself under the tutelage of as many diversely educated people as possible— and in return, encourage a variety of interests and methods with my future students to synthesize a broader worldview. I’ve noticed growing up that standardized school systems leave many people stranded behind or tired of its monotony; something as complex as the young, eager mind cannot be classified into a singular curriculum. Youth is the most impactful time of our human lives and it sets the stage for how the brain responds to stressors, criticism, and social interactions going forward. I think the best teachers are the ones that are fully aware of the role they play and use it for good. I've observed that most kids don't hate learning, they just hate the discouraging and competitive school environment. The joy of people's eyes lighting up upon being given the opportunity to indulge in a true passion is unmatched. For me, the pursuit of knowledge was a lifeline I clung to throughout high school and I did everything in my power to extend that appetite to my peers. I cannot watch students slip through the cracks and be labeled lost causes because no teacher gave them the chance to show their strengths.

When I nearly died from an eating disorder brought on by gender dysphoria and negative body image, it was the pursuit of knowledge that dragged me out of that hole. I knew I had to live because there were still historical theories I hadn’t learned and books I hadn’t read. I taught myself that the world is always bigger– and through educating myself on trans and queer history I felt more at home in my body than ever. As I realized I was living a human experience fought for by people who found a way into themselves, I viewed myself as a culmination of beauty instead of disgust. After my hospitalization, most public school teachers did not help me reintegrate and left me stranded to find months' worth of missed notes on my own. Knowledge was my lifeline, I was getting desperate, and there was one person I knew, one source of endless information, who would offer to be my professor: my grandfather, with his archaeology PhD and tendency to turn every phone call into a history lecture. The day after I returned home, I asked him what he knew about the Christian Crusades, uncapped my pen, and scribbled down notes while he talked for over an hour. I got a perfect score on that essay. Intellect was my suit of armor stronger than internalized doubt and need for validation. Taking control of my own education and what I chose to fill my brain with changed my life. I think it’s quite beautiful that Education is a widely available major – implying that the art of sharing and illuminating knowledge is not a commodity but a honed skill. It takes years of practice, trial and error, and flexibility to collect the necessary skills to adapt to different students’ learning styles. My professional goal is to be a teacher; my personal goal is to be a good one. The best way to achieve that is to put myself under the tutelage of as many diversely educated people as possible— and in return, encourage a variety of interests and methods with my future students to synthesize a broader worldview. I’ve noticed growing up that standardized school systems leave many people stranded behind or tired of its monotony; something as complex as the young, eager mind cannot be classified into a singular curriculum. Youth is the most impactful time of our human lives and it sets the stage for how the brain responds to stressors, criticism, and social interactions going forward. I think the best teachers are the ones that are fully aware of the role they play and use it for good. I've observed that most kids don't hate learning, they just hate the discouraging and competitive school environment. The joy of people's eyes lighting up upon being given the opportunity to indulge in a true passion is unmatched. For me, the pursuit of knowledge was a lifeline I clung to throughout high school and I did everything in my power to extend that appetite to my peers. I cannot watch students slip through the cracks and be labeled lost causes because no teacher gave them the chance to show their strengths.

When I nearly died from an eating disorder brought on by gender dysphoria and negative body image, it was the pursuit of knowledge that dragged me out of that hole. I knew I had to live because there were still historical theories I hadn’t learned and books I hadn’t read. I taught myself that the world is always bigger– and through educating myself on trans and queer history I felt more at home in my body than ever. As I realized I was living a human experience fought for by people who found a way into themselves, I viewed myself as a culmination of beauty instead of disgust. After my hospitalization, most public school teachers did not help me reintegrate and left me stranded to find months' worth of missed notes on my own. Knowledge was my lifeline, I was getting desperate, and there was one person I knew, one source of endless information, who would offer to be my professor: my grandfather, with his archaeology PhD and tendency to turn every phone call into a history lecture. The day after I returned home, I asked him what he knew about the Christian Crusades, uncapped my pen, and scribbled down notes while he talked for over an hour. I got a perfect score on that essay. Intellect was my suit of armor stronger than internalized doubt and need for validation. Taking control of my own education and what I chose to fill my brain with changed my life. I think it’s quite beautiful that Education is a widely available major – implying that the art of sharing and illuminating knowledge is not a commodity but a honed skill. It takes years of practice, trial and error, and flexibility to collect the necessary skills to adapt to different students’ learning styles. My professional goal is to be a teacher; my personal goal is to be a good one. The best way to achieve that is to put myself under the tutelage of as many diversely educated people as possible— and in return, encourage a variety of interests and methods with my future students to synthesize a broader worldview. I’ve noticed growing up that standardized school systems leave many people stranded behind or tired of its monotony; something as complex as the young, eager mind cannot be classified into a singular curriculum. Youth is the most impactful time of our human lives and it sets the stage for how the brain responds to stressors, criticism, and social interactions going forward. I think the best teachers are the ones that are fully aware of the role they play and use it for good. I've observed that most kids don't hate learning, they just hate the discouraging and competitive school environment. The joy of people's eyes lighting up upon being given the opportunity to indulge in a true passion is unmatched. For me, the pursuit of knowledge was a lifeline I clung to throughout high school and I did everything in my power to extend that appetite to my peers. I cannot watch students slip through the cracks and be labeled lost causes because no teacher gave them the chance to show their strengths.

When I nearly died from an eating disorder brought on by gender dysphoria and negative body image, it was the pursuit of knowledge that dragged me out of that hole. I knew I had to live because there were still historical theories I hadn’t learned and books I hadn’t read. I taught myself that the world is always bigger– and through educating myself on trans and queer history I felt more at home in my body than ever. As I realized I was living a human experience fought for by people who found a way into themselves, I viewed myself as a culmination of beauty instead of disgust. Intellect was a suit of armor stronger than internalized doubt and need for validation. Taking control of my own education and what I chose to fill my brain with changed my life. I think it’s quite beautiful that Education is a widely available major – implying that the art of sharing and illuminating knowledge is not a commodity but a honed skill. It takes years of practice, trial and error, and flexibility to collect the necessary skills to adapt to different students’ learning styles. My professional goal is to be a teacher; my personal goal is to be a good one. The best way to achieve that is to put myself under the tutelage of as many diversely educated people as possible— and in return, encourage a variety of interests and methods with my future students to synthesize a broader worldview. I’ve noticed growing up that standardized school systems leave many people stranded behind or tired of its monotony; something as complex as the young, eager mind cannot be classified into a singular curriculum. Youth is the most impactful time of our human lives and it sets the stage for how the brain responds to stressors, criticism, and social interactions going forward. I think the best teachers are the ones that are fully aware of the role they play and use it for good. It would be to the benefit of our children to raise a generation of passionate thinkers who defend the rights of their communities and are capable of forming independent ideas. The disease of anti-intellectualism gives people a false sense of stability when they remain complacent. It all starts with the teachers and the instructions we are fed as children. We need now more than ever to incite true excitement and inspiration in history, literature, art, music, sociology, psychology, and all of the liberal arts that define our identity as humans. I've observed that most kids don't hate learning, they just hate the discouraging and competitive school environment. The joy of people's eyes lighting up upon being given the opportunity to indulge in a true passion is unmatched. For me, the pursuit of knowledge was a lifeline I clung to throughout high school and I did everything in my power to extend that appetite to my peers. I cannot watch students slip through the cracks and be labeled lost causes because no teacher gave them the chance to show their strengths.

When I nearly died from an eating disorder brought on by gender dysphoria and negative body image, it was the pursuit of knowledge that dragged me out of that hole. I knew I had to live because there were still historical theories I hadn’t learned and books I hadn’t read. I taught myself that the world is always bigger– and through educating myself on trans and queer history I felt more at home in my body than ever. As I realized I was living a human experience fought for by people who found a way into themselves, I viewed myself as a culmination of beauty instead of disgust. Intellect was a suit of armor stronger than internalized doubt and need for validation. Taking control of my own education and what I chose to fill my brain with changed my life. I think it’s quite beautiful that Education is a widely available major – implying that the art of sharing and illuminating knowledge is not a commodity but a honed skill. It takes years of practice, trial and error, and flexibility to collect the necessary skills to adapt to different students’ learning styles. My professional goal is to be a teacher; my personal goal is to be a good one. The best way to achieve that is to put myself under the tutelage of as many diversely educated people as possible— and in return, encourage a variety of interests and methods with my future students to synthesize a broader worldview. I’ve noticed growing up that standardized school systems leave many people stranded behind or tired of its monotony; something as complex as the young, eager mind cannot be classified into a singular curriculum. Youth is the most impactful time of our human lives and it sets the stage for how the brain responds to stressors, criticism, and social interactions going forward. I think the best teachers are the ones that are fully aware of the role they play and use it for good. It would be to the benefit of our children to raise a generation of passionate thinkers who defend the rights of their communities and are capable of forming independent ideas. The disease of anti-intellectualism gives people a false sense of stability when they remain complacent. It all starts with the teachers and the instructions we are fed as children. We need now more than ever to incite true excitement and inspiration in history, literature, art, music, sociology, psychology, and all of the liberal arts that define our identity as humans. I've observed that most kids don't hate learning, they just hate the discouraging and competitive school environment. The joy of people's eyes lighting up upon being given the opportunity to indulge in a true passion is unmatched. For me, the pursuit of knowledge was a lifeline I clung to throughout high school and I did everything in my power to extend that appetite to my peers. I cannot watch students slip through the cracks and be labeled lost causes because no teacher gave them the chance to show their strengths.

Curled on a hard plastic chair in my dad’s apartment, I numbly dialed my grandfather’s number. I’d just re-entered my sophomore year and was dropped in the middle of a Christian Crusades unit with an essay due by the end of the week. The dates in my notebook pages had stopped three months ago. My teachers weren’t responding to my emails explaining my absence and asking for study notes, too hung up on the implications of the former. The dial tone stopped, and the archaeologist professor started. “Hey, Drew, how you doin’?” I’d made a real mess of my life, that’s how I was doing. Though the method was controlled but unintentional, the physical effects of malnutrition had blocked off my logical pathways. I had been over the moon at getting back to school, but apparently teachers think anorexia nervosa is contagious. As I–for lack of a better word–revived, I’d started to think clearly again. My neurons were knitting themselves back together and rationale returned. There was no purpose to working so hard to regain my health if I didn’t have an outlet for the new spurts of energy. Knowledge was my lifeline, I was getting desperate, and there was one person I knew, one source of endless information, who would offer to be my teacher. “I’m good,” I told my grandfather, putting the phone on speaker and uncapping my pen. “What can you tell me about the Crusades?” I got a perfect score on the essay. It’s true that I started to kill myself very slowly, in a period of time when I felt completely isolated and disgusted with myself. I thought I’d never recover even if I wanted to. The view from my hospital room window was a brick-walled alley where the trash bins were dumped. I watched crows squabble over moldy bagels I hadn’t finished. But in the end, I didn’t want to die because there were still things I hadn’t learned. A year and an attempt on my life later I wandered through art galleries with a sketchbook in hand, got a job at the public library and a second one working summer farm fields, and carried a book to every class. I wanted to swell with knowledge, put my mind to work, take advantage of the life I’d narrowly gained back. The shadow of my grandfather’s intellectual capabilities hung over my shoulders, and more than anything I wanted to grow to fill that space, cast my own shadow. If anything, the span of his lifetime studying the past gave me the promise of discovery in the future. I think it’s quite beautiful that Education is a widely available major – implying that the art of sharing and illuminating knowledge is not a commodity but a honed skill. It takes years of practice, trial and error, and flexibility to collect the necessary skills to adapt to different students’ learning styles. My professional goal is to be a teacher; my personal goal is to be a good one. I've observed that most kids don't hate learning, they just hate the discouraging and competitive school environment. The joy of people's eyes lighting up upon being given the opportunity to indulge in a true passion is unmatched. For me, the pursuit of knowledge was a lifeline I clung to throughout high school and I did everything in my power to extend that appetite to my peers. I cannot watch students slip through the cracks and be labeled lost causes because no teacher gave them the chance to show their strengths.

As a high-achieving student, people are often surprised to find that my closest friend has no academic motivation or dedication. The standardized education system has failed to accommodate the way she learns and teachers opt to treat her like she is stupid and dangerous. I often sit with her through her homework when her parents don't bother to try, because I know she is very intelligent, albeit without the conventionality expected from her. She once thanked me for letting her use my "nice pens" because most people would assume she'd "break everything she touched". I understand the impact adult role models have on young people — I remember every single good teacher I've had — and I want to give classroom memories a positive connotation to inspire learning. I think it’s quite beautiful that Education is a widely available major – implying that the art of sharing and illuminating knowledge is not a commodity but a honed skill. It takes years of practice, trial and error, and flexibility to collect the necessary skills to adapt to different students’ learning styles. My professional goal is to be a teacher; my personal goal is to be a good one. The best way to achieve that is to put myself under the tutelage of as many diversely educated people as possible— and in return, encourage a variety of interests and methods with my future students to synthesize a broader worldview. I’ve noticed growing up that standardized school systems leave many people stranded behind or tired of its monotony; something as complex as the young, eager mind cannot be classified into a singular curriculum. Youth is the most impactful time of our human lives and it sets the stage for how the brain responds to stressors, criticism, and social interactions going forward. I think the best teachers are the ones that are fully aware of the role they play and use it for good. The problem with our school systems today is that teachers do not intentionally instill critical thinking and educational passion into their students; they prepare for the test and get frustrated when their students reflect their own attitude towards learning. Disciplinary action is taken to enforce obedience, and authority is taught to be accepted blindly. The most important thing a student can learn is to question everything and follow their gut instinct in pursuing the truth. It’s truly saddening how distanced from reality our public schools are leading our children, especially in humanities and social sciences. It would be to the benefit of our children to raise a generation of passionate thinkers who defend the rights of their communities and are capable of forming independent ideas. The disease of anti-intellectualism gives people a false sense of stability when they remain complacent. It all starts with the teachers and the instructions we are fed as children. We need now more than ever to incite true excitement and inspiration in history, literature, art, music, sociology, psychology, and all of the liberal arts that define our identity as humans. I've observed that most kids don't hate learning, they just hate the discouraging and competitive school environment. The joy of people's eyes lighting up upon being given the opportunity to indulge in a true passion is unmatched. For me, the pursuit of knowledge was a lifeline I clung to throughout high school and I did everything in my power to extend that appetite to my peers. I cannot watch students slip through the cracks and be labeled lost causes because no teacher gave them the chance to show their strengths.