In a land and time hopefully not so far away, I am waking up every morning with a roof over my head, food in the fridge, clothes in the closet, and, if I'm lucky, a cat purring on my lap; in this world which I hope isn't so distant, I am falling asleep every night knowing I made a difference, even if it's just a smile on a frowning face.

As a first-generation college student, I am honored to be fulfilling the generational dream of my family by attending university and pursuing a higher education. My parents came from a tiny world in the southwestern corner of North Dakota where education was certainly valued but nearly impossible to achieve; my mother graduated high school with a class of less than ten fellow seniors, and my father dropped out at age sixteen to work on the oil rigs and support his mother. Neither pursued a college education, but both dreamed of raising children who understood the immense value of education and had the means of acquiring it. Unfortunately, life does not always go to plan, and now my family is left with a daughter who thrives in school and yet has little means of funding it. One of the unfortunate results of being raised by a struggling family is having to watch the people around you succeed in ways that, because of my financial situation, I never had the chance to. Of course, this isn't to say that I don't love my friends with all my heart; I, more than anyone, can understand that a person does not choose their background, and money has nothing to do with personal merit. But I can't deny that watching from the sidelines is hard. With flower bouquets and loving smiles, I attend all the events of my best friend who studies in a private school; I celebrated with her family when she received her college acceptance letter, and she celebrated even harder, knowing that she wouldn't have to pay a dime of her own tuition. I smiled and I hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, and to myself, I thought how wonderful it would be to have my own college fund. I imagined a stress-free life of financial security, of knowing that no matter what, I would be able to get a higher education and pursue my dreams. This is the life that everyone wants; no one wants to struggle. I put myself at ease knowing that my strength comes from my struggles and that, being a first-generation student, I have a unique opportunity to make my family proud. I have an opportunity to change the course of my family's legacy. I dream of utilizing my education to pursue a career in librarianship and give back to my community; I am not the only one who will benefit from this incredible educational opportunity. As a librarian, I plan on dedicating myself to civil service and helping our youth embrace learning and our adults find pathways to success. Without the generosity of my community, I realize that this dream will not be possible for me; I am grateful just for the opportunity to apply and be considered for this scholarship. Should I be granted this scholarship to fund my higher education as a first-generation college student, it would mean not only an investment in me as a young scholar, but an investment in the future of my community.

Being a newly eighteen-year-old senior in high school, I am at a great crossroads in my life. Preparing to leave the only life I've ever known and pursue new opportunities is undoubtedly frightening, but I feel more excited than afraid for this once-in-a-lifetime chance. At Shepherd University, I plan on earning both an English: Creative Writing degree as well as a Business degree, all while maintaining my status in the school's esteemed honors program. I believe that this double major combination will best prepare me for success in any career I decide to pursue because of the timeless and versatile nature of writing skills as well as the growing demand for business skills. By honing my talents as a creative writer while simultaneously gaining knowledge of economics and management skills, I will be attaining a well-rounded education and will open up practically infinite doors to lucrative careers. The first and foremost career option I will be exploring is librarianship; specifically, I am interested in managing a public or collegiate-level library. By pursuing a career in librarianship, I believe I will be in a perfect position to give back to my community; though I do have a passion for reading and writing, my love for civil service and helping others supersedes all. In order to learn more about librarianship, I met with the director of my local western Maryland library branch and discussed the logistics of becoming a librarian as well as expectations for the job. This conversation was truly enlightening and encouraged me even further to explore this job option, as I believe it would be a perfect fit for my academic interests and extroverted personality. Aside from librarianship, I have spent much time considering business ownership as a potential career. The thought of owning a bookstore makes me swoon, and it would be the ideal way to exercise the knowledge that I will gain through pursuing a business degree in college. Since I was a little girl I have dreamed of a dusty bookstore with a friendly cat purring in the window, and I know my mother would adore this as well. I look forward to learning more about economics and business strategies in college to determine if this is a reasonable career option for me. In the same academic vein, I believe a career as an editor working for a publishing house would be an incredible way to employ my talents. While I would consider librarianship the most reasonable career idea, working for a publishing house is likely the least practical. From my understanding, successful publishing houses are extremely exclusive and employment is largely based on connections. Not only that, but they are located only in major cities, and I am not sure if I want to live in an urban environment. Still, I believe this is an option worth exploring, and I would like to meet with someone working for a publishing house throughout my time in college so that I can discover more about the career path.

In a society centered around constant efficiency and productivity - especially in schools - most people either feel pressured to neglect themselves or forget they have needs at all. But the bottom line is that we are all human, and regardless of what the world expects of us, we deserve the space and time to embrace our humanity. In accordance with this philosophy of personal wellness, I strive to remain cognizant of the ways society will try to exploit me and I always aim to prioritize my mental health. One of the ways I do this is by establishing something I call "me time," which are non-negotiable periods of time throughout the week when I step away from daily duties and focus on myself. "Me time" can take many forms: sometimes it is an hour of quiet reading, a nap, a walk in the park with my mother, it could even be a trip to an amusement park. What matters is not where or what I do, but that I do something that pleases me without worrying about the needs of others. Rather than viewing this as selfish, I believe it is an important part of loving myself and valuing my own time. The counterpart to managing personal wellness while I am in school is of course maintaining my physical health, which for me is actually far more challenging. Since I have struggled with severe anxiety in the past, I am now well attuned to my mental needs and understand how to best take care of myself in that way; physical needs, however, often stump me. There are days when I neglect to eat because I am too busy with my studies and I rarely get adequate exercise. To combat these issues, I try to implement small forms of exercise throughout my daily routines; while reading a book or watching a lecture, I will do some leg exercises or lift small weights; I try to take at least one walk a day; and I make every effort to spend time out in the sun. Maintaining my personal wellness helps me succeed as a student because it promotes mental clarity and physical health; if I am not feeling my best, I know that studying and learning will not be as effective as it would be otherwise. Practicing cognizance of my own health is critical to understanding who I am as a person, and when I am being the best version of myself, I can push myself to grow.

In a society centered around constant efficiency and productivity - especially in schools - most people either feel pressured to neglect themselves or forget they have needs at all. But the bottom line is that we are all human, and regardless of what the world expects of us, we deserve the space and time to embrace our humanity. In accordance with this philosophy of personal wellness, I strive to remain cognizant of the ways society will try to exploit me and I always aim to prioritize my mental health. One of the ways I do this is by establishing something I call "me time," which are non-negotiable periods of time throughout the week when I step away from daily duties and focus on myself. "Me time" can take many forms: sometimes it is an hour of quiet reading, a nap, a walk in the park with my mother, it could even be a trip to an amusement park. What matters is not where or what I do, but that I do something that pleases me without worrying about the needs of others. Rather than viewing this as selfish, I believe it is an important part of loving myself and valuing my own time. The counterpart to managing personal wellness while I am in school is of course maintaining my physical health, which for me is actually far more challenging. Since I have struggled with severe anxiety in the past, I am now well attuned to my mental needs and understand how to best take care of myself in that way; physical needs, however, often stump me. There are days when I neglect to eat because I am too busy with my studies and I rarely get adequate exercise. To combat these issues, I try to implement small forms of exercise throughout my daily routines; while reading a book or watching a lecture, I will do some leg exercises or lift small weights; I try to take at least one walk a day; and I make every effort to spend time out in the sun. Maintaining my personal wellness helps me succeed as a student because it promotes mental clarity and physical health; if I am not feeling my best, I know that studying and learning will not be as effective as it would be otherwise. Practicing cognizance of my own health is critical to understanding who I am as a person, and when I am being the best version of myself, I can push myself to grow.

When I was younger and struggling with physical and emotionally debilitating anxiety, my mother told me that "before you can tend to others, you have to tend to yourself." I understood that she was telling me to prioritize my own well-being; my mother made every effort to instill in me the fact that I deserve the same compassion I give to others. After all, she had told me, an empty glass cannot fill up another. I now recognize that protecting my mental health is of the utmost importance because mental health truly is at the cornerstone of my everyday life. Having a healthy and happy mental state allows me to live the way I want to; it enables me to love others, pursue success, and enjoy every single day to the fullest. Like the majority of my generation, I have not always been so cognizant of the importance of mental wellness, nor have I known how to protect it. For so many years as a teenager, I prioritized others and completely neglected myself. Being a leader in extracurriculars like band and an avid volunteer was undeniably beneficial to both me and my community, but unfortunately, these experiences caused me to forget how to love myself. I was an unhappy girl desperately trying to spread happiness I didn't even possess. Over time, with the help of therapy and medication, I relearned how to embrace myself and prioritize my healing journey. My anxiety was slowly abating, and so I decided to return to extracurriculars and volunteering, the activities I had once adored. This time, I signed up to become a manager for my school's wrestling team and started volunteering at my local Humane Society. Through these new opportunities, I discovered that I have a passion not only for animals but especially for people. Helping other people - whether it be by icing an injury or assisting in an adoption - truly is my passion, and now that I have my anxiety under control I can return to it in a way that is healthy for me. To ensure that I am not forgetting to prioritize myself, I specifically schedule and allot time for things I call "me activities." These can range from reading a book to going for a walk with my mom to spending a day at an amusement park - whatever it is, it is centered around stress-free enjoyment of daily life. After all of my struggling and healing, I have learned that the most important key to a happy life is to do one happy thing a day, and whatever happens after that is just a part of living.

The class of 2023 is at a pivotal moment in our lives - as we prepare to leave the life we've always known and move onto bigger and better things, it helps to have a soundtrack, and that's why I've been listening to Taylor Swift's "Welcome to New York" on repeat. Before diving into the emotional significance of this masterpiece, I want to first acknowledge the song's musical genius. Being the first track on 1989, "Welcome to New York" all too often gets forgotten in the shadows of "Style," "Wildest Dreams," "Bad Blood," and other iconic tracks. But because of its underrated quality, it feels like "Welcome to New York" possesses a special type of beauty, the subtle kind that can only be appreciated in quiet. The track begins with a synth motif inspiring feelings of wonder and curiosity, embodying Taylor's reaction to her arrival in the city, which is symbolic of her introduction to stardom. The theme of this piece is undoubtedly newfound freedom and fresh beginnings, conveyed by lyrics like "everybody here wanted somethin' more" and "everybody here was someone else before." I adore this sentiment of finding a new identity because I am one of the people who never truly found herself in high school, and I am looking to discover a new and happier version of myself in college. "Welcome to New York" is undeniably an emotional work of art. This song inspires pure hope and determination: listening to Taylor's awe as she sees the city for the first time and realizes the promise it holds imbues me with a sense of amazement myself because just like her, I too am venturing into an unknown land of great opportunity. Preparing to leave my home is quite honestly terrifying, but I know that I am leaving in search of a better life, pursuing a brighter future. It can be easy sometimes to slip into a deep trench of nostalgia, thinking about everything I never got to do and all the things I'll miss, but I don't want my transition to college to be marked by regret, I want it to be filled with hope. I want to feel free to explore my opportunities and embrace my ambitions to the fullest extent. Just like Taylor in New York, I know that the lights will be bright but they'll never blind me, and I know my future has been waiting for me.

Though high school was certainly not the golden years of my life, this four-year experience helped me flourish into a version of myself that I can be proud of. In these four years, I have filled many roles: I have been a lead marimba player in my school's award-winning indoor percussion ensemble; a wrestling manager for the team that propelled a young man to a global championship title; and a drum major for the marching band that formed who I am today. I have also been greatly involved in volunteer work, serving in community gardens to feed the disadvantaged members of our community and assisting in adoption services at my local humane society. These experiences - but especially the last - taught me the merits of service, leadership, and contributing to a program much greater than myself. In school, I have consistently maintained a 4.0 GPA and for two years have been a proud member of my school's National Honor Society chapter. I have always strived for academic perfection and am fueled by an insatiable drive to learn; it is this desire for knowledge and determination that I believe will propel me toward greatness in my higher education at Shepherd University. I have already been accepted into Shepherd's esteemed honors program and am eager to pursue a double major in English: Creative Writing and Business. I believe that this diverse combination of study is what will best prepare me for a successful future. As a first-generation college student, I am honored to be fulfilling the generational dream of my family by attending university and pursuing a higher education. My parents came from a tiny world in the southwestern corner of North Dakota where education was certainly valued but nearly impossible to achieve; my mother graduated high school with a class of less than ten fellow seniors, and my father dropped out at age sixteen to work on the oil rigs and support his mother. Neither pursued a college education, but both dreamed of raising children who understood the immense value of education and had the means of acquiring it. Unfortunately, life does not always go to plan, and now my family is left with a daughter who thrives in school and yet has little means of funding it. Therefore, I am relying solely on scholarships and the money earned from my part-time job to fund my learning. I dream of utilizing my education to pursue a career in librarianship and give back to my community; I am not the only one who will benefit from this incredible educational opportunity. As a librarian, I plan on dedicating myself to civil service and helping our youth embrace learning and our adults find pathways to success. Without the generosity of my community, I realize that this dream will not be possible for me; I am grateful just for the opportunity to apply and be considered for this scholarship. Should I be granted this scholarship to fund my higher education as a first-generation college student, it would mean not only an investment in me as a young scholar, but an investment in the future of my community.

I would like to begin by saying how appreciative I am for the opportunities I've had within my extracurriculars; not all students are fortunate enough to have access to such activities. While my extracurriculars have undoubtedly returned joy and spirit to the community, it is the generosity of my community that allowed for this in the first place. For three years I have been an avid member of my high school marching band and even had the opportunity in my junior year to lead the band as a drum major. Band provided me with some of the most formative experiences of my life; I will not soon forget the sweltering summers at band camp or the jingling joy of winter concerts. More than anything though, my time in marching band and especially in my position as drum major taught me the values of service and devotion to a cause bigger than myself. Learning how to cooperate with and guide sixty-plus students showed me how important it is to work for the benefit of others, and this sentiment was amplified by the opportunities I had to perform in many community concerts. These concerts consisted of small groups of instrumentalists playing out in public for the simple purpose of spreading joy. A prime example would be the brass quartet I participated in at our town's Christmas tree lighting ceremony. The beauty of concerts like these lies in that we as students are given the chance to show off the skills we are learning in band while simultaneously showing appreciation to the community that funds our extracurriculars. In the winter season of my senior year, I decided to branch out from my prior interests and sign up as a wrestling manager. In this position, I was responsible for maintaining wrestling equipment, tending to minor injuries, setting up for tournaments, and scorekeeping during matches. Becoming a wrestling manager was absolutely the greatest choice I ever made - there was nothing like the excitement of a tournament, both from the spectating audience and the wrestlers themselves. My high school's wrestling program is famous for sending now-alumnus Aaron Brooks to win a championship title on a global stage, and our alumni in general are very active in supporting the program. All of this excitement and constant support bolstered our wrestlers to perform their absolute best no matter where we went, and being a manager allowed me to both join in on the fun and support the wrestlers. The success of my school's wrestling program is a pillar of our town's spirit, and more than anything, I have enjoyed watching young boys and girls cheer for our team and wrestle on the mats during intermission, knowing that they are the future of our program. By continuously supporting our wrestling program, I believe that we are preserving the path to physical wellness, personal growth, and community engagement for our youth. It is experiences like these that I know will make me miss high school, and I am forever grateful for my opportunity to be a part of programs greater than myself.

As a first-generation college student, I am honored to be fulfilling the generational dream of my family by attending university and pursuing a higher education. My parents came from a tiny world in the southwestern corner of North Dakota where education was certainly valued but nearly impossible to achieve; my mother graduated high school with a class of less than ten fellow seniors, and my father dropped out at age sixteen to work on the oil rigs and support his mother. Neither pursued a college education, but both dreamed of raising children who understood the immense value of education and had the means of acquiring it. Unfortunately, life does not always go to plan, and now my family is left with a daughter who thrives in school and yet has little means of funding it. One of the unfortunate results of being raised by a struggling family is having to watch the people around you succeed in ways that, because of my financial situation, I never had the chance to. Of course, this isn't to say that I don't love my friends with all my heart; I, more than anyone, can understand that a person does not choose their background, and money has nothing to do with personal merit. But I can't deny that watching from the sidelines is hard. With flower bouquets and loving smiles, I attend all the events of my best friend who studies in a private school; I celebrated with her family when she received her college acceptance letter, and she celebrated even harder, knowing that she wouldn't have to pay a dime of her own tuition. I smiled and I hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, and to myself, I thought how wonderful it would be to have my own college fund. I imagined a stress-free life of financial security, of knowing that no matter what, I would be able to get a higher education and pursue my dreams. This is the life that everyone wants; no one wants to struggle. I put myself at ease knowing that my strength comes from my struggles and that, being a first-generation student, I have a unique opportunity to make my family proud. I have an opportunity to change the course of my family's legacy. I dream of utilizing my education to pursue a career in librarianship and give back to my community; I am not the only one who will benefit from this incredible educational opportunity. As a librarian, I plan on dedicating myself to civil service and helping our youth embrace learning and our adults find pathways to success. Without the generosity of my community, I realize that this dream will not be possible for me; I am grateful just for the opportunity to apply and be considered for this scholarship. Should I be granted this scholarship to fund my higher education as a first-generation college student, it would mean not only an investment in me as a young scholar, but an investment in the future of my community.

Near the end of the semester in my Introduction to Statistics course, my teacher stood at the whiteboard and announced that she was about to tell us something far more important than anything we'd learned in that class before. The room quieted, anticipation thick in the air. Some were still nodding off at their desks; some were still glancing down at their phones in their laps. But I listened. I listened as that teacher taught me what investing truly means and how it has the potential to change the course of my future; as a young woman coming from a family where money has always been a struggle, I immediately realized the importance of this lesson. I realized that if I knew how to make my money work for me, I could spend more time dedicating myself to the things that truly matter. My teacher advised our class to meet with a local bank's financial advisors and invest, particularly in group stock mutual funds since they are one of the safest and most promising means of investment that we have as young and inexperienced adults. She handed us a piece of paper that showed how investing at a young age will propel your earnings far past those who invest later - time is everything. Investing is a lesson in patience, she said, but for that patience, we can earn greater rewards than our peers who merely save their money as opposed to investing it. According to famous investor Dave Ramsey, she told us, "savers are losers," which is a sentiment I wholeheartedly believe after seeing how immensely invested money can grow in comparison to money sitting stagnant inside bank savings accounts. As I am preparing to turn eighteen and graduate high school, I am spending a lot of time thinking about finances, or rather my lack thereof. At this precarious age, nothing is a given; I lay in bed at night and wonder how I will pay off college loans, how I will purchase a new car, how I will be able to afford bills as a working college student. The state of our American economy is cause for concern for many students in my generation; it seems like there is never enough hours to work, never enough wages to earn, and never enough opportunities to pave our way through the job market. Life is difficult right now, it is undeniable. While I, like most of my peers, do worry about my future, I am also equipped with the knowledge that while I am busy studying and working my way through a higher education, my money can also be working for me. I plan on utilizing my statistics teacher's financial advice as soon as possible: promptly after turning eighteen, I will be meeting with a financial advisor from my local Edward Jones to discuss investment opportunities, particularly regarding group stock mutual funds. I consider myself very fortunate to have saved money from my years of working as a teenager, and I am excited to begin research and find the right fund in which to place this money. Finding the right fund to begin my investment journey with is crucial, which is why I am excited to work with a professional financial advisor; hopefully, after some years of investing experience, I will know enough about personal finances to expand my stock portfolio and gain greater opportunities. After countless hours learning about financial literacy and investment strategies, I am confident that with a little bit of luck and a lot of patience, my money will grow enough to support me and hopefully someday a family of my own. Personal financial success is so important to me because I want my wealth to benefit others. I dream of a life in which I can pay my bills without growing gray hair, in which I can take my children on a vacation every year and create unforgettable family memories, in which I can establish a savings fund for their college years so that they don't have to worry as I do. I dream of a life in which I am able to pursue philanthropy and share the wealth within my community because, without the generosity and care of those around me, I would not be the striving young woman I am today.

In my junior year of high school, I experienced a resurgence of anxiety. It began with panic attacks and quickly escalated; pressured by peers and teachers and feeling unwanted, I dropped out of band, which had long been my greatest passion. I had participated in multiple extracurricular ensembles and had held many leadership positions, but this crippling anxiety caused me to retreat from everyday life into a tiny shell where no one else could find me. I became small. I wish I could say that there was a magic cure. I wish that it was therapy, yoga, or emotional support dogs, but nothing helped my anxiety. As time passed and with the help of medication, I essentially relearned how to be human. Now, I do not delude myself by claiming that this serious resurgence of mental illness was in any way "good" for me, but I do believe it helped me become a healthier person in the end. Coming out of the darkness, I was inspired to rediscover myself and find new passions; I am now a widely published writer and am going to college on a creative writing track in an esteemed honors program, and I haven't thought about music in a long, long time. I no longer give myself away for other people or overextend myself; I value my health and spiritual well-being and seek to improve it with every new relationship. As someone who knows what it's like to be pushed aside, I want to help those suffering from mental illness by first normalizing the struggle. When I struggled with crippling anxiety, many of my peers treated me differently and unfortunately, most of my teachers refused simple accommodations. I want to help teenagers like me realize that the struggle with mental illness is normal and that they are deserving of compassion; no one should have to fight alone. To achieve this goal, I plan on joining the mental health organization at my college, Shepherd University. I would like to promote awareness and create a unique program focused on socialization for those suffering from anxiety. During my long struggle with anxiety, I had a tremendously difficult time maintaining friendships, and as a result, I lost many valuable relationships. My vision for this program is to help people like me make new connections, and the program would be designed around creating simple situations for socialization like ice cream socials, movie nights, or trips around the town. These are the things that would have benefitted me, and I want to help ensure that no student at my university ever has to feel as alone as I did.

As a first-generation college student, I am honored to be fulfilling the generational dream of my family by attending university and pursuing a higher education. My parents came from a tiny world in the southwestern corner of North Dakota where education was certainly valued but nearly impossible to achieve; my mother graduated high school with a class of less than ten fellow seniors, and my father dropped out at age sixteen to work on the oil rigs and support his mother. Neither pursued a college education, but both dreamed of raising children who understood the immense value of education and had the means of acquiring it. Unfortunately, life does not always go to plan, and now my family is left with a daughter who thrives in school and yet has little means of funding it. Throughout my high school career, I believe that I have defined the word change. I have been broken by anxiety and have built myself back up; I have discovered religion and embraced my faith in Reform Judaism; I have learned the merit of volunteering through my local Humane Society chapter and now possess a passion for helping both people and animals alike. As a junior in high school, I earned the opportunity to lead my school's marching band of 60+ students as a drum major, conducting the band in prestigious arenas like the Navy Stadium and performing in state competitions. I believe this experience in leadership had the most profound impact on who I am: being drum major taught me the values of interpersonal skills and conflict resolution, as well as showing me that hard work truly does pay off - there is nothing greater than the swells of pride one feels looking down at a group of people they've helped bring together I dream of utilizing my college education to pursue a career in librarianship and give back to my community; I am not the only one who will benefit from this incredible educational opportunity. As a librarian, I plan on dedicating myself to civil service and helping our youth embrace learning and our adults find pathways to success. Being a seventeen-year patron of my local library, I have witnessed the myriad roles a library can play in the life of disadvantaged youth: the library is not only a place of books, but it is also a shelter from the cold, a community gathering space, a refuge from the troubles of the outside world. As a librarian, I want to promote opportunities for those who have been disregarded by their community. I seek to help the single mothers with their job interviews, to give the illiterate child his first book, to provide the striving student with access to a computer. These are the small but indispensable ways librarians benefit their communities, and these are the things I want to spend the rest of my career life doing. Without the generosity of my community, I realize that this dream will not be possible for me; I am grateful just for the opportunity to apply and be considered for this scholarship. Should I be granted this scholarship to fund my higher education as a first-generation college student, it would mean not only an investment in me as a young scholar, but an investment in the future of my community.

Our country is NOT broken, no matter what the media seems to think. As a teenager fully immersed in the digital universe that social media has crafted, it can be hard to see past the endless slander and the apocalyptic messages; it has become easier to spread omens of doom than to share hope, and that constant negativity makes it hard to find the motivation to make a change. But motivation is exactly what we need as a generation because we are the generation that will have the greatest opportunity to improve our nation. Like many youths nearing the end of their high school career, I have spent plenty of time in volunteer groups, and that time has been utterly invaluable. I have supported my school and promoted education through my local National Honor Society charter; I have helped feed my local community by tending to a communal garden; I have aided in adoptions with the Humane Society and watched little children's faces shine as they first held their new forever friends. These are the experiences that have shaped who I am and that have given me hope for the American future. But as I alight from public school and prepare to enter university, I realize that my education will offer me an opportunity to affect change on a greater level; in my career, I want to focus on the revitalization of my local western Maryland community. Growing up in a moderate-sized town near the Appalachians, I have witnessed the harrowing effects of poverty and seen firsthand how a lack of education destroys futures and eliminates opportunities for youth. The library, though, is a refuge. A local library serves as a safe space for many disadvantaged youths as I have noticed in my many years of patronage; people use libraries to find warmth, access the internet, educate themselves on current events, and seek help in myriad ways. I believe that the public library is an indispensable asset of society, and critical to the proliferation of education. To expand opportunities for the unfortunate and pursue a brighter future for America, I plan on becoming a librarian. To achieve this goal, I will first earn a bachelor's degree in English and then pursue a Master's in Library and Information Sciences, which will prepare me for a rich career in librarianship and civil service. I acknowledge that without my library, I would not be in this valuable position that I am in today, educated and ready to move ahead with my future. By becoming a librarian, I will pursue not only my own dreams of a worthwhile career, but I will be making a significant different in the lives of America's youth.

It was a normal shift at the grocery store: I was standing, bored, "watching over my kingdom" as some customers liked to humorously say, supervising the self-checkout registers at the front of our store. This type of shift makes four hours feel like an eternity (even though I knew I should be thankful for the ease of the job.) I watched with piqued interest as a middle-aged woman walked up to a self-checkout. Her face was blotchy red and her eyes brimmed with tears; she was holding an elaborately decorated birthday cake from our bakery, complete with the name of what I correctly assumed to be her young daughter. The woman was in distress, holding her cake and looking at the price tag, so I approached her and discovered that there had been a mistake in the pricing. One of our sales tags had been placed incorrectly, so this poor mother accidentally had a cake decorated that she could not pay for. I considered her situation and understood her pain; my mother had always instilled in me that birthdays are special and that everyone deserves a cake. I could see how dearly the mother cared about creating a perfect celebration for her daughter, so I took action to help out. I broached the situation with management and arranged for a discount so that the mother could take home the cake. This action did not seem so important at the time - after all, I did what anyone with compassion would do, and it cost me nothing. All I wanted was to bring the smile back to that mother's face, I did not expect any compensation. Much to my surprise, later that day a manager called me to her office and thanked me for the simple act of kindness I'd done to help a customer. The mother had apparently spoken to this manager and praised me highly; she was incredibly grateful and wanted me to know how deeply my small decision had impacted her day. After that discussion, my manager soon offered me a small raise and I earned a higher position of responsibility in the store. Whether she knew it or not, this woman had "paid it forward" to me in an incredible way. As a student saving money for college, my position at work is of utmost importance to me, and by speaking to my manager she caused me to gain new respect from management at my job, pushing me toward a promotion that will undoubtedly help my financial situation. I did not help the woman for the sake of self-gain, I helped because I knew it would make her happy. I knew that small acts of kindness like these are the best ways we can pay it forward, because every day is a new blessing, so long as we make it count.

Since the very beginnings of our history, humankind has been writing. The Paleolithic humans scrawled diagrams on cave walls; ancient Egyptians created their own script; the Founding Fathers inscribed the Constitution in beautiful cursive handwriting. We have always possessed a deep, perhaps inherent urge to express ourselves in ways more permanent than spoken words - we feel the desire to write things down just as we feel the compelling desire to be remembered. I have been interested in writing since I first learned how to hold a crayon, but who hasn't? I find it intriguing that most children express a desire to write down everything, but as they get older they lose their motivation to write. Fortunately, my passion for writing has persisted, and I am now seventeen years old with multiple publications in literary journals to my name, preparing to enter college as an English: Creative Writing major. When I write, though, I do not simply feel that I am expressing myself; rather, I am creating myself. For me, developing plotlines and exploring the intricacies of my characters is an active means of discovering myself. As they say, life imitates art, and I find that I often embody that adage while I write. The pieces I produce are representations of my changing self - I believe that the "self" is an inherently transient thing, always subject to change, and that is why documenting it through my writing feels so important. In the same way a young girl records a diary so that she can look back on it and laugh at an older age, I craft stories so that, twenty years later, I can catch a glimpse into the activity of my mind at seventeen years old. Of course, like those cavemen etching on the walls so long ago, I too feel an inherent human urge to be remembered. Many people fear death because they know that they will someday be forgotten, and it seems like writing is a way to immortalize oneself. When I read poetry from the Beat Generation of the 1950s, I focus on the works of Allen Ginsberg and realize that without this artistic medium, geniuses like him could have easily been lost to history. Ginsberg led such a dynamic and inspirational life, and because he had the mind to record his myriad adventures and intricacies of thought, we in the twenty-first century can remember his life with stunning clarity. And perhaps this is the deepest, most underlying reason that we humans want to write: we want to be remembered. We crave recognition in all forms and are terrified of obscurity, and so we write. We draw on walls, we invent new languages, we draft out countless documents and create until our hands cramp up and can no longer hold a pencil; I realize, now, that this is why I write. I, like most others, am no different from my forefathers - I want to mark this world and tell all the future generations that, once upon a time, a girl named Anna was here.

Life was perfect. Life was beautiful, life was awe-inspiring, and I felt I was at the peak of my high school career. I had secured the esteemed position of drum major for the school marching band; I was performing at colossal stadiums in Annapolis atop sky-high podiums every weekend, and I was thriving. I lived to bathe in the spotlight, and it exhilarated me to know that the show couldn't go on without me. And then, something changed. To this day I still have no idea what triggered my collapse. I suspect it was the result of years of constant mental stress - I was not the type of girl who believed in mental health breaks, and I put my entire being into everything I did. Clearly, it had been working out: I was a show-stopping performer, my boyfriend adored me, I had perfect grades and I was preparing to lead yet another band ensemble in the coming winter season. But one day my life, which had been teetering on the edge of destruction for so long, finally toppled off. I began having my first panic attacks. It was a daily affair - every morning began with a panic attack, continuing into the late afternoon until my nerves and stomach finally settled. Things were falling apart. My boyfriend dumped me. My friends distanced themselves. After weeks of endless, redundant debating back and forth, I finally decided to quit band. I couldn't handle the stress, and yet I hated myself for disappointing the ensemble. I disappointed everyone, including myself. If you ask me how I conquered this ruthless anxiety, I'm not sure I could give you a solid answer. It wasn't through therapy and it wasn't through medication. I just disappeared from the world for a while. I didn't get out of bed and I stopped going to school. I suffered. I let time waste away, and I slowly reintegrated myself into the society that I'd abandoned. I battled panic attacks and went in for job interviews, I registered for volunteer classes at the Humane Society, I spent my daylight taking walks in the park and feeding the ducks with my mother. Slowly but surely, I recovered. The way I view myself and my experience with mental illness is like a tower that has crumbled down to its foundations and slowly been built anew. After abandoning all my musical ensembles, I was left with virtually nothing through which I could express myself, and so I returned to the one passion that had persisted since childhood: writing. I had always been a writer, and this absence of purpose in my life inspired me to reclaim my passion for literature. It is because of this rediscovered passion that I am pursuing an English degree and plan on becoming a career librarian; I want to spend my life around books and people, the two things I love most dearly. My anxiety also taught me to be gentler than I was, especially with myself. When others are struggling, I remember how I, too, struggled to get through daily tasks due to my anxiety, and I try to be a comforting presence in their journey through mental illness. It has become far easier for me to make friends and socialize since recovering from severe anxiety, perhaps because I am quicker to relate to people and understand their complex thought processes. But the most important lesson anxiety taught me was the value of loving myself. There truly is no love as comforting, reassuring, and reliable as self-love, and everyone is deserving of it, regardless of their struggles.

Life was perfect. Life was beautiful, life was awe-inspiring, and I felt I was at the peak of my high school career. I had secured the esteemed position of drum major for the school marching band; I was performing at colossal stadiums in Annapolis atop sky-high podiums every weekend, and I was thriving. I lived to bathe in the spotlight, and it exhilarated me to know that the show couldn't go on without me. And then, something changed. To this day I still have no idea what triggered my collapse. I suspect it was the result of years of constant mental stress - I was not the type of girl who believed in mental health breaks, and I put my entire being into everything I did. Clearly, it had been working out: I was a show-stopping performer, my boyfriend adored me, I had perfect grades and I was preparing to lead yet another band ensemble in the coming winter season. But one day, I remember it all too vividly, my life, which had been teetering on the edge of destruction for so long, finally toppled off. I was in my first-period AP World History class, the kind where the professor droned on endlessly with zero student engagement, and it began with a rolling in my stomach. My legs had been strangely weak all morning - I ignored it. I ignored the panic rising in my gut until I burst out of my chair and ran into the hallway, stopping the lecture and embarrassing myself in front of the bewildered class. And thus began my series of daily panic attacks, the episodes that would change my life forever. It was a daily affair - every morning began with a panic attack, continuing into the late afternoon until my nerves and stomach finally settled. Therapy was useless: I couldn't even identify the trigger myself. Thankfully the marching band season had ended, but my performances in the new percussion ensemble immediately crumbled. I found I couldn't even stand at my instrument without getting dizzy, and I would have to take breaks every five minutes to stop myself from puking. My boyfriend dumped me. My friends distanced themselves. After weeks of endless, redundant debating back and forth, I finally decided to quit the percussion ensemble. I couldn't handle the stress, and yet I hated myself for disappointing the ensemble. I disappointed everyone, including myself. If you ask me how I conquered this ruthless anxiety, I'm not sure I could give you a solid answer. It wasn't through therapy, it wasn't through medication, it wasn't through drinking more water or going on a soothing yoga retreat. I disappeared from the world for a while. I succumbed to my debilitating anxiety; I didn't get out of bed and I stopped going to school. I suffered. I let time waste away, and I slowly reintegrated myself into the society that I'd abandoned. I battled the panic attacks and went in for job interviews, I registered for volunteer classes at the Humane Society, I spent my daylight taking walks in the park and feeding the ducks with my mother. Slowly but surely, I recovered. The way I view myself and my experience with mental illness is like a tower that has crumbled down to its foundations and slowly been built anew. After abandoning all my musical ensembles, I was left with virtually nothing through which I could express myself, and so I returned to the one passion that had persisted since childhood: writing. I had always been a writer, and this absence of purpose in my life inspired me to reclaim my passion for literature. It is because of this rediscovered passion that I am pursuing an English degree and plan on becoming a career librarian; I want to spend my life around books and people, the two things I love most dearly. My anxiety also taught me to be gentler than I was, especially with myself. When others are struggling, I remember how I, too, struggled to get through daily tasks due to my anxiety, and I try to be a comforting presence in their journey through mental illness. It has become far easier for me to make friends and socialize since recovering from severe anxiety, perhaps because I am quicker to relate to people and understand their complex thought processes. But the most important lesson anxiety taught me was the value of loving myself. There truly is no love as comforting, reassuring, and reliable as self-love, and everyone is deserving of it, regardless of their struggles.

The feminist archetype is a businesswoman. She is most often a CEO or other position of societal importance and usually boasts a story of outstanding ambition - we can easily celebrate her because her accomplishments are plainly visible. We all want to be her. She contributes to our society in straightforward ways. When I consider what feminism looks like to me, however, I envision a stay-at-home mother, often my own. Both brands of women are equally excellent - this isn't to detract from either one - but my personal poster-woman of feminism is the mother, the woman who is rarely paid for her labor and yet is expected to produce miracles. The way I would define feminism is the same way I would define strength: a description of power, courage, and motivation to accomplish a goal. Feminism is a critical perspective through which I view the world because it illuminates the inequalities between male and female experiences and inspires me to rise above the expectations of our patriarchal society; to be a feminist is to take control of your own life and refuse to be deterred by gender roles. While the stay-at-home mother seems and admittedly is a stereotypical female role, in my eyes it is much more than that. My mother abandoned her passionate dream of becoming a graphic designer so that she could raise my sister and me for the next twenty-six years. Now, she is subjected to my sister and father's criticism of her choice to raise her children instead of working for money. It appears that as soon as she wasn't "needed" anymore, people in her life decided to attack her for the very choices that benefitted them in the first place. To me, this proves that people still view women as targets and will never fully be satisfied with their decisions; if a woman chooses to start her own business, she will be criticized for not raising a family, but if she raises a family, she'll be attacked for not contributing financially. Women simply cannot win in a man's world. And yet my mother continues to try her best to please everyone around her. She now works five days a week in a bakery even though she would rather be baking cookies for her grandson. The contradiction of gender expectations I witnessed my mother try to navigate indicates that feminism is still as important as ever to women; our journey did not end with voting rights, and equality is still a far cry from reality. My mother's situation has inspired me to continue advocating for feminism, which I do by encouraging awareness of inequalities and persisting to right these wrongs. I believe it is important especially for young girls to express themselves even when their peers talk over them; I am a major advocate of amplifying marginalized voices such as those of women and BIPOC in my school. Another way I persist in the feminist cause is by supporting female candidates for student government offices. I will never forget the time a 4.0 female student who was extremely active in the student council lost the position of class president to a boy who ran for fun - everyone voted for the boy just because he was funny and made inappropriate campaign posters. I did not vote in that school election, and I try to make up for my lack of action by casting educated votes every election season and publicly supporting our best female student government candidates. Feminism, to me, is not just a philosophy: its an action.

While I was growing up in the 2010s, the battle to end climate change was just beginning. The majority of campaigns were focused on education, awareness, and individual action plans: we were told to bag our groceries in reusable totes, drink from metal cups, take shorter showers, and even stop driving our petrol-run cars and opt instead for bikes. The weight of saving the world had fallen on the shoulders of the average American. But times have changed, research has been done, and I now firmly believe that it is NOT the responsibility of the average Joe to battle climate change - at least not by declining to sip from a plastic straw. The most detrimental causes of increased greenhouse gases in our atmosphere and environmental destruction are undeniably rampant industrialization, mass deforestation, and unsustainable agricultural practices. Not to mention, the rapidly growing population is stressing our planet's resources to a terrifying breaking point. And while climate change affects everyone, it does discriminate. Impoverished populations are far more likely to suffer from the negative effects of climate change like landfill overflow and depleted resources in comparison to the wealthy, who have means of protecting themselves from environmental harm. Climate change is not going to be solved through the isolated actions of individuals, no matter how much we hope all hope this was possible. To save our beloved planet, we must incite mass change on a global scale, and I believe that this change begins with our industries. Massively successful companies like Unilever, Coca-Cola, and Mondelez (amongst others) seem to control the movement of nearly all commodities in our lives, and their means of international success are the leading causes of pollution and greenhouse gas emissions. Agriculture, shipping, and waste removal are all intricately related and revolve around the desires of huge companies; oftentimes, companies are more interested in financial gain than environmental harmony. Therefore, the most impactful way to combat climate is lobbying. In protests, petitions, even court cases, we must fight these companies tooth and nail to implement more sustainable practices. Individuals can participate in this process by contacting their local governments and encouraging representatives to make the environment a priority, which is an action I personally take to do my part in the battle against climate change. Though we will not solve our planet's plights through minute changes in our daily lives, we can all support environmental awareness. By understanding the calamity our planet is hurtling toward, more people - especially students - will feel inspired to act and hopefully become environmental activists. After all, the Earth is our only home, and though we as individuals are not the planet's destructors, we are the ones who must take responsibility for bringing down the greater evils.

Life was perfect. Life was beautiful, life was awe-inspiring, and I felt I was at the peak of my high school career. I had secured the esteemed position of drum major for the school marching band; I was performing at colossal stadiums in Annapolis atop sky-high podiums every weekend, and I was thriving. I lived to bathe in the spotlight, and it exhilarated me to know that the show couldn't go on without me. And then, something changed. To this day I still have no idea what triggered my collapse. I suspect it was the result of years of constant mental stress - I was not the type of girl who believed in mental health breaks, and I put my entire being into everything I did. Clearly, it had been working out: I was a show-stopping performer, my boyfriend adored me, I had perfect grades and I was preparing to lead yet another band ensemble in the coming winter season. But one day, I remember it all too vividly, my life, which had been teetering on the edge of destruction for so long, finally toppled off. I was in my first-period AP World History class, the kind where the professor droned on endlessly with zero student engagement, and it began with a rolling in my stomach. My legs had been strangely weak all morning - I ignored it. I ignored the panic rising in my gut until I burst out of my chair and ran into the hallway, stopping the lecture and embarrassing myself in front of the bewildered class. And thus began my series of daily panic attacks, the episodes that would change my life forever. It was a daily affair - every morning began with a panic attack, continuing into the late afternoon until my nerves and stomach finally settled. Therapy was useless: I couldn't even identify the trigger myself. Thankfully the marching band season had ended, but my performances in the new percussion ensemble immediately crumbled. I found I couldn't even stand at my instrument without getting dizzy, and I would have to take breaks every five minutes to stop myself from puking. My boyfriend dumped me. My friends distanced themselves. After weeks of endless, redundant debating back and forth, I finally decided to quit the percussion ensemble. I couldn't handle the stress, and yet I hated myself for disappointing the ensemble. I disappointed everyone, including myself. My experience with crippling anxiety changed the very course of my life. Quitting band and disappearing from my friend group inspired me to reclaim my passion for writing; now, I am preparing to enter college as an English major on a creative writing track, and my pieces are widely published in online literary journals. In some ways, my anxiety caused me to contract, but in other ways, I blossomed like a flower after a frost. Feeling lost, I found my purpose in the light of Judaism and now I enjoy every Friday night in the warmth of the synagogue, listening to our rabbi preach healing and unconditional love. And since my winters would be devoid of band, I chose to occupy that empty time by becoming a manager for my high school's wrestling team. There, I found not only new friends but new love. After battling anxiety, I finally learned to love myself. I learned to appreciate the love that others give me, yet simultaneously remember that the love I give myself is the only type of love that can be truly unconditional.

I am of the belief that we as humans never stop changing. Our passions and personalities only stop evolving when we're dead - until that point, I imagine the self as an amorphous blob, always capable of adapting to its environment, changing shape and shifting colors when the need or desire arises. We are, in essence, transient, but that isn't to say there aren't core values at the roots of our beings that remain the same. In fact, it is those roots that our very selves are built upon. In my life as it is right now, I am like most seniors: I am eagerly awaiting graduation, and I can't wait to break free of the 17-year-old chains that this hometown and high school have shackled me with. But I have done much with my years, for certain. In the words of Walt Whitman, I am large, and I contain multitudes. I am a Jewish convert who loves to run and yet is utterly awful at it; I'm an extroverted bookworm who wants to befriend everyone they meet; I feel equally at home atop a podium and cozied up on the couch on a rainy day. The most critically rewarding period of my life was the fall marching band season of my junior year. I was selected as drum major and therefore had the opportunity to lead a band onto fields as big as the Navy Stadium in Annapolis, and as small as our own turf. At both venues, I felt the same swell of pride as I conducted my show. But life changes and so do I - I am no longer a practicing musician, but rather I have reclaimed my age-old passion for writing. I am now widely published in online literary journals for my creative nonfiction and poetry, and I credit my success to my lifelong friend and mentor Annabelle, who taught me everything I know about the real world of writing. As I change shapes once again and transform into a college student, I dream of one day morphing into a librarian. During my first four years at Shepherd University, I will pursue a bachelor's degree in English: Creative Writing as a proud representative of the university's esteemed honors program; following my graduation, I plan on earning a Master's in Library Sciences. To me, librarianship is less about the books and more about the people. After spending my entire life browsing the shelves at my local library, I have noticed that the building transcends its functional expectations: the library is a place of refuge, of opportunity, of freedom and education for the underprivileged communities it serves. My deepest motivation to become a librarian is knowing that it will provide me with a platform to help those who need help most. I want my education to benefit the entire community - I have no reason to be selfish when it comes to knowledge. Supporting my future as a librarian is an investment not only in me but in America's future prosperity as a whole.

Sometimes, it is easier to understand what something is by first defining what it is not. Growing up, generational wealth was not the unpaid bills, my mother shedding tears on their countless envelopes. It was not my father laid out underneath rusted cars every single day, never taking a vacation, even when he busted a disc in his neck from the strain of relentless physical labor. Generational wealth was something I first noticed when I started playing volleyball in late elementary school. I was fortunate enough that my parents could afford to register me for the town's cheapest and lowest-level club, but I complained petulantly that I couldn't join one of the fancier traveling clubs. At that age, I didn't understand why I couldn't play for the better clubs; I had no idea that even being able to play the game was a massive sacrifice for my parents. Now that I am older and preparing to go to Shepherd University in a town just thirty minutes away from home, I am reflecting on the journeys my parents took in their adolescence and how vastly different my own path has been. My mother graduated high school with a class of less than ten fellow students; after that, she abandoned her dreams of becoming a graphic designer in order to raise my sister and me. In that same tiny town on the edge of North Dakota where she grew up, my father was busy building his first bike from scraps in the junkyard and scavenging pennies so that he might buy a cup of noodles to share with his mother for dinner - later, he dropped out of high school to work in fiberglass factories and on the oil rigs. He never did graduate. Understanding the struggles my parents endured to raise me here on the east coast, with a roof over my head and food on the table every night, I have realized the incredible opportunity before me: with this college education, I can hopefully provide a better, more luxurious life for my children than the ones I and my parents have led. By pursuing a career in librarianship, I can escape the physically destructive fate my father endured: I can enjoy air conditioning, sitting in padded chairs, normal 9-5 shifts, and holidays with my friends and family. By earning a master's degree someday, I can start a college fund for my children so they won't lose sleep wondering how they'll pay for their education. And while I gaze into the future, I can also remember my past: I dream of helping my mother pay off all the debt she accumulated from raising me. That, to me, is the meaning of success. If I can use my education and fortune to help my loved ones financially, then I know I will be contributing to something far greater than myself. Money is not everything, and I wholeheartedly believe that. But I also know that money is a cake on a child's birthday. Money is a shiny new bike and a hot meal after a long day. Money is a pair of new shoes for a working mother; money keeps the lights on so that the same mother can read her children a bedtime story after her shift. Money helps a person sleep at night, and I want all my children to someday be sleeping soundly in bed, knowing that they don't have to worry about the money. Because there is so, so much more to life than that.

Life was perfect. Life was beautiful, life was awe-inspiring, and I felt I was at the peak of my high school career. I had secured the esteemed position of drum major for the school marching band; I was performing at colossal stadiums in Annapolis atop sky-high podiums every weekend, and I was thriving. I lived to bathe in the spotlight, and it exhilarated me to know that the show couldn't go on without me. And then, something changed. To this day I still have no idea what triggered my collapse. I suspect it was the result of years of constant mental stress - I was not the type of girl who believed in mental health breaks, and I put my entire being into everything I did. Clearly, it had been working out: I was a show-stopping performer, my boyfriend adored me, I had perfect grades and I was preparing to lead yet another band ensemble in the coming winter season. But one day, I remember it all too vividly, my life, which had been teetering on the edge of destruction for so long, finally toppled off. I was in my first-period AP World History class, the kind where the professor droned on endlessly with zero student engagement, and it began with a rolling in my stomach. My legs had been strangely weak all morning - I ignored it. I ignored the panic rising in my gut until I burst out of my chair and ran into the hallway, stopping the lecture and embarrassing myself in front of the bewildered class. And thus began my series of daily panic attacks, the episodes that would change my life forever. It was a daily affair - every morning began with a panic attack, continuing into the late afternoon until my nerves and stomach finally settled. Therapy was useless: I couldn't even identify the trigger myself. Thankfully the marching band season had ended, but my performances in the new percussion ensemble immediately crumbled. I found I couldn't even stand at my instrument without getting dizzy, and I would have to take breaks every five minutes to stop myself from puking. My boyfriend dumped me. My friends distanced themselves. After weeks of endless, redundant debating back and forth, I finally decided to quit the percussion ensemble. I couldn't handle the stress, and yet I hated myself for disappointing the ensemble. I disappointed everyone, including myself. If you ask me how I conquered this ruthless anxiety, I'm not sure I could give you a solid answer. It wasn't through therapy, it wasn't through medication, it wasn't through drinking more water or going on a soothing yoga retreat. I disappeared from the world for a while. I succumbed to my debilitating anxiety; I didn't get out of bed and I stopped going to school. I suffered. I let time waste away, and I slowly reintegrated myself into the society that I'd abandoned. I battled the panic attacks and went in for job interviews, I registered for volunteer classes at the Humane Society, I spent my daylight taking walks in the park and feeding the ducks with my mother. This bout of mental illness may have distanced me from those whom I thought loved me dearly, but it brought me closer to the people who truly matter. It taught me to prioritize myself, and thus I learned that self-love should be unconditional, because it is the only type of love that is truly irreplaceable.

The most important philosophy that my experience in Judaism has taught me is "tikkun olam," which, in Hebrew, means repairing the world. The Reform Judaism perspective teaches that we live in a broken world, but through small acts of kindness and humility, we can slowly repair our world and work toward a final state of unity and peace. Whether or not we will ever truly achieve tikkun olam, I dedicate myself every day to its hopeful vision of a redeemed world. My name is Anna Steig, and though I am a Jewish convert, I come from a heavily atheistic Scandinavian family. Religion has become a crucial facet of my life because I first explored it as a way of finding purpose. After a serious period of depression, Judaism paved a road of recovery for me, and so I dedicate myself to its commandments both as a means of giving back to God and of maintaining the stability of my inner self. Other passions of mine include linguistics and literature - I have always been a bookworm! Beginning at age eleven, I taught myself to speak Norwegian as a means of reconnecting with my Scandinavian roots; today, I would consider myself proficient, and look forward to one day visiting Norway and honing my skills. Because of my involvement at the synagogue, I am now about to begin my journey learning Hebrew, and I am most eager to be able to read the Torah as it was first meant to be authentically read. Regarding my passion for literature, I am an avid reader across all genres and write primarily creative nonfiction and poetry. My favorite poet is by far Allen Ginsberg; I first became enchanted by his famous poem "Howl," and now I even have one of his quotes tattooed on my arm: "First thought, best thought." In the past, I have been a first-place winner in both the short story and poetry categories of a contest my local library hosts. I am now widely published in online literary journals; my work can be found or is forthcoming in Uppagus Magazine, Hive Avenue Literary Journal, and literaryyard.com. The passion I harbor for literature is originally what interested me in a career in librarianship, but I am now dedicated to this career path not for the literary aspect, but for the opportunity to serve my community. After a discussion with the director of my local western Maryland library branch, I learned that modern librarianship is less about the books and more about the people: the disadvantaged communities in our society need libraries for free shelter and access to education, as well as extra opportunities provided such as job interview aid, new driver forms, and even tax assistance. By pursuing a career in librarianship, I would not only be able to spend my life around books, but could dedicate my energy to serving those in need - yet another step down the path of tikkun olam.

Life was perfect. Life was beautiful, life was awe-inspiring, and I felt I was at the peak of my high school career. I had secured the esteemed position of drum major for the school marching band; I was performing at colossal stadiums in Annapolis atop sky-high podiums every weekend, and I was thriving. I lived to bathe in the spotlight, and it exhilarated me to know that the show couldn't go on without me. And then, something changed. To this day I still have no idea what triggered my collapse. I suspect it was the result of years of constant mental stress - I was not the type of girl who believed in mental health breaks, and I put my entire being into everything I did. Clearly, it had been working out: I was a show-stopping performer, my boyfriend adored me, I had perfect grades and I was preparing to lead yet another band ensemble in the coming winter season. But one day, I remember it all too vividly, my life, which had been teetering on the edge of destruction for so long, finally toppled off. I was in my first-period AP World History class, the kind where the professor droned on endlessly with zero student engagement, and it began with a rolling in my stomach. My legs had been strangely weak all morning - I ignored it. I ignored the panic rising in my gut until I burst out of my chair and ran into the hallway, stopping the lecture and embarrassing myself in front of the bewildered class. And thus began my series of daily panic attacks, the episodes that would change my life forever. It was a daily affair - every morning began with a panic attack, continuing into the late afternoon until my nerves and stomach finally settled. Therapy was useless: I couldn't even identify the trigger myself. Thankfully the marching band season had ended, but my performances in the new percussion ensemble immediately crumbled. I found I couldn't even stand at my instrument without getting dizzy, and I would have to take breaks every five minutes to stop myself from puking. My boyfriend dumped me. My friends distanced themselves. After weeks of endless, redundant debating back and forth, I finally decided to quit the percussion ensemble. I couldn't handle the stress, and yet I hated myself for disappointing the ensemble. I disappointed everyone, including myself. If you ask me how I conquered this ruthless anxiety, I'm not sure I could give you a solid answer. It wasn't through therapy, it wasn't through medication, it wasn't through drinking more water or going on a soothing yoga retreat. I disappeared from the world for a while. I succumbed to my debilitating anxiety; I didn't get out of bed and I stopped going to school. I suffered. I let time waste away, and I slowly reintegrated myself into the society that I'd abandoned. I battled the panic attacks and went in for job interviews, I registered for volunteer classes at the Humane Society, I spent my daylight taking walks in the park and feeding the ducks with my mother. Mental illness, for me, was like a ghost: it haunted me, and yet I couldn't even tell where it was coming from. Even today, I still experience flare-ups and occasional panic attacks, but the way I get through them is through love. I've learned to love myself, anxiety or not, and that is what I'd tell anyone else suffering from mental illness: focus on loving yourself unconditionally, because we are all worthy of love.

The life I envisioned for myself just four years ago is not at all where I am today, but different doesn't always mean bad. As a freshman in high school, I thought I had the rest of my life planned perfectly out: I would graduate as an average student, promptly join the military, and forget the relationships I'd built in my hometown. I suppose being a psychic falls outside the realm of my career options, because I couldn't have possibly been more wrong. Today, I am not at all who I thought I'd be, but I love myself more for how I've changed than for how I've stayed the same. I am now a proud member of my local Jewish Reform synagogue, have accumulated a dozen academic accolades and maintained my position on the distinguished honor roll, am widely published in online literary magazines, and am looking forward to a service-oriented career. Instead of enlisting in the military, I enrolled at Shepherd University as an English major with a focus on creative writing. Following college graduation, I plan on working at a library as an assistant while I complete my Master's in Library Sciences degree online. I have always been obsessed with literature and writing, and last year I met with the director of my local western Maryland library branch; the impact that woman had on me was utterly unforgettable. In my talk with her, I discovered that librarianship is less about shushing people and shelving books, and more about serving the disadvantaged members of my community by providing safe spaces and indiscriminate education. Libraries are shelters for those who have been abandoned by their community; as a librarian, I have realized that I could spend the rest of my life both helping those in need and enjoying the literary atmosphere. After several volunteering experiences in my community garden and with the Humane Society, I have discovered plenty of things about myself, but the most outstanding realization was that I am a naturally altruistic woman. After a long day of work, I feel most inspired by the times I put smiles on people's faces, and it is the knowledge that I made a positive impact in the world that helps me carry on. At my synagogue, we often discuss the concept of "tikkun olam," which, in Hebrew, means repairing the world. This is a Messianic concept that we as Jews try to work toward every day. We recognize that the world is a natural sanctuary for peace and love, and our direct responsibility is to help society return to that place of tranquility through simple actions of kindness and charity. It is this which I would like to be remembered for: not for my scholarship, not for my achievements, but for tikkun olam. For being the reason a child laughs, an old man smiles, and a person wakes up in the morning. Everyone can be a part of tikkun olam, of repairing the world, and with every day I want to help fulfil that prophecy.

In Tongues Whose strange body do I walk in, in this frightened age of discontent? Self conscious stumbling down Old Potomac, where I watch the cracks in broken sidewalks by just the rosy light of the moon. It pains my aching bones to see the shadow morph some steps behind my body--ballerina, poet, intellectual, whore. The windows fail to cast a reflection but I feel it in my creaking trudge: this is not a shape I’ve known before. Along Cypress, later down May, the springtime breeze whispers hymnals into my ears like guiding secrets, speaking in tongues. Goosebumps race my fragile paper skin; I’m once again alone. Where are you now, Ginsberg? On the road again but I am here, isolated within the asphalt city, these jungles of my mind! Cats howl on stationary boxcars, loose change jingles down the alleys without legs to carry it and my eyes are blown Jupiter-wide, seeing through the shades of darkness; determination learns futility. Up and ahead some miles, the quarry tower blinks crimson roses amongst the vast expanse of space-time. Beep! beep! sending off signals like code that mean nothing to me, mechanized spirits and souls, but my hollow skeleton carries on with a borrowed mind of its own. My feet are disconnected from my eyes, who am I tonight? The lives which I so briefly walk within, forever unknown. To the world I am but a shadow, swallowed by the frigid night, stepping forward toward the ever weakening light of day, to places I will never see again, in bodies with minds not even God could understand.

Postcard from Paradise To Smith, From Steig By this point, I have wished on every star enough times that I am standing here, on the beach at high noon during the most uninhabitable month of the year, staring skyward into the sun and screaming. Bring me home, bring me home! I can shout until my lungs cough up blood, but God must be on sabbatical - no one hears me, no one heeds me. If a stranger wandered up to me on that god-forsaken Hawaiian island, dream vacation destination of pristine white sands and turquoise seas, and asked me where else I’d rather be than on this speck of heaven, I’d tell them enough about my home to write a thousand-page history. I’d describe in delirious detail the detergent-washed scent of your large hoodies that drown me in their excess fabric, the soft yield of your stomach when I lie upon it like a pillow, the euphonious melody of your voice which climbs an octave in excitement. In exchange for this facade of paradise, I’d kill - in cold blood, even - just to descend into the warmth of your arms and pet your silky blonde hair; I’d die a thousand torturous deaths just to glimpse the gray three-cushioned couch, upon which countless times we made love and fell in love all over again. My adoration has no limits, and physical distance is just a mortal barrier - you know you continue to live on in my heart. Anyway, write me back, dear. It turns out this “soothing tropical excursion” was a load of garbage, and I can’t catch a plane back to the States until next week. Next time I see you, I’m never letting go.

In my youth, I was rarely the child who attended the fundraisers, who donated to food drives, or even who pitched in an extra few hours just to help somebody else out. It was only after a family tragedy and a bout of depression that I discovered the immense rewards of altruism. When I was seventeen, the relationships within my family were turned on their heads by a crisis of infidelity; after the end of my relationship with my father, I was lost. I felt utterly lost and struggled just to roll out of bed each morning - what pulled me back into reality was my volunteer work. On a whim, I decided to register as a volunteer with my local Humane Society, and I discovered that serving the community had an effect like sunlight on my body: it rejuvenated me, inspired me, taught me to appreciate myself and my existence on this planet. But it wasn't just the animals that I loved to work with, rather, it was mostly the people. I thrived in that tight-knit circle of volunteer workers and lived for the opportunity to help excited families adopt their new furry friends; it was the children, especially, with their squealing and ecstatic smiles, that made me realize I wanted to spend the rest of my life serving others. Today, I am preparing to leave my hometown and head off to college, but I'm not just focused on the logistics and finances of this great change in my life: I am most excited to get involved in the community. Shepherdstown, West Virginia, is a very small and cozy college town, with an immense focus on environmental aid, mental health awareness, and Greek life. Not only do I seek to join a philanthropical sorority like Delta Zeta or Sigma Sigma Sigma, but I am also eager to start my own organization. Being a young female converted Jew means that I am used to feeling like a stranger in a strange land, and so I'd like to embrace my opportunity at Shepherd University to begin a club for people just like me. It is critical to me that Shepherd has some sort of Jewish representation, and I hope I am able to team up with my local Reform synagogue, the B'nai Abraham Congregation, to organize various community volunteer events. I believe that everyone has the opportunity to improve their community and that it is up to the individual to decide if they'll take advantage of that opportunity. When I was young, I would have rather stepped back and watched. I have learned now that life is not about spectating the great acts of others, and that active participation in life is the only way to keep a community thriving. As I head off to college, I want to thrive.

A worthy education is - or at least should be - priceless. The continuation of my schooling at Shepherd University is not just about another four years of rigorous classes, but rather it emphasizes the value of specialized education and allows me to lay down the foundations for a life in which I can truly thrive. I believe that these growth opportunities should be available to everyone, but the price of tuition has become a formidable foe standing in the way of ambition. I don’t come from a trust fund family - my parents have worked tirelessly for decades but haven’t been able to create a savings account to fund my education. Rather than viewing this in a negative light, I believe that these circumstances have pushed me to craft a work ethic of steel - the opportunities that come my way are those that I will earn for myself. I plan to pursue a career in librarianship following my graduation from college because there is no greater honor than serving the community that has given me the resources to become the ambitious young woman that I am today. Librarianship is a position of civil service; by providing a safe environment for learning and individual growth, libraries act as epicenters for the betterment of our society as a whole. Should I be granted this scholarship to fund my education, it would mean not only an investment in me as a young scholar but an investment in the future of my community. One of the most memorable experiences in community involvement that inspired me to pursue a service-oriented career was my time as a Humane Society volunteer. I had always known that our local Humane Society accepted volunteers, and I thought that it would be rewarding to work with animals, but it was only after a traumatic period in my life that I seriously realized I needed a higher purpose. After my father left, I felt utterly lost; simply waking up in the morning had become a meaningless task, and I knew that I had to find a better way to spend my time than moping around. Feeling sorry for myself was accomplishing nothing, so I decided to register for volunteer training at the Humane Society. Assisting in adoptions, socializing the most unsociable animals, and helping with the endless loads of laundry proved to me that I was a capable person: I had lost all sense of self-esteem, but volunteering convinced me that I had a purpose in this life. After my stint as a Humane Society volunteer, I knew in my heart that I wanted to spend the rest of my life helping other people, because I believe that providing aid to those in need is the most rewarding thing a person like me can do.

First, I was enchanted by the colossal Star of David so boldly engraved on the face of the building - it showed courage and truth, the things I had yet to claim for myself. Then I was mesmerized by the floor-to-ceiling stained glass windows depicting the oases of the Egyptian deserts and defiantly raised fists, proclaiming the power held within the walls of that temple and the spirit of the congregation. The unfamiliar faces surrounding me in the pews beamed smiles and offered the warmest "Shabbat shalom" I'd ever heard, and yet I felt as though I were a stranger in a strange land. And then, all the chatter in the sanctuary collapsed into a whispered hush: the rabbi was approaching the podium. The rabbi was a man of indeterminable middle age; his brows were harsh, his mouth was curved into a permanent scowl, his kippah perched atop his skull in a most precarious manner. He made me nervous. I realized that I had no idea what I was doing here - I was a seventeen-year-old Scandinavian girl from a purely atheistic family. I knew I wouldn't be able to follow along in the Hebrew chants, and I wouldn't know when to stand and when to bow. And yet, when the glaring rabbi ascended to his podium and gazed out to survey his congregation for the night, he noticed me. He smiled, and he knew me. It felt as though he were staring straight through me, all at once understanding my need: I needed this temple to be a home; I needed this congregation to be a family. I needed a reason to survive, and the rabbi saw that in me. Though I blushed bright red when he pointed me out amongst the crowd and prompted me to introduce myself, I felt grateful for the acknowledgment, because otherwise I would have sat alone and festered in my discomfort throughout the whole service. The rabbi had realized that, and instantly I was swarmed with greetings and introductions and even hugs. He proceeded to conduct the service half in Hebrew and half in English for my benefit and called out page numbers so that I could flip through my siddur and read the same prayers along with everyone else. That first night in the temple easily could have been the most uncomfortable, unwelcoming experience of my life; no one had any obligation to me, and yet that congregation absorbed me instantly like I was one of their own. At that moment, the scowling rabbi became my greatest role model; I knew that I wanted to make others feel as welcome in my space as he did for me in his. Interactions like those are of the life-changing variety - they stick with people, and they remind people of their value as humans. Every day, I strive to make at least one person feel as special as that rabbi made me feel, and I know I will never forget the warmth he shared with me.