It is impossibly easy to feel small in this world. The constant pressure of expectations, rules, and boxes to be ticked can make one feel almost as if they're not even a person anymore. Relentless news updates shove reality at us, and the good is almost always overshadowed by the bad. Everything feels manufactured, the planet is dying, and no one seems to understand. It is disquietingly lonely. One thing I have come to learn is that everyone gets it. I cannot imagine a single person anymore who isn't cripplingly aware of their circumstances. Ignorance is bliss, I suppose, for the few that can afford to live that way. Everything is right in our faces. The good, the bad, and the ugly. The weird, too. There is so much to comprehend that our place in the universe comes, essentially, last. But there's something about the mess of life that brings me some peace. If everyone's going through it, I'm just one of the folks going through it. Life isn't a competition. The universe is giving us so much room to figure things out. Maybe it's my anthropology degree talking, but with this much time, we've done incredibly much. For me to even write this essay is a great accomplishment of the universe, because it put me here on purpose, in front of this screen. Understanding the universe is something I feel like people should feel however they want about it. I am absolutely an existential person, but not everyone thinks that way. It can be intimidating to think about how much we don't know and don't understand. But again, the fact that we're thinking about it at all is a great accomplishment. Getting any grasp on the universe we can is a sign that we are intelligent, we long to learn, and that we belong. We are here because of billions of years of change. Humanity has wanted to figure the universe out since we could start looking at it. We have always cared so deeply about our place in this universe, from ancient sundials to the International Space Station. People have been trying to understand the cosmos for thousands of years, and we haven't stopped. That, in and of itself, says that we want to belong. For some, it's easier just not to think about it. Others enjoy the science of physics or astronomy to figure out the universe. I call myself an optimistic nihilist. In any case, the universe is ours to study, to take in, and to never completely know. We'll keep unlocking secrets and discovering new ones until humanity's time here is over. It is whatever you want it to be, and we can do whatever we want to do. Is that scary? Yes. But will it be okay? Yes.

@moonlight_manifesto

For as many influential books I have read throughout my life so far, one of the best books I could recommend would be "Personal Effects: What Recovering the Dead Teaches Me About Caring For the Living" by Robert A. Jensen. Jensen is the owner of Kenyon, a disaster recovery not-for-profit that specializes in the recovery of people and their belongings after disasters, whether they are natural or human-caused. Because of this, some of the book's content can be upsetting. Jensen details the processes: recovery, notification, forensics, cataloguing, and bureaucracy. I chose this book because, despite the trauma of tragedy, Jensen describes the incredible levels of community and solidarity that can be achieved even through the worst of circumstances. As an anthropology student myself, humanity and community were the center of my world, academically or otherwise. We've made it so far, through so much. This book showcases the variety of ways humanity copes with tragedy and loss, even through the red tape of the modern world. Significance and sentiment are strong themes throughout, as well, as Jensen makes clear that even the smallest fragments of a person's existence hold value. I find this book so compelling this way because I feel that more people need to know that someone, somewhere finds value in them. Someone will miss them when they're gone. The isolation of the modern world is so suffocating, and the frequency of tragedy has turned it into monotony. People need to understand that they aren't affected alone, and that someone will try to ensure their lives and their experiences matter.

Mental health has been something very important to me, despite being one of my biggest challenges. In hindsight, there were many occasions throughout my life where I didn't know what to do, what help I needed, or even how to explain myself. I am someone who struggles with depression, chronic anxiety, PTSD, and ADHD. I was suicidal for many years and am doing my best to move past that mentality. All of these things manifest in different ways and affect my life in every way. The hardest part of dealing with these things was learning to manage expectations. Since I was little, I was a high academic achiever and got more and more pressure to keep succeeding throughout my entire time at school. I was placed in advanced programs and moved up a grade, put in honors classes throughout middle and high school, and graduated college a year early with honors. These are all great things, right? I should be proud, right? Yes, and I am. But it was so, so hard. Looking back, there was a lot of "Oh, you're so mature for your age!" commentary coming from everyone, but I was just a tired, sad, confused kid. My family did their best to keep me doing well, but not everything is in their hands. My dad died suddenly when I was thirteen, leaving a huge hole in my family, my community, and my heart. He was a friend to many, a talented actor, a dedicated sheriff's deputy, and the best dad in the whole world. Everything shattered for a long time. There are still times I wonder how I made it this far. What do you do when you're just a kid, suddenly tasked with telling your two younger siblings that your entire world is never going to be the same? The change in my life following the death of my father was so tangible. At first, my small hometown community was incredibly, distressingly kind. Everyone from strangers to neighbors reached out, sent us food, sent cards, or even offered to take us to school. We got a letter from President Obama. It was overwhelming and often confusing. And then there was normalcy. Fake as it was, we couldn't stay at home in our black hole forever. I think it was about ten days my siblings and I were not in school. The district was incredibly accommodating. My mom didn't return to work for a long time. As we all entered our new version of every day, things were manageable for a little while. You kind of play it like it didn't happen for a while. Getting into high school, coming off fresh grief and pretending like I'm fine, was not easy. I had been finding the words to express my queerness since I was twelve, but had a bit of an identity crisis in high school, eventually coming out pretty publicly as bisexual at fifteen. It felt sort of freeing, but it didn't last very long. I didn't deal with much in terms of homophobia, it was more like trying to figure myself out so much that it became tiring. I noticed my mental health start to decline when I was halfway through junior year. My grief was becoming unbearable, and I did not have healthy coping mechanisms. Suicide became an option for the first time and it scared me. I never made any attempts, but the ideation is still something I am learning to overcome. My family got me into counseling and it helped for a while. We ended up all going to the same counselor, someone we had known from the community. It was good. The year 2020 was, simply put, a mess. For everyone, obviously. The pandemic put a hold on a lot of things. My family had finally had enough, we needed to move on from our hometown and get away. I was about to graduate high school and go to college, giving myself a fresh start. We moved in the summer and it was fine. New beginning: check. I moved into my dorm in a rainstorm and met my roommate (now best friend) in line to get COVID tested. Virtual classes were still weird and everything was an even bigger adjustment than I realized. I was also surrounded by the intensity of politics, social issues, and the scale of my college community all at once. It was overwhelming. I managed to find some peace in finding a program I loved and a small but mighty community of like-minded people. However, in 2022, my university lost two students to suicide. It was intensely distressing and brought up a lot of old wounds for me. Mental health resources on campus were severely lacking, and these incidents inspired a lot of change from both students themselves and administration. The rest of my college experience was a lot of ups and downs. I was completely satisfied with my program, had good grades and even better friends. I was a victim of sexual assault. I got a wonderful job at the university library that changed my life. I left a lot of people behind. At the end of the day, I didn't just survive college. I tried to make the most of it. The world is a mess, mental health resources are not always easy to access, and some things are just out of my hands. But I am doing my best and that's the best I can do. I have ambitions to get my MLS and become a librarian. I have the greatest partner in the world and the greatest family. My mom is the best support I could ask for. I am not perfect and neither is my mental health, but I'm getting there. I know it will not be easy, but it'll be worth it.

I think all of these topics can be rolled into one for me. My mental health has been something that I have been learning to care for since I was about fourteen, following the sudden death of my father in 2016. I didn't know how to handle grief, let alone juggle the brand-new experience of high school or discover my queerness. Most of my family tried their best to be supportive both with loss and with this "new identity" of mine. It was incredibly challenging for several years. Halfway through high school, I was struggling severely. I coped with my grief by pushing myself to hide it in any way I could, whether that was doubling down on my academics or simply shutting off. At this point, I was beginning to contemplate if ending my life would also end my struggle. Suicide was not something I took lightly, but I was too afraid and embarrassed to seek help. By my junior year, I had had enough and sought counseling. Every aspect of my life felt like it was piling up on me and I could not take any more. My family also went to counseling, more on the side of dealing with their grief; but I found it so much more helpful to go and talk about every aspect of life I was experiencing. Moving on to college also forced a lot of introspection on my mental health. The COVID-19 pandemic, moving 800 miles from home, and starting over in an unfamiliar place were all undeniably challenging and my mental health suffered as a result. I felt isolated, awkward, and frequently homesick. As the semesters went on, I began struggling with what I still believe is ADHD. Trying to focus on keeping myself afloat academically was a challenge. I took advantage of my university's counseling center, but it was not as good of a resource as it had been marketed and I found myself stuck in a cycle of not knowing how to get the help I needed. I managed to handle a few parts of life well, by finding a good circle of friends and doing my best in academics, but I still didn't feel like I was truly living my college experience to the fullest. I've been experiencing mild suicidal ideation for about four years, which is a complicated state of mind. I've never felt truly compelled to end my life, but the lingering thoughts are often hard to deal with. I ended up looking into some resources around campus and found a group of people who were trying to advocate for better resources for LGBTQ+ students and decided to get Mental Health First Aid trained with them. That was one of the best decisions I ever made. Suddenly I was surrounded by people who understood what I was going through in some way or another, or simply just enjoyed knowing they weren't the only queer kid on campus. I made so many lasting connections that way and knowing I had people to rely on boosted my mental health immensely. My road to mental wellbeing is long and I am still working to find things that work best for me. I am still trying to figure out how I fit into my post-grad life, with a full-time job and graduate school on the horizon. My mental health is one of my top priorities now, and I try to take care of it the best I can. I've found comfort in my queerness, and self-love is another thing I'm carrying with me into the next phase of my life.

Main Character Syndrome by Brenna Russell Turn up the volume of the angriest playlist I have Walk with squared shoulders and forward-bent posture Hands in pockets holding keys like knives Steps heavy, calculated and unwavering Walk into the coffee shop or the grocery store Take the stairs up to work and settle in Music blasting in my ears as I search the room This is my theme song for the day Sometimes I am classical Other days I am metal, drum and bass Often I am indie pop and electronic I am the most important person in the room I am the main character, your protagonist-of-the-day I am, here in black boots or white sneakers Reddish cardigans and blue flannels Jeans and sweats and sets of on-sale earrings Narrow eyes in slightly-smudged glasses Hoodies and windbreakers and sweaters Graphic t-shirts from sophomore year and older Socks in patterns and solid neutral colors Lace and cotton and polyester blended Pink eyeshadow and peppermint lips Plain white shirt or the lightning bolts Long nails slick and shiny with clear polish Slightly too-long hair that covers my ears I am the hottest person at the grocery store I am approached by strangers and classmates I smile at people walking dogs and wave at kids I hold coffee cups between ungloved hands in winter I carry quotes and poems in my mind at all times Names and birthdays and favorite colors Drink orders and video games and song titles Sorry not sorry, everybody; give me a moment to be my best

Being the child of a single parent is not a title most people would take lightly. My father died in 2016, leaving behind a family and community that loved him dearly. Amid the chaos and uncertainty, my mom took on a very difficult role. Being a widow is not easy, and it is a role most people find uncomfortable to acknowledge. Single parenthood is just as challenging since plenty of people in my community took it upon themselves to pity my family and step into roles that were not meant for them. My mom was incredibly strong, though. There were a lot of hardships in the immediate years following my dad's passing. She did her best to ensure that my siblings and I felt loved and cared for, and worked incredibly hard to keep our lives well-maintained and supported. She made huge decisions, like buying her first new car and selling the family home, by herself. Milestones came and went without my dad, but my mom made sure we never felt like something was missing. As I am nearing the end of my undergraduate career, I have much more to give back to my mother than my community. My world changed in an instant in 2016, but my mom has been a constant light in my life that I would not have survived without. Even in my darkest days, and hers, for that matter, we were there for each other. She has supported me through struggles with my queerness, starting and ending college, and preparing for independent adulthood. My mother has always prioritized education for me and my siblings, but feeling fulfilled and happy has always come before that. Both of my parents graduated college and encourage me and my siblings to pursue whatever educational path we desire, even when it is challenging. My mom is my best friend and my strongest role model, and her commitment to her goals and her family is endlessly inspiring. Her love for my dad is something we remember every day and it's a constant reminder of real happiness. There are still days when it's hard, but my mom makes us feel loved and understood even through the difficulties of grief. While I can acknowledge the impact my hometown had on me during the loss, the only thing I am certain I am grateful for is the love and support from my mother. She's made me the person I am today and I am always thankful.

I think the biggest shift for me in the last year has been realizing my calling. I spent a long time thinking about what to do with myself, especially since my path has changed countless times throughout my college career. I started as a declared political science major and promptly discovered it was not at all what I wanted, and started to panic. I was taking an introductory anthropology course at the same time and it captivated me, but the process of changing my major was time-consuming and kind of exhausting. Thankfully, it worked out for me and I've never looked back. Despite my relief at having a major I actually enjoyed, everything else still had to shift with it. In hindsight, my whole career path came to me at random. I struggled for much of my junior year with creating goals for myself, but thank goodness for 3 am thoughts, right? I kept thinking to myself that I wasn't the kind of anthropology student to go off and do fieldwork, but if not fieldwork or teaching, then what? It took some random sleepless night for me to realize I could work in libraries. I have always loved libraries, so why not? I emailed my subject librarian at my university and asked what it would take to be a librarian. After some back-and-forth communication, she invited me to join the department as her student worker. I've been working for the library for a year now and it has entirely changed my perspective on my career goals and my interests as a whole. Allowing myself to explore my interests has been the most helpful thing I've ever done for myself. College has been a massive undertaking but it has been worth it every step of the way. Working at the library gave me a wonderful environment and a place for me to learn about myself just as much as I learned about library systems. I'm now planning to enroll in a Master of Library Science/Library and Information Sciences program so I can truly get into libraries and see where it takes me. Since I graduate with my bachelor's in May, I've also been exploring employment opportunities. There are so many routes I could take with my experiences and further my education. I am so grateful to have had all the experiences I did in the past year because it was truly a fundamental part of my college experience and my growth as a person.

The best back-to-school tip I have is to go in with an open mind. You never know how interesting your classes or classmates will be, but it's easy to have some apprehension about a new environment or even returning to an old one. Just remember that there are tons of people in the same boat, and it'll all turn out ok. Even if it doesn't, at least you went in and allowed yourself to test the waters. Instagram handle: moonlight_manifesto

Anthropology is one of those fields that many don't even think is a "real" science, so it's often hard to convince my peers and family that my degree is in STEM. Anthropology, the study of humans past and present, usually is relegated to the social sciences and falls into similar categories as sociology. Anthropology is also among many scientific fields that men have dominated since the very beginning. Not to disparage the numerous accomplishments of male scientists, but it has taken far too long for women to enter the spotlight and be truly recognized as anthropologists. I actually chose anthropology in the middle of my first year in undergraduate. I was a declared Political Science major with the ambitions of becoming... something. I took the classes and found them interesting, but nothing I could see myself making a career of. I didn't love it near as much as I thought I would. In light of the situation, I was taking an introductory anthropology class since it seemed like something cool and different from what I'd taken before. Lo-and-behold, everything changed. My anthropology professor was enthusiastic and so knowledgeable and encouraged me to change my major. I made the switch and have never looked back. Now, as I begin my final year of undergraduate, I am beyond grateful for having the opportunity to change my major and proud of myself for doing so. A challenge I face is in my graduate ambitions. I felt like my anthropology degree would be a great start, but I couldn't see myself doing fieldwork. I was racking my brain for ideas of what to do post-grad, when the perfect shower thought hit me: I could be a librarian. I've always loved libraries and educational institutions, but somehow it had never occurred to me that I could actually be a part of it. As I've gotten closer to applying to grad schools, I've had to reflect on the fact that I am a legitimate STEM student. I had never really connected the dots, especially since I'm a far more literature and history-oriented person (hence my library science goals). It has also occurred to me that the work I am aiming for is predominantly "feminine." Librarians in media are always some grumpy older women, when in reality, libraries are far more diverse. But I have found that working in libraries confirms my suspicions. Almost all of my coworkers at my university library are women and my coworkers at my summer job, a public library, were also almost entirely women. The most striking piece of that is, almost all of administration in both environments are men. So sure, women can work in libraries, but the higher-ups are male. The wage and opportunity gaps still exist in harmless places like libraries. Non-profits are easy places to have a heavy workload and low pay. Affording my education alone is hard, but being a woman in STEM doesn't exactly afford me a ton of high pay. I know part of that is a choice, since non-profits like libraries don't have huge budgets to begin with, but I would also like to live a normal life without working myself to death. Overall, I have no regrets. I have chosen this path willingly, and I'm also more than willing to make it work for myself. I am immensely privileged to have my education and ability to go for what I want, so the obstacles I face are ones I chose to face. I love STEM and I am excited to see what the future holds for me.

I try hard to maintain my goals of allyship, but the biggest moment for me was following the shooting of Breonna Taylor. Not only was I disgusted by the inaction of officials, but the silence from my college campus. I go to a Catholic Jesuit university whose whole “mission” is to be “for and with others,” but the deafening silence to its Black and Brown students was appalling. Our clock tower is a major campus landmark, and a group of students got together and turned it into a memorial for Breonna. Flowers and chalk messages of hope and sadness decorated the tower, and it felt like a step in the right direction, but it was short-lived. The tower was vandalized: someone had written “Trump 2020” in Sharpie all over the bottom of the tower. The subsequent inaction from campus administration and security was a truly eye-opening situation for students. I felt like so many of my peers were robbed of their ability to mourn and express their upset. The biggest piece of the puzzle, though, was how I as a white student wanted to help my peers. I could use my voice, but the level of action on the part of the white student body was not what our fellow students needed. Several students organized a protest, and we marched along our main path and into the administrative building. Black and Brown students deservedly became the center of the protest, and further organized talks, candlelight vigils, and safe spaces. I felt like I had done my part by joining them and refusing to let white students’ feelings overtake the space. Many white students expressed their concern and confusion as to why their peers were so upset, but it was incredibly gratifying to see so many white students join them in solidarity. Two years later, our administration has made some progress, but there is still much work to be done. The number of Black and Brown people that have faced police violence and discrimination has only increased, but the action from my fellow students has not slowed down. Last year, conservative and controversial speaker Matt Walsh was invited to give a talk on my campus by the student Republicans. The outrage at the school’s approval was impressive, and actually got the administration to change their minds. Walsh subsequently had to move his talk elsewhere, and my peers organized a protest against Walsh and his backwards, harmful ideas. I remain incredibly proud of my peers for recognizing their power, and I feel satisfied in knowing I had a hand in holding administration accountable. White students cannot be treated like they’re more important than their Black and Brown counterparts, and that their feelings and concerns are less than. I intend to do my best to keep admin accountable and remind my peers that there is someone in their corner.

My mom is the strongest person I know. She’s had an incredibly hard life, and it has been such an incredible experience to be her daughter. There’s a ton of stigma about being a single parent and being the child of a single parent, and while it’s been a unique experience, I am just so proud of how things have turned out. For a start, my mom’s childhood is not something easy to talk about. She and her brother were children of divorced parents, and her father’s second wife (my grandma) wasn’t really what I would consider an upgrade. My mom often jokes about being a child of the eighties, but it’s difficult to think about how hard her early life must have been. Things got better for my mom once she left for college, though. She met some of her best friends and her future husband. She was a theatre major, which has become an immense influence for me and my siblings. My mom married my dad in the 1990s and settled in Southern Colorado to start their family. Both of them were successful and appreciated in our little community, and my siblings and I were well-known because of them. My mom worked for a few various places, some of which made it hard to spend any real time with her, but we managed to make it work. Things were really good for a while, but sometimes the universe has alternate plans. In 2016, my dad passed away very unexpectedly. It took a huge toll on my family, but especially my mom. She was the last person to see him, which must have been just… devastating. It’s hard to imagine, let alone put into words, what she must have felt. The worst part is it never gets easier. People at her job started asking if she’d get remarried less than a year after my dad’s passing, but my grandparents are the worst when it comes to expressing our grief. My grandparents had never “approved” of my dad for whatever reason, so their reactions to his passing were less than loving. It has been seven years, and it is no easier to be upset around them without some form of insult or backhanded expression of concern. My mom acts as the go-between for her parents and brother, as well, which takes another toll on her. Despite everything she’s been through, my mom has persevered and done her best to ensure my siblings and I have good lives. Obviously, she is not perfect, but I feel so honored to be a part of her life and vice versa. Watching her grow and knowing she has been my number one supporter means the world to me, and I can’t express how much her love and support have influenced me. She’s been there for everything, even in the darkest times. I credit her with everything from helping me accept myself as a member of the LGBTQ+ community to surviving college during a pandemic. My mom is everything to me and I am so proud and grateful to be a part of her legacy.

My name is Brenna (she/they), and I am currently a senior at Saint Louis University. I am an anthropology major and my number one goal is to become a librarian. I’m from a tiny rural town in Southern Colorado and life there was pretty simple. My two younger siblings and I grew up in a cute neighborhood and had plenty of best friends, and my parents became well known in the community as kind and genuine people. Not to sound entirely tragic, but things really shifted when I was in middle school. It was hard enough trying to navigate the awkwardness of middle school, but when I was in eighth grade, my dad passed away very suddenly. His passing had an enormous impact on my family and the local community, which is something I’ll never forget. He was my hero and a wonderful role model, and I miss him dearly. In high school, it was difficult to manage the stress of my education and grief. But all the while, I had the constant support of my mom, who did everything in her power to make sure we didn’t sink into our sadness. As the years went on, I became increasingly passionate about people in situations like mine, and it became my priority to go into politics. I wanted to “be the change” and was certain I’d be a great politician. Fast forward to my first year of college, and it’s the middle of the pandemic. As I’m sitting in one of my political science classes, I come to the realization that I absolutely cannot see myself doing politics as a career. While I was grappling with the fact that all my goals had suddenly gone out the window, I was taking an introductory anthropology course. I was so captivated by the subject matter and the enthusiasm of my professor that I switched my major almost immediately. It felt like a bit of a letdown, knowing my political aspirations were still so important to me, but I couldn’t stand the possibility of doing something that would exhaust me. Since changing my major, I have found that anthropology is my calling, and I haven’t turned back at all. As I come to the end of my time in undergraduate, I have so many people to be grateful for. The most influential person in my life, however, has to be my mom. I owe her so much, from her advice to financial help to unconditional love and support. She has done so much for my family, and I could not be more grateful to her. In terms of my educational and career goals, my mom has always been the one to encourage me to follow my dreams and ambitions. My career aspirations have changed many times over the years, and my mom has been supportive of every single one. Even though things get difficult sometimes, my mom always has my back and I do not know what I’d do without her. She’s my best friend and biggest role model, and I simply cannot thank her enough for everything she’s done for my family.

My favorite scientific discovery is when archaeologists discovered the city under Luxor, Egypt. I think this is fascinating not only because I'm an anthropology student and this is what I live for, but because it gives us a glimpse into what ancient Egyptian society looked like beyond the pyramids and other famous sites. I can still remember waking up the day the news shared the story and it was all my archaeology class wanted to talk about. It's also really important scientifically because determining how old the site is and its relevance to Egyptian society is so important to keeping history alive and intact. It was especially interesting to see how the perspectives on ancient Egypt have changed over the years as the number of archaeological sites has increased, and it always creates a great talking point about how history is written and remembered. It was sad to see it fall off the regular news rather quickly, but at least it made a difference to anthropology nerds like myself. Here is the article in case you want to read more about it. https:///biggest-archaeological-discoveries-of-2021 (it's the second story)

Riding the train back home on October 27th it's gloomy and grey at six-thirty PM. The yellowing leaves and orange trees against an almost-black sky remind me of jack'o'lanterns and skeleton eyes. The view out my window is getting harder to see as the bright lights in the train car drown out the evening scene. The games on my phone help me pass the time but I dream of Halloween as past spooky trees I ride.

The biggest problem facing the world right now is a lack of open minds. The world is full of civil, social, and political issues, but no one wants to give up their space or be wrong. Things like religion, ethnicity, and gender have been long-standing issues and have caused deep rifts between societies for hundreds of years. Reproductive rights, the LGBTQIA+ community, poverty, climate change, and education are all things that are hotly debated constantly; but seeking a common ground seems a waste of time. My experiences lie in the highly partisan United States, where politics are rarely grey in the world of black-and-white. Dems want one thing, Republicans want another. Compromise rarely makes the news, so we assume it doesn’t happen. Many basic rights are often tossed around every two to four years, given whatever election season it is. Wouldn’t it be nice if people would just open their perspectives a bit? It should be the simplest of concepts to know everyone is different. Everyone’s perspectives, beliefs, and experiences are completely unique. Trying to fit every aspect of a society into a checkbox only makes issues work. Why bother labeling anything at all? The human brain loves arbitrary categories but relying on outdated and harmful beliefs and stereotypes in the name of maintaining influence can be ruinous. An open mind would simply acknowledge that all of us fit our own different “boxes.” Compromise and progress can never be achieved if there is no room for growth. Open-mindedness means people would be more willing to accept that they are different, but also that they are not always right. Strongly held beliefs can protect and provide community, but can hold people back just as easily. No room to grow means no individuality, no creativity, no added beauty to the world.

In my experience, the best thing someone can do for a person struggling with their mental health is to be understanding. I don't need someone to psychoanalyze me, talk down to me, pity me, or oversimplify my condition for me. Understanding my feelings, experiences, and my choices in how to recover and move forward is the most helpful thing someone can do. I feel like this applies to many other people with mental health struggles, as well. It's aggravating and dehumanizing to be talked to like I am just my mental illness, and it only makes sense that others would want to avoid those feelings, too. Understanding means that someone can care about you where you are, rather than where you could be. Using this to help people dealing with mental health struggles can reduce the hesitation to receive help and help them find the resources they might need. Understanding also means there should be no obligation to share their diagnosis or feel like they need to justify themselves. Being an understanding person can reduce the stigma still weighing society down, which would further alleviate much of the stress of navigating resources. The fear of being misunderstood or pitied makes people feel alone and avoid seeking help. Understanding is the most basic way someone can express compassion and is one of the best ways to prevent that feeling of isolation that can often come with mental health struggles. Overall, understanding is just a piece of the puzzle when it comes to being an ally to those facing difficulties with their mental health, but it’s one of the easiest ways to reduce stress and further struggle. Kindness speaks loudly, and being an understanding person can make an enormous difference.

Loss has been an unfortunately frequent theme in my life, but none of which hit as hard as the loss of my father in 2016. My family had always been tight-knit, and this loss spiraled us into a mess between our extended family and within our community. Our hometown is small and everyone knew what had happened and who we are, so the pressure to both accept their help and seem like we were "moving on" was intense. My dad was well-known in the community and his loss seemed to impact many people, but within a year of his passing it was like nothing ever happened. A friend and coworker of his (and my family's) passed away two years later, which seemed to eat up all the press and further push my father's passing into the dark. It was a huge disappointment and added to the existing stress of juggling grief and regular life. The loss of my father has been a long battle between my family and my community. My family fought for a long time to find peace and commemorate him, but the community was quick to ask us to move on. My mother's parents are often cruel and unfeeling towards us in our grief. The hardship my family and I have endured as a result has made me determined to focus on myself, mental health, and expressing emotions in a healthy way. Forcing myself to close off my feelings about my dad would only make things worse, and my family knows we need to stick together more than anything. Losing my dad helped me realize that many of my ambitions are similar to his, including my dreams to work in history and institutions like museums and libraries. My biggest goal is to establish a scholarship in his memory. My dad always wanted to get his master's degree and I would love to be able to help others like him achieve their dreams. In the end, I will always miss my dad. But, I want to make him proud and I'm happy to know scholarships like these can help me do that. He and my mom taught me to chase my dreams and knowing I have the opportunity to do so brings me great joy.

1. Why don't I deserve this scholarship? 2. Being able to brag about how much my student loans were. And entering a dying profession. 3. Coming up with wrong answers only, just now. I would also consider trying not to use Target as a coping mechanism an obstacle I've overcome (well... mostly).

Of the many life lessons I've had to learn (whether I liked it or not), has got to be to take care of myself. Self-care was a tough concept for me to grasp for many, many years. I struggled with poor self-image, depression, an anxiety disorder, and PTSD for all of high school and into college. I was also met with sudden tragedies, personal health emergencies, and a complicated transition to college. My world has been tossed around plenty of times, and I spent a lot of time wondering how to keep my head above the water. I won't lie; learning how to care for yourself is hard. When you've been stuck in a low place for years, it feels impossible to dig yourself out. I felt hesitant about self-care until I really started trying it. I've seen media before saying that motivation comes after you start something, and I found that particularly true of self-care. I didn't know how to really love myself, and it took me a while to finally understand that I didn't have to do anything monumental to feel like I'm okay. So, I started small. I treated myself to a long bath or a nice cup of tea. Once I was able to afford it, I spoiled myself with skincare products and the occasional dinner out. Recently, I bought myself a dress. That was one of the biggest leaps I've made for myself in a long time. I dealt with the combination of gender dysphoria and body image issues for many years, and buying the dress was a huge boost for my self-esteem. I felt more in touch with myself than I had in a while, and it was a huge breath of fresh air. Self-care can also come at a cost. In the fall of 2021, my college campus experienced multiple tragedies back-to-back, causing me to reevaluate how I was treating my mental health. Later that fall, I was given the privilege of being trained and certified in mental health first aid. The training really put into perspective how I was feeling towards myself, but also gave me so many new resources on how to care for myself and others. It felt immensely gratifying to know I could help someone who's been in my shoes, but also gave me the insight that I am not alone. I feel like learning to care for myself has definitely made me a stronger person. I know how to stop myself when I'm going too fast, treat myself when I've been feeling down, and let myself breathe every once in a while. I don't think I've been too indulgent with my self-care, and as I've gotten through college, I've realized that I have some unconscious habits of self-care now. Maybe it's a skincare routine, a nice lunch, or watching my favorite movies. I now understand that it's okay to feel how I'm feeling, but not get lost in it. In the immortal words of my mother, "you can't unpack and live there." I would absolutely say that learning how to care for yourself is the most valuable life lesson I've ever learned, and it's been a huge piece of who I am today.

Like countless other college kids, my career goals have shifted constantly. I started out in political science, determined to be a political writer or work in advocacy. Turns out, I didn't like political science nearly as much as I thought I would. I switched to anthropology halfway through my freshman year, now left with a sense of not quite knowing what to do. However, as I approach my final year of undergrad, I realized that my career goals lie in museums and libraries. I've always loved these places, especially since I was encouraged to read, learn, and explore from a young age. I've always loved writing, research, and knowledge, which are critical to working in the fields I want. I also think keeping the true spirit of history alive is my number one goal, whether that be in a library or otherwise. This scholarship woud help me achive these goals by keeping me in school. I am at a point where every last bit of my money is being put into my education, and it's very hard to keep going. It's hard to afford my books, supplies, groceries, and tuition payments with a minimum-wage job. My career goals also require that I obtain a graduate degree, and the location of my top grad school would require that I get a car to travel there. I can't afford to do so without the help of scholarships and other financial aid. I am very grateful to have the support of my family, but being in a single-parent household often leaves money tight. I'm the oldest of three, and it's difficult to support a whole family on one limited income. This scholarship would also affirm that I'm on the right path and have the resources to continue reaching for my goals and dreams. My career aspirations have been a huge part of my education and being able to really achieve the goals I have for myself would be the greatest affirmation of all my hard work. Money is not everything, but being able to afford an education and the resources I need to succeed would be a blessing.

Album: the view from the window Artist: moonlight manifesto Songs in List: 1. Gold - Koven 2. Our Moving Picture - Skybreak and Nytrix 3. 500 Days of Summer - Grady 4. Anywhere - SLANDER and Au5 ft. shYbeast and PLYA 5. Shattered - MitiS ft. RUNN 6. Happy Where We Are - Tritonal and Au5 ft. Dylan Matthew 7. Fall Apart (MELVV remix) - merci, mercy and MELVV Bonus Tracks: A Thousand Bad Times - Post Malone Berlin - The Piano Guys

As a musician and just an avid listener, I'll admit it was difficult to pick a single song that inspires me the most. I've listened to and performed everything from classical to soundtracks to stand tunes. After much consideration, I think one of the most inspirational songs I've listened to is "All I Can Think About Is You" by Coldplay. The music itself is very soothing and calm at first, but then the lyrics dive into the craziness and upside-down aspects of life. I always found the lyrics to be so comforting and relatable, and they inspire me to find that comfort in the people I love most. I often daydream of dancing with someone I love when I hear this song, and it reminds me of good times and inspires me to wake up my imagination. Coldplay is a wonderful band and the majority of their discography is something I listen to daily. Attached is the link to the lyric video for the song (which I find equally beautiful.

One of my favorite scientists is actually a professor at my university. Dr. Cooper does fascinating research in medical anthropology, focusing on global mental health. She's an incredibly passionate person and her research is changing the view on mental health for millions of people.

I lost my dad in 2016. Nothing could have prepared me for losing him so quickly and suddenly. My dad was a wonderful person. He wasn't just a sheriff's deputy to the community; he was someone you could call on for help, a good talk, or just a huge hug. Losing my dad was complicated, too. He had a heart attack on duty, which was hard enough; but my dad wouldn't be honored. Since his death wasn't "qualified" in the federal government's eyes as a real on-duty death (like a shooting or something of similar nature), my dad's name would never be on the National Peace Officers Memorial. He would simply be another number, another officer gone with little sympathy. Losing my father literally changed everything. Growing up, we lived in Colorado and my dad found decent work with the local sheriff's department. But my parents met in Kansas City while in college and always wanted to move back. When I was in eighth grade, we made the plan to move back once the school year finished so things would go smoothly... but I lost my dad in March. Everything was thrown out of place. My family ended up staying in Colorado until I graduated from high school in 2020, for many reasons. Things changed in my hometown surrounding my dad's death quickly. For as much sympathy and comfort people offered, the sympathy ran out after about a year. My mother's coworkers asked if she'd date again. My siblings and I were mercilessly teased, and my grandparents refused to even speak about my dad. My dad has always had a big impact on me. While he loved police work, he told us all the time about going back to school and teaching history or criminal justice. He was a theater geek, a pop culture fanatic, and a talented singer. My parents loved to take us on road trips and my dad would geek out just as much as the kids would. My dad's love of history and culture eventually led me to choose a history minor at my university, and I'm considering graduate school in the same area. My biggest aspiration is to someday create a scholarship in his memory. My family is tight knit. Even before my dad passed, we were centered on communication and love and helping each other. Nothing was better than seeing my parents dancing in the kitchen, adopting the dog he rescued, and even dressing up for Halloween together. My dad was constantly told he was a "big kid”, and he took that to heart. My mother has taken on an immense load of stress and hardship since losing my dad. Her work and social environment became more and more toxic as the years passed and my mom didn't "move on." My grandparents often raised unkind questions and offered snide remarks. Her friends back in Kansas City seemed to be the only real friends she had, although 800 miles away. Ultimately, we, albeit difficultly, moved to Kansas City in summer 2020. It was an incredibly hard move, but it has all been worth it since. My siblings are in better school and social environments, my mom has better work opportunities, and I'm enjoying myself at college. For as much as I wish my dad was here for every step, I know he's watching over us anyway. I miss him, and I hope we're all doing him proud.

I'm proud to be LGBTQ+ because it feels so empowering to be part of such a great community. No matter the backlash, the fight for rights, or the anger and hopelessness, there's always going to be someone who's there for you.

To make a long story short, I am depressed. I am anxious. I am to believe I have multiple reasons to be; I was the former gifted kid. I wanted to be challenged intellectually. I have lost many family members, including my father. Depression, anxiety, stress, and PTSD are all things we see thrown about in media, but then stigmatized in the actual world. Mental health has been mistreated and misunderstood for far too long in a world than needs far too much help. I am studying anthropology at Saint Louis University, and my primary career goal is to direct or curate museums. I was a political science major for my first semester, but changed my mind when I realized how dangerous it could be for my mental health. I didn’t want to be a politician; I wanted to know how the mind works in politics. I wanted to know how much politics influence how people think and behave. I have learned that I am too empathetic to thrive in the world of politics, so I decided to study just the people instead. In my first year of college, I am learning not just from the classes I take; but from the immense weirdness of being a 21st-century college student learning through a global pandemic, socio-political unrest, and massive climate change. Each one of those aspects influences mental health. I have been anxious about my single mother’s finances, my siblings’ education, buying and selling a house, the cost of college education, and all of this just in the past six months. Anxiety is something that countless people experience, but yet the world is filled with numerous reasons for us to be this way. You are most likely wondering what museum curation has to do with mental health. I have often wondered this as well, as I ponder what the possibly least problematic jobs could be for someone like me. As I mentioned before, I could not thrive in the cruel world of politics. I value human emotion too much to enter such an unfeeling line of work. While I am still enduring the long and arduous process of changing my major, it has given me time to reflect on why I want to work in museums. My parents were both theatre majors who ended up with jobs that had nothing to do with theatre; my father a sheriff’s deputy and my mother a human resources professional. I, like every child, wanted to be everything: a teacher, a veterinarian, an actor, a famous person of some sort, etc. But, I spent a lot of my childhood learning. My parents took us (myself and two younger siblings) everywhere. Across the states, to every museum and kid-friendly scientific opportunity they could. Growing up in Colorado, the Museum of Natural History in Denver was one of my favorite places. My parents took us to local history museums and landmarks, giving us a genuine look into how the world was. It is that learning that makes me want to be in museums. I found peace in knowledge, and the experience of being in a space filled with learning opportunities is something that always brought me comfort. Looking at artifacts, reading about important or unknown figures, and standing in the face of how scary the world is but looking at it through the eyes of a child with nothing but a mind to expand is simply the most gratifying experience I can imagine. Knowing that you are not alone through history and science is the purest feeling I could ever hope to give a child. I don’t want children, but to know I can help others feel known and comfortable through learning and unlearning is all I want my life to culminate into. Just as my peers have found comfort in reading, or sports, or activism, I want to help find comfort in knowledge. Then, it will have been proof positive that you can be sad, or depressed, or anxious; but you can exist in a space that will not judge you for being so.

I knew I was queer when I was in 7th grade, but really struggled when I reached high school. I dealth with a lot of internalized homophobia, even coming from an open-minded and accepting family. I ended up coming out as bisexual in 10th grade, but still question myself even as a college student. I've recently changed my pronouns to she/they, and it will be an adjustment for sure. However, I feel like learning to love and accept myself is a constant and ever-changing process. I know I'm not the first or last to feel this way, but if I can learn to truly understand and love who I am, then I can hope to help others like me. One of the things I feel most passionate about under the scope of LGBTQ+ awareness is the ridiculousness of old-fashioned gendered beliefs. My hometown is a very small rural community in Southern Colorado, and while Colorado is a Democratic state, my hometown was very conservative. My school district was run primarily by older Republicans who didn't provide much room for social growth. I graduated high school in July 2020, and even at graduations before mine, female students had to get permission to wear something other than a dress for the ceremony. Even at my junior prom, a male friend of mine was sneered at for wearing a dress. When schools and their administrators understand that there are always going to be students that exist outside the boundaries of outdated and prejudiced norms, the environment will be much more freeing. Once people realize that there is more than just binary norms, their children will have so much more room to grow and accept themselves for who they are, even if they're not part of the LGBTQ+ community.