My education and career goals expand beyond the time in my life in which I will be experiencing education: I will, some day, be educating others. More specifically, I will be a Music Educator. I will master my craft, then guide others as they embark on their own journey through music and through life. Throughout my own life, music has always held a major role. Of all of my teachers and educators, my music teachers have always been the ones that are the most caring, respectable, and inspiring. My goal is to be like them. To create a safe classroom where my students feel comfortable expressing themselves and creating music that they love. To listen to my students’ opinions, and take them into consideration when making my decisions. To persevere throughout the years despite the irrefutable lack of credit or applause where it is due. To fight for my students and their passions, to make both mine and my department’s voice heard. To transform my school district's music department: to eradicate the ignorance surrounding our music classes and what we truly need for successful school years. I aim to imitate their tireless work ethic, their joy, their passion. I can only dream to achieve with my students what I know my music teachers achieved with me; a true, life-lasting connection not only with me, but to and through music. I do not want to, I need to do these things. I have to. Music has not only created my career, but saved my life and given me hope. When I was fourteen years old, I was diagnosed with an acoustic/vestibular schwannoma. This tumor, while rare, typically occurs in the elderly. Because of this, my diagnosis was delayed; had I been diagnosed earlier, I may have retained some of the hearing that I ultimately lost. Additionally, the schwannoma was nestled into my right ear-workings. My left ear was left entirely unaffected. Somewhat unfortunately, it is because my left ear remained untouched that the tumor grew so much in size that it completely killed my auditory nerve in my right ear, rendering it functionless. After diagnosis I had a successful removal surgery, which included: removing the schwannoma, removing all dead ear organs (ex. cochlea), and packing the now empty cavity with fat taken from a separate location on my body. Since the development of this tumor, and ultimately, this surgery, I am unequivocally 100% deaf in my right ear. I am a music student. I have been a music student since I was nine years old, when I joined my first auditioned choir. My passion, however, is orchestra; I have been playing the viola for eight years now. Music is my entire life. I perform, listen, compose, participate, analyze, read, and live music. Now, I have once again earned the principal position in my orchestra; despite this hindrance. I am also in my high school show choir, Smith-Cotton New Score. Additionally, I have recently joined my community symphony, the Sedalia Symphony Orchestra. In the mornings, I attend my orchestra director's first class of the day at the junior high school as a tutor. He puts an enormous amount of faith in my abilities, and I intend to fulfill his expectations. I am a leader in my orchestra. The people in that room do not question me, they know that I am capable, talented, and experienced. When I am lacking in self-confidence, they provide.

Throughout our lives, each and every one of us finds something that makes us whole, something that we cannot live without. For me, that "something" is music; listening, teaching, creating, and performing. The summer before my freshman year I encountered an obstacle that threatened to rip this piece of my soul away from me. My body developed a schwannoma, a benign tumor, nestled right against my right ear's auditory nerve. By the time my doctors realized this, it was far too late. The nerve was dead, there was no saving it. Music was my entire life, my entire purpose for being, and I had lost half of my ability to hear it. I could not imagine a world without playing my viola, without creating compositions, without listening to music in all of its forms. This was, undoubtedly, my worst nightmare. Post-surgery, tumor free, and deaf in my right ear, my freshman year loomed over the horizon. Within the first few weeks, I answered the same questions endless times and fought with both teachers and administration to accept the accommodations I now needed; yet, I battled myself the most. I had always been remarkably talented in my music classes. I had always been first chair in orchestra. I was always the one to teach and guide others. What if I couldn't do any of that now? What if this disability robbed me of not only my joy, but my skill? Whatever remained of my skill would be objectively put to the test, whether I was ready for it or not. My orchestra director proceeded with his usual annual seating test: an event in which we would each play the same excerpt of music while he would blindly listen, judging who deserves first chair, second chair, etc. That year, there were six other viola players. I had a one-in-six chance of proving that I hadn't lost my talent, that I could rise above this hindrance. We performed. He judged. After a painfully long class period, our director approached the front of the room, list in hand. I was declared first chair violist. From that day forward, I didn't let my disability define me; I embraced it. It is just as much a part of who I am now as wearing glasses or being right-handed is. I work with it, not around it. I am infinitely more secure in my skill now, and I know that losing my hearing has not set me back: it has only propelled me forward. Present day, I have a hearing aid. This device also has a small microphone that can connect and provide direct audio-input to the hearing aid. I have used this device both in class and onstage, during concerts. I am not ashamed of it, as I am not ashamed of wearing my hearing aid; they are tools provided to me to assist me in my life, therefore I will use them. I have certainly faced my share of questions, not only about my disability as a whole but of my capability to perform and create music as I did before. To those who ask the latter, I no longer dignify their queries with an answer. I let them watch as I flourish, in tandem with my disability. If they truly care about me, they can deduce that I have grown exponentially in experience, skill, maturity, and dedication. I believe these values have, can, and will continue to outweigh any setbacks I may face.

Volunteering is not only an outlet to aid your community through selfless acts of service, it is a way to make connections and grow passion within said community. More importantly, it is a way to draw the town's attention towards under-funded resources. My sophomore year of high school, I was a leading member of a team of students aiming to organize a large fundraising event for our local animal shelter. At first, this was just another school assignment; we were assigned this project by our JROTC class, and every class had to come up with a large project along these lines. Very quickly, it developed and flourished into an extravaganza beyond comparison. I easily slipped into a leadership position, making plans, calling offices, collecting resources, designing flyers, and whatever else was asked of me. This not only involved our JROTC and the shelter, but the Parks and Recreation department and the mayor. We were able to gain sponsorship from a local business, and have them cater the event. This was a benefit not only to us, but to that business. Now, that business is booking gigs at multiple schools throughout our state. Our voice, while small, was undoubtedly heard and made an impact. I fell in love with this project. I devoted my entire soul to it. In the end, the project was a success: we raised over $1000 and a bounty of supplies for the animal shelter. Additionally, the shelter gained advertisement and traffic. Animals got adopted, including those that fall outside of the "desirable" outline. While I have left JROTC now, I still receive questions from current members about this project. They aim to mimic the intensity and collaboration that I once created, and I am thrilled to aid them. The instructor knows me, and talks to me often. I now have a permanent spot in my town's network: a focal point between our animal shelter, the student body, and our JROTC. I would do this again in a heartbeat, even though I am not a member currently. I hope that this project will inspire future students to pursue similar projects, or even replicate it. My town is filled with stray animals, and our shelter is severely under-credited and underfunded. Additionally, fundraisers like this draw attention to the shelter. The city may pay more attention, and may consider allocating more funding. This also creates a voice for students.

Throughout our lives, each and every one of us finds something that makes us whole, something that we cannot live without. For me, that "something" is music; listening, teaching, and creating. Freshman year, I encountered an obstacle that threatened to rip this piece of my soul away from me. My body developed a schwannoma nestled right against my right ear's auditory nerve. The nerve was dead, there was no saving it. Music was my entire life, my entire purpose for being, and I had lost half of my ability to hear it.This was, undoubtedly, my worst nightmare. Post-surgery, tumor free, and deaf in my right ear, my freshman year loomed over the horizon. Within the first few weeks, I fought with both teachers and administration to accept the accommodations I now needed; yet, I battled myself the most. I had always been remarkably talented in my music classes. I had always been first chair in orchestra. I was always the one to teach and guide others. What if I couldn't do any of that now? What if this disability robbed me of my skill? Whatever remained of my skill would be objectively put to the test, whether I was ready for it or not. My orchestra director proceeded with his usual annual seating test: an event in which we would each play the same excerpt of music while he would blindly listen, judging who deserves first chair, second chair, etc. That year, there were six other viola players. I had a one-in-six chance of proving that I hadn't lost my talent, that I could rise above this hindrance. We performed. He judged. After a painfully long class period, our director approached the front of the room, list in hand. I was declared first chair violist. From that day forward, I didn't let my disability define me; I embraced it. It is just as much a part of who I am now as wearing glasses or being right-handed is. I work with it, not around it. I am infinitely more secure in my skill now, and I know that losing my hearing has not set me back: it has only propelled me forward. Present day, I have a hearing aid. This device also has a small microphone that can connect and provide direct audio-input to the hearing aid. I have used this device both in class and onstage, during concerts. I am not ashamed of it, as I am not ashamed of wearing my hearing aid; they are tools provided to me to assist me in my life, therefore I will use them. I have certainly faced my share of questions, not only about my disability as a whole but of my capability to perform and create music as I did before. To those who ask the latter, I no longer dignify their queries with an answer. I let them watch as I flourish, in tandem with my disability. If they truly care about me, they can deduce that I have grown exponentially in experience, skill, maturity, and dedication. I believe these values have, can, and will continue to outweigh any setbacks I may face. I have always enjoyed problem-solving puzzles. Admittedly, I never anticipated being faced with one so grand within my own life. I haven't solved it, not the way the creator intended, and I don't think I ever will. I've picked up all of the jigsaw pieces, but instead of arranging them like the picture on the box, I've weaved them into a much prettier picture. Puzzles with hidden solutions have always been my favorite.

The most inspiring music educator who I have had the pleasure to cross paths with is Smith-Cotton's Junior High and High School Orchestra director, Mr. Michael Moellman. This visionary has taught me everything I know, being my orchestra director from 5th grade to the present. I have watched this program rapidly change and grow before my eyes, yet unknowingly. This is because of our director, who has fought to have our needs heard. They hear us now, and it is thanks to him. On the surface, Mr. Moellman has taught me everything I know about music theory, playing the viola, conducting, and directing an orchestra. Greater still, he has taught me the value in pursuing what you love; despite the negative or absent feedback. I have learned to persevere, to continue pursuing my passions even as the initial flock of novelty grows smaller. I learned to become the voice of my dedication, as he demonstrated the voice of advocacy for all of us. My education goals expand beyond the time in my life in which I will be experiencing education: I will, some day, be educating others. More specifically, I aim to become an orchestra director of my own. I will master my craft, then guide others as they embark on their own journey through music and through life. Throughout my own life, music has always held a major role. I know this to be true for other students, and it is my goal to recreate this environment that I have found for them. To create a safe classroom where my students feel comfortable expressing themselves and creating music that they love. To listen to my students’ opinions, and take them into consideration when making my decisions. To fight for my students and their passions, to make their voices heard. To advocate for their needs. This is the sound of music: a voice for those without. These past years, it has been my director’s turn to hold this flame. Very soon, it will be mine. I know it takes skill to hold this without getting burnt. Therefore, I understand the necessity of a collegiate education in this field before diving into my own classroom. This being said, I know that I have a foundation and path laid ahead of me. I have paid close attention to those before me, and I know what is necessary to be successful not only in this career, but for these students. It is the students who matter, and it is them who I will represent. I have learned from my music educators, and I hope to take the best of their classrooms and recreate it in mine. I aim to imitate their tireless work ethic, their joy, their passion. I can only dream to achieve with my students what I know my music teachers achieved with me; a true, life-lasting connection not only with me, but to and through music.

My education and career goals expand beyond the time in my life in which I will be experiencing education: I will, some day, be educating others. More specifically, I will be a Music Educator. I will master my craft, then guide others as they embark on their own journey through music and through life. Throughout my own life, music has always held a major role. Of all of my teachers and educators, my music teachers have always been the ones that are the most caring, respectable, and inspiring. My goal is to be like them. To create a safe classroom where my students feel comfortable expressing themselves and creating music that they love. To listen to my students’ opinions, and take them into consideration when making my decisions. To persevere throughout the years despite the irrefutable lack of credit or applause where it is due. To fight for my students and their passions, to make both mine and my department’s voice heard. To transform my school district's music department: to eradicate the ignorance surrounding our music classes and what we truly need for successful school years. I aim to imitate their tireless work ethic, their joy, their passion. I can only dream to achieve with my students what I know my music teachers achieved with me; a true, life-lasting connection not only with me, but to and through music. I do not want to, I need to do these things. I have to. Music has not only created my career, but saved my life and given me hope. When I was fourteen years old, I was diagnosed with an acoustic/vestibular schwannoma. This tumor, while rare, typically occurs in the elderly. Because of this, my diagnosis was delayed; had I been diagnosed earlier, I may have retained some of the hearing that I ultimately lost. Additionally, the schwannoma was nestled into my right ear-workings. My left ear was left entirely unaffected. Somewhat unfortunately, it is because my left ear remained untouched that the tumor grew so much in size that it completely killed my auditory nerve in my right ear, rendering it functionless. After diagnosis I had a successful removal surgery, which included: removing the schwannoma, removing all dead ear organs (ex. cochlea), and packing the now empty cavity with fat taken from a separate location on my body. Since the development of this tumor, and ultimately, this surgery, I am unequivocally 100% deaf in my right ear. I am a music student. I have been a music student since I was nine years old, when I joined my first auditioned choir. My passion, however, is orchestra; I have been playing the viola for eight years now. Music is my entire life. I perform, listen, compose, participate, analyze, read, and live music. Now, I have once again earned the principal position in my orchestra; despite this hindrance. I am also in my high school show choir, Smith-Cotton New Score. Additionally, I have recently joined my community symphony, the Sedalia Symphony Orchestra. In the mornings, I attend my orchestra director's first class of the day at the junior high school as a tutor. He puts an enormous amount of faith in my abilities, and I intend to fulfill his expectations. I am a leader in my orchestra. The people in that room do not question me, they know that I am capable, talented, and experienced. When I am lacking in self-confidence, they provide.

My education and career goals expand beyond the time in my life in which I will be experiencing education: I will, some day, be educating others. More specifically, I will be a Music Educator. I will master my craft, then guide others as they embark on their own journey through music and through life. Throughout my own life, music has always held a major role. Of all of my teachers and educators, my music teachers have always been the ones that are the most caring, respectable, and inspiring. My goal is to be like them. To create a safe classroom where my students feel comfortable expressing themselves and creating music that they love. To listen to my students’ opinions, and take them into consideration when making my decisions. To persevere throughout the years despite the irrefutable lack of credit or applause where it is due. To fight for my students and their passions, to make both mine and my department’s voice heard. To transform my school district's music department: to eradicate the ignorance surrounding our music classes and what we truly need for successful school years. I aim to imitate their tireless work ethic, their joy, their passion. I can only dream to achieve with my students what I know my music teachers achieved with me; a true, life-lasting connection not only with me, but to and through music. I do not want to, I need to do these things. I have to. As for sacrifices, those I have made, they were not of my choice. When I was fourteen years old, I was diagnosed with an acoustic/vestibular schwannoma. This tumor, while rare, typically occurs in the elderly. Because of this, my diagnosis was delayed; had I been diagnosed earlier, I may have retained some of the hearing that I ultimately lost. Additionally, the schwannoma was nestled into my right ear-workings. My left ear was left entirely unaffected. Somewhat unfortunately, it is because my left ear remained untouched that the tumor grew so much in size that it completely killed my auditory nerve in my right ear, rendering it functionless. After diagnosis I had a successful removal surgery, which included: removing the schwannoma, removing all dead ear organs (ex. cochlea), and packing the now empty cavity with fat taken from a separate location on my body. Since the development of this tumor, and ultimately, this surgery, I am unequivocally 100% deaf in my right ear. I am a music student. I have been a music student since I was nine years old, when I joined my first auditioned choir. My passion, however, is orchestra; I have been playing the viola for eight years now. Music is my entire life. I perform, listen, compose, participate, analyze, read, and live music. Now, I have once again earned the principal position in my orchestra; despite this hindrance. I am also in my high school show choir, Smith-Cotton New Score. Additionally, I have recently joined my community symphony, the Sedalia Symphony Orchestra. In the mornings, I attend my orchestra director's first class of the day at the junior high school as a tutor. He puts an enormous amount of faith in my abilities, and I intend to fulfill his expectations. I am a leader in my orchestra. The people in that room do not question me, they know that I am capable, talented, and experienced. When I am lacking in self-confidence, they provide.

Throughout our lives, each and every one of us finds something that makes us whole, something that we cannot live without. For me, that "something" is music; listening, teaching, creating, and performing. When I was 14 years old I encountered an obstacle that threatened to rip this piece of myself away. My body developed a schwannoma, a tumor, nestled right against my right ear's auditory nerve. By the time my doctors realized this, it was far too late. The nerve was nearly completely dead. Music was my entire life, my entire purpose for being, and I had lost half of my ability to hear it at all. This was, undoubtedly, my worst nightmare. Post-surgery, tumor free, and deaf in my right ear, my freshman year began. Within the first few weeks, I answered the same questions an endless amount of times, fought with teachers to accept the accommodations I now needed, and struggled to have a conversation with anyone sitting to my right or behind me; yet I battled myself the most. I had always been remarkably talented in my orchestra classes. I had always been first chair. I was always the one to teach and guide others. What if I couldn't do any of that now? What if this disability robbed me of not only my joy, but my skill? Whatever remained would be objectively put to the test, whether I was ready for it or not. My orchestra director proceeded with his usual blind-ranking seating test; an event in which we would each play the same excerpt of music while he could not see who was playing and then rank us accordingly based on his blind-judgment. That year there were six other viola players. I had a one-in-six chance of proving that I hadn't lost my talent, that I could rise above this hindrance. After a painfully long class period, I was declared first chair violist. From that day forward, I didn't let my disability define me; I embraced it. It is just as much a part of who I am as wearing glasses or being right-handed is. I work with it, not around it. I am secure in my skill now, I know that losing my hearing has not set me back; it has only propelled me forward. Present day, I have a hearing aid. This device also has a small microphone that can connect and provide direct audio-input to the hearing aid. I have used this device both in class and onstage, during concerts. I am not ashamed of it, as I am not ashamed of wearing my hearing aid; they are tools provided to me to assist me in my life, therefore I will use them without remorse. I have certainly faced my share of questions, not only about my disability as a whole but of my capability to perform and create music as I once did. To those who ask the latter, I no longer dignify their qualms and queries with an answer as I might have years ago. I let them watch as I flourish, in tandem with my disability. I have always enjoyed problem-solving puzzles. I never anticipated being face with one so grand within my own life. I haven't solved it, not the way the creator intended, and I don't think I ever will. I've picked up all of the jigsaw pieces, but instead of arranging them like the picture on the box, I've weaved them around myself into a much prettier picture. Puzzles with hidden solutions have always been my favorite.

To me, success is defined as the completion of any goal. This can be big or small, in any impact. This perspective encompasses small victories in day-to-day life, while still celebrating the large ones. I believe that this mindset greatly differentiates from my peers, as many of them only accept "success" in the form of world-changing groundbreaking accomplishments. However, it is the continuous celebration and motivation brought by this mindset that will bring forth more success in the future. One cannot succeed in life without confidence, and the best way to build confidence is by celebrating these small victories. I am proud of myself for getting out of bed, eating solid meals, getting through the school day; recognizing these small victories, successes, propels me towards greatness. If I do not allow this appreciation, then the only thing that will grow in me is doubt. If I cannot quantify these smaller wins, how could I quantify the bigger ones? I would constantly question if my every action is "good enough" instead of simply appreciating what I have accomplished. Instead, I recognize that everything in life requires effort, therefore everything in life is worth applauding.

When I was fourteen years old, I was diagnosed with an acoustic/vestibular schwannoma. This tumor, while rare, typically occurs in the elderly. Because of this, my diagnoses was delayed; had I been diagnosed earlier, I may have retained some of the hearing that I ultimately lost. Additionally, the schwannoma was nestled into my right ear-workings. My left ear was left entirely unaffected. Somewhat unfortunately, it is because my left ear remained untouched that I the tumor grew so much in size that it completely killed my auditory nerve in my right ear, rendering it functionless. After diagnoses I had a successful removal surgery, which included: removing the schwannoma, removing all dead ear organs (ex. cohclea), and packing the now empty cavity with fat taken from a separate location on my body. Since the development of this tumor, and ultimately, this surgery, I am unequivocally 100% deaf in my right ear. I am a music student. I have been a music student since I was nine years old, when I joined my first auditioned choir. My passion, however, is orchestra; I have been playing the viola for eight years now. Music is my entire life. I perform, listen, compose, participate, analyze, read, and live music. When my ability to experience the very essence of my livelihood was threatened, I feared for the worst. My high school career as an orchestra student had only just begun, how could it already be ending? It wasn't. It was only beginning. My Freshman year, starting only a month and a half after receiving my life-saving surgery, I earned the principal position in my section; my high school's best viola player. The youngest one, with only half the hearing of her peers, the best? I could barely believe it, but I had earned the spot. I was more than this disability, it did not define me; I was not only just-as-good as my peers, I was among the best of them. I kept it that way. Now, I have once again earned the principal position in my orchestra. I am also in my high school's show choir, Smith-Cotton New Score. Additionally, I have recently joined my community symphony, the Sedalia Symphony Orchestra. In the mornings, I attend my orchestra director's first class of the day at the junior high school as a tutor. He puts an enormous amount of faith in my abilities, and I intend to fulfill his expectations. I am a leader in my orchestra. The people in that room do not question me, they know that I am capable, talented, and experienced. When I am lacking in self-confidence, they provide. Past high school, I plan to attend a four-year university for a Bachelors in Music Education, with an emphasis in Instrumental Music. I will become an orchestra teacher. I hope to inspire my future students, to give them the home that I have found in music; throughout both joy and hardship. Of course, I recieve questions and doubt from countless sources. I tell them, without hesitation and with undeniable proof, that they are wrong. I am hearing-impaired. And I am talented. These two things are not, and have never been, mutually exclusive. I intend to prove it.