Looking back, it’s hard to imagine a time when writing wasn’t a central part of my life. Since I was able to write, I have been creating stories and worlds—rudimentary ones at first, but growing in complexity as I have experienced more of human nature and learned more about my own nature. Growing up on a farm in southern Indiana, I was deeply influenced by the land itself and my interactions with it. This offered much of the inspiration for my early writing and continues to shape my writing today. At first, I didn’t see writing as something fundamental to my identity, or even as a meaningful form of communication with others. It was just something I did naturally, like breathing. I filled pages with poems I never showed anyone; I started dozens of stories as my inspiration struck, then abandoned them when a new idea came along. I wrote compulsively, but without direction or consistency. It was not until the summer before eighth grade that my identity began to coalesce around writing. Inspired by a school project in which I was asked to create an imaginary culture and language, I realized that I could continue to create and explore the worlds of my imagination, even beyond the scope of the project. I began fleshing out the history of my new world, inventing and discovering its traditions, people, geography, and the peculiarities of culture that made it come alive to me. More and more, I fell in love with the process of developing characters and telling their stories, and with the craft of writing itself. Since then, I have made writing into a habit, or rather a way of life. I write almost every day and have filled dozens of composition journals, no longer starting and stopping stories but dedicating myself to a few committed stories that I am developing in depth. For me, writing is important not only as an avenue for expression, but also—and primarily—as an opportunity for exploration. Through my characters and worlds, I can delve into lives and viewpoints different from my own. I can explore the intricacies of human emotion and relationships, as well as the dynamics of human behavior. I can explore and reimagine humans’ relationship with the natural world and the land to which they belong. In doing so, I also learn more about myself—my thoughts and emotions, my values, my limitations, and the capacity of my imagination. In the years that I have made writing a central part of my daily life, I have come to see the world differently. Exploring the imaginary cultures of my created worlds has kindled in me a deeper curiosity about the people and cultures of our own world. This has led me to the field of anthropology, through which I hope I will be able to put my love of people and cultures to practical use in the world. I find a great degree of freedom in the craft of writing. The joy of putting words together, shaping sentences, crafting dialogue—this is something that sustains and motivates me in a way I don’t fully understand but am grateful for. Although it’s uncomfortable for me, I have begun to share my writing with the world, realizing that the full potential of writing is not simply in what it can do for me, but also in how it affects others and can bring change. For me, this is both the beauty and the responsibility of writing, and it’s what fuels my passion as a writer.

I have often struggled to find my own artistic voice. Although I have done art all my life, sometimes it feels like I am mostly imitating other artists whom I admire. Recently, though, I have been doing a lot of work to develop my own style and to listen to what is trying to emerge, and this painting came out of that. I call this piece "Inner Vision." For me, it represents wisdom on many different levels: the wisdom of Indigenous peoples, who have not lost their connection to the Earth and their ancestors; the wisdom of the land; the wisdom of my own inner voice. This painting embodies my vision for a world I hope to see and help create--a world where dreams and intuition are valued, where the wisdom of the Earth is not lost, and where all people are respected and honored. Many life experiences have helped mold both my artistic vision and my vision for the world I want to help bring about. Raised for eleven years on an organic farm, I have forged a deep connection with the Earth and a deep commitment to honoring the wisdom of all kinds of people. I was shaped by my time on this farm, as well as by the grief of leaving it. These experiences taught me to look at the world deeply and follow my own inner voice. I am learning to use my art as a way of exploring the things that are meaningful to me, especially recently, with so many changes occurring in my own life and the world around me. In the future, I hope to create art that will honor the Earth and the many kinds of people on it, and that will help people connect with their own vision for the world.

I've always had trouble with bucket lists. To me, "bucket list" has the connotation of something you would like to do someday but will probably never get around to actually achieving. However, this essay prompt has made me rethink that view and put some time into compiling a meaningful list of things I have always dreamed of doing and seeing. For me, the most meaningful experiences I can imagine usually have to do with nature. I have always wanted to experience a rainstorm in the desert and to watch the sun set over the British marshes. I dream of seeing the Northern Lights, of walking in an old-growth forest, of seeing the Scottish moorlands in bloom. I want to see a comet. I want to ride a horse at a gallop. I want to go to a place where I can't hear any cars and fall asleep under a sky undimmed by the pollution of any lights. I hope such a place exists. There are other places I want to visit, particularly places where I have roots: Ireland, Norway, the Czech Republic. I want to see the lavender fields of Normandy and try authentic French cheese. I want to find a place in an Irish castle where I can sit in the sun and write. I want to go to Scotland and see Dougie MacLean in concert. Some things on my bucket list I have already achieved. I have seen the wild horse of Chincoteague Island, as I have dreamed of since I was very little. I have helped sail a boat and attended a piano concert. I have so many dreams, the most important of which I don't feel can be contained in a bucket list. But I believe the small things matter, too--especially if they bring you joy.

Since I was a very little girl escaping to the branches of the willow tree I thought of as my sister, I have felt a deep love of and connection with nature. I grew up on an organic farm, so I was taught to love and respect nature almost from the moment I was born. I went barefoot, I explored the woods, I rescued injured birds and rabbits, I climbed trees. Listening to the bullfrog chorus and watching fireflies dance above the creek are some of my most beloved childhood memories. For me, nature not only provides peace and comfort when I need a reprieve from the stresses of daily living, but it also offers hope for how humanity could live. There is such harmony and balance in nature. I draw great inspiration from trees, who support each other and live in community with each other, inextricably linked so that they are even able to share their own nutrients with trees that are unable to get enough. I love being in the presence of such interconnectedness. It provides an example of how we as humans could live in communion with each other, sharing resources rather than fighting over them. I love nature because it embodies an understanding that all life is ultimately connected. I try to bring my love of nature into practice in my daily life. I spend time outside, especially with trees, and pay close attention whenever I'm in nature, because I know the most precious moments in the natural world can be easily missed. I honor nature with my art and writing. Most importantly, I try to live as lightly as I can on the Earth, so that my presence may cause as little destruction as possible to the Earth--and hopefully do some good.

Contrary to what The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy would have us believe, the meaning of life is not 42. I don't think any of us can state the meaning of life absolutely and for all people--and all of nature, as well. I can only say what life means to me, though it definitely won't all fit in this essay. I believe the purpose of life is to discover how to open yourself more and more to love. This will lead to the other things that make life meaningful, because if you let yourself be loved, love others, and love the world, you will be motivated to do good in the world and your community, work toward equality for all people, take care of the environment, and take a stand for what is right. You will treat other people, yourself, and the natural world with respect and compassion. All other worthwhile things in life stem out of love, so I think learning how to love more fully is the key to living a meaningful life. This isn't always easy--in fact, it rarely is. Growing up on a farm in rural Southern Indiana, I grew to love the land and the people I knew there with an unreserved love, and my heart was broken when my family moved. Pain is a part of love, too--and therefore a part of what makes life meaningful. When I experience loss, I try to learn from it how to love more fully. This means I have to let myself feel the pain and let it break my heart open rather than closing myself off to loving again. I practice loving consciously every day, looking for the beauty in people and opening myself to others, even if it means opening myself to the risk of loss.

My mother painted a picture years ago that shows a young man sitting beside a sunset ocean gazing out across the water. The painting always gave me a sense of peace, but until recently I didn't know that the boy in the painting was Eric Lund, the subject of the book "Eric," by Doris Herold Lund. This book, as it turned out, would be one of the most inspiring I have ever read. Based on its events, you might not expect the book to be inspiring. It's the true story of a boy who is diagnosed with leukemia when he's seventeen and dies of it. It was a hard book to read, and I was sobbing by the end. But it gave me an entirely new perspective on life, and to me that is more important than a happy ending. Eric faced his illness with courage, humor, and unflinching perseverance. He had an unquenchable thirst for life, and he never squandered the time he had, but spent it doing good, taking advantage of opportunities, and spending time with those he loved. Even when he was in pain, he kept a positive outlook and defied all expectations of how long he would live. Though he had times of fear and frustration, he handled his illness with unspeakable grace, making the most of every day and looking at the world not with resentment or self-pity, but with wonder and gratitude for each victory, each moment. To me, this is just as inspiring as any story of triumph over adversity. It teaches me that you have a choice about how you respond to your circumstances; it reminds me to pay attention and to be present even in my own pain. Eric's perspective on life is a model for how I want to live.