Pursuing a master’s degree is more than a step forward in my education. It’s a necessary investment in the skills, tools, and clarity I need to lead in an increasingly chaotic and divided world. I’m currently enrolled in Columbia University’s Master of Science in Applied Analytics program, a rigorous course of study that sharpens my ability to interpret data, solve problems, and think strategically at scale. This scholarship would directly support my ability to stay focused, reduce financial pressure, and push my goals forward with greater momentum. I served in the U.S. Navy and have spent the last decade working at the intersection of intelligence, technology, and strategy. My career path was not handed to me. I come from a working-class family with no college tradition and no safety net. Every milestone has been built on persistence, curiosity, and a deep sense of responsibility to others. I taught myself how to code. I led analytic projects that informed national security strategy. I built real-time tools to help military commands make faster, smarter decisions. These experiences taught me how to build and lead systems that serve a mission. They also showed me how easily those systems can break down when decisions are made in silos or driven by fear. That’s what motivated me to pursue this specific degree. I want to understand how organizations make decisions, how they manage risk, and how they can communicate more clearly in times of uncertainty. It’s not enough to know how to process information. You also have to know how to share it with people who need to act on it. That’s the skillset I’m developing now, and it is the foundation of the work I hope to do next. My long-term goal is to lead efforts that help public and private institutions navigate complexity with integrity. I want to help governments manage data more ethically. I want to help companies take real responsibility for the systems they build. And I want to build public-facing tools that help ordinary people better understand the forces shaping their lives. This work requires technical fluency, analytical strength, and emotional intelligence. It also requires freedom from distractions like financial strain. This scholarship would give me that freedom. My academic performance has remained strong, but I am currently balancing a heavy workload, high living expenses in New York City, and several projects I’m deeply committed to. I have launched a platform that brings clarity to misunderstood topics in geopolitics, economics, and social change. I mentor younger veterans and guide them through school applications, career decisions, and personal growth. I spend my spare hours reading, researching, and contributing to conversations that aim to move the country away from rage and toward reason. These efforts matter to me. This scholarship would allow me to give them more energy and more structure. I don’t believe that education should only benefit the individual. I see it as a public investment in the kind of person someone is trying to become. I want to lead with clarity, stay grounded in truth, and use my education to build better systems. This scholarship would directly support that mission. Thank you for considering my application. I take none of this for granted, and I will make the most of every opportunity I’m given.

As a Navy veteran, I’ve grown used to adapting quickly, solving problems under pressure, and finding unconventional paths forward. That mindset carried with me after I left the service, especially as I began to pursue higher education. I didn’t follow a traditional academic route. I worked full-time, navigated PTSD, and balanced mental health management while trying to reintegrate into civilian life. What made it possible for me to push forward wasn’t just determination. It was technology. Online education became more than just a convenience. It became a bridge to possibility. Virtual tools allowed me to learn on my own schedule, to rewatch lectures when I was struggling with focus, and to continue progressing even when I was dealing with mental health setbacks. I’ve used platforms like Coursera and edX to dive into advanced topics before I enrolled in formal academic programs. These platforms let me experiment, explore, and rebuild confidence in my ability to learn. I also relied heavily on Khan Academy when I was brushing up on quantitative skills before my MBA program and now use tools like Tableau Public, Python communities on GitHub, and Excel tutorials on YouTube to supplement my applied analytics coursework. Zoom and virtual collaboration platforms like Slack and Miro have helped me stay connected with classmates and colleagues even while juggling part-time jobs or traveling between states. It’s allowed me to study from airports, waiting rooms, and coffee shops, turning downtime into productive learning moments. More than that, it has helped me build a strong professional network despite not being physically on campus every day. Some of my strongest academic collaborations began on Slack threads or Zoom breakout rooms. But the most powerful part of online education is how it’s allowed me to apply my learning directly. After completing a course on data storytelling, I built a portfolio that landed me freelance work helping nonprofits make sense of their program data. After finishing a predictive analytics workshop, I created a model to help a local veteran-owned business better forecast seasonal demand. These weren’t hypothetical assignments. They were real-world problems I could help solve because I had access to high-quality learning, flexible enough to integrate into my life. For someone like me, whose academic path has been shaped by trauma, recovery, and transition, the flexibility of online learning isn’t just a perk. It’s the reason I’ve made it this far. And now that I’ve been accepted to Columbia University’s Applied Analytics program, I plan to continue integrating online tools into my education building skills not only for my own career but to help others along the way. I want to use my education to improve lives, particularly in underserved and veteran communities. Online learning has shown me that barriers don’t have to stop people from accessing education. With the right tools and support, anyone can learn. That’s the future I want to build toward where knowledge is available, accessible, and actionable, no matter who you are or where you’re starting from.

When I left the Navy, I had no intention of returning to school. I figured I had served my time, done my job, and it was time to find a civilian career and move on. But over time, I realized that wasn’t enough. The more distance I got from the military, the more I saw how much of me was still shaped by it. The sense of duty, structure, leadership, and service never left. What changed was my understanding of how I could continue to use those qualities just in a different setting. I served as a Naval Officer, leading teams, managing complex operations, and helping my sailors grow personally and professionally. I took pride in being someone others could rely on. That didn’t disappear after I transitioned out. In fact, it grew stronger. But I began to feel the gap between what I wanted to contribute and what I was trained to do. That’s what brought me back to school. I knew I needed new tools to match the problems I wanted to solve. I had lived experience, leadership experience, and perspective. But I needed to translate that into something useful for the next chapter of my life. That’s why I decided to pursue a Master’s in Applied Analytics at Columbia. It’s not just about learning data science or business frameworks. It’s about learning how to use evidence, strategy, and insight to build things that actually work for people especially for those who are often ignored. My military experience taught me how much leadership matters. It also taught me how broken systems can damage good people. Veterans, people with disabilities, underserved communitieswe’re often talked about, but rarely heard. I want to be in rooms where decisions are made, helping translate data into change. My mission now is to use what I learn to build platforms, policies, and programs that work better for everyone. That impact starts locally. I’ve always been committed to mentoring others, whether it was junior sailors in the Navy or young professionals in tech. I believe in meeting people where they are, helping them navigate obstacles, and reminding them of what they’re capable of. After graduation, I plan to work at the intersection of technology, public service, and policy. I want to build things that improve lives at scale starting with the communities I care most about. Returning to school wasn’t just a career move. It was an act of purpose. It’s how I continue to serve.

Before I joined the military, I saw the world through a narrow lens. I grew up with instability, but I learned how to lead by example, take responsibility, and stay calm under pressure. The Navy expanded those instincts and turned them into strengths. Serving as a Naval Officer taught me discipline, resilience, and the value of protecting something bigger than myself. During my time in the service, I deployed globally, led sailors through high-stakes operations, and earned top performance evaluations across multiple commands. I wasn’t just completing tasks. I was helping shape lives. One of my proudest accomplishments was mentoring a struggling sailor and watching him go from nearly being discharged to later attending UC Berkeley. I helped others believe in themselves, even when they couldn’t see a future. That was when I started to understand leadership not as authority, but as service. My military experience also gave me an unfiltered view of America. I saw what we do right, and I saw where we fail. I met people from every background, every race, and every belief system. I saw families torn apart by deployment, veterans struggling with transition, and a system that often forgets those who served once they’re out. I also saw courage, unity, and quiet sacrifice in people who will never be recognized. It made me deeply proud of my country and painfully aware of its flaws. That duality changed how I think about my future. It made me want to be part of the solution, not just another voice complaining. After the Navy, I attended NYU’s MBA program and later worked at two top-tier tech companies. But my mission isn’t just career growth. It’s to apply the systems thinking, problem solving, and strategic mindset I developed in the military to help build tools, platforms, and policies that actually improve lives. I recently enrolled in Columbia’s Master of Science in Applied Analytics program. My goal is to blend data and empathy. I want to help institutions from government to healthcare to educationbecome more responsive, efficient, and human-centered. Veterans, underserved communities, and people with mental illness like myself are too often overlooked. I believe my background allows me to be a bridge between worlds: military and civilian, data and humanity, policy and people. The military didn’t just change how I see my country. It gave me purpose. It made me want to build something better, especially for those who gave so much and received so little in return. This scholarship would help me take the next step toward that goal, so I can give back in ways that matter.

Mental illness has been a central part of my story, shaping who I am and how I move through the world. I’ve battled both PTSD and bipolar disorder. These weren’t diagnoses I expected. They crept in slowly, overlapping with my time in the military and intensifying after I transitioned out. At first, I tried to outrun them by staying busy. I threw myself into work, school, and responsibilities, thinking discipline and structure could fix everything. But it didn’t take long to realize that mental illness doesn’t care how tough or accomplished you are. It brings you to your knees anyway. What’s been hardest isn’t just the illness itself, but the silence that surrounds it. In the military, mental health still carries stigma. It’s seen as a weakness, something you keep private. I spent years pretending everything was fine. Eventually, the pressure cracked me. I started therapy through the VA and began medication management. Those decisions probably saved my life. But even then, healing wasn’t simple. There were relapses, setbacks, and days when getting out of bed felt impossible. I had to redefine what strength means. For me, it became about confronting the pain directly and asking for help. Bipolar disorder has also made me more self-aware. I track my sleep, my moods, my energy levels. I’ve learned to notice early signs and reach out before things spiral. That awareness has helped me show up better in every part of my life. I’m more grounded, more present, and more empathetic to others fighting their own invisible battles. My family has been affected too. One of my siblings went through a severe period of depression. They withdrew completely, dropped out of school, and we nearly lost them. Watching someone you love fade like that is unbearable. That experience taught me how to listen. It taught me not to minimize pain or try to fix everything. Sometimes, just staying close and being available is enough. Mental illness has taken a lot from me, including years of stability and peace. But it has also given me clarity about what matters. It’s one of the reasons I’m pursuing a graduate degree now. I want to build platforms and systems that expand access to mental healthcare, especially for underserved communities. I’ve started doing this work already, by mentoring younger veterans, volunteering with peer support groups, and being open about my own experience. Despite the challenges, I’ve managed to achieve a lot. I served as a Naval officer, earned top honors, completed a competitive MBA program, worked at two leading tech companies, and will begin my graduate studies at Columbia this year. None of that came easy. I’ve only gotten here because of mental health care, community, and the strength I found in vulnerability. Scholarships like this one aren’t just about money. They represent belief in people like me. They send a message that our struggles do not disqualify us. They say that our voices matter. I’m ready to use that voice to help others find hope, healing, and purpose.

I served as a United States Navy Officer for seven years, stationed in Japan, Spain, Italy and Bahrain, forward deployed on U.S. warships. My primary role involved intelligence and strategic operations, supporting national security missions in real time. I led a team responsible for critical situational awareness in high-pressure environments, earning top evaluations and commendations throughout my service. But beyond the technical responsibilities, the part I’m most proud of is the mentorship. I guided junior sailors not only in their careers, but in life, helping them study for college exams, apply for civilian jobs, and rebuild confidence after personal setbacks. That became the most meaningful part of my military experience. After separating from the Navy, I earned an MBA from NYU Stern and worked at two major technology companies. I’m now continuing my education at Columbia University in a graduate program focused on Applied Analytics. My goal is to use that degree to build systems and tools that improve people’s lives, whether that’s increasing access to healthcare, improving government efficiency, or creating platforms that foster better civic understanding. The military didn’t just influence my goals, it formed them. In uniform, I saw the consequences of broken systems. I saw how information delays could risk lives, how poor communication could cost morale, and how marginalized communities, including veterans, often lacked access to the very resources meant to support them. That’s what pushed me to pursue a degree focused on data, systems, and human-centered design. I want to be part of the solution. But the transition hasn’t always been easy. I’m a disabled veteran living with PTSD and bipolar disorder. Navigating that while balancing work, grad school, and life has been one of the hardest things I’ve done. There were moments when I questioned whether I could keep going, but I did. The discipline I learned in the military, combined with the lessons from my own mental health journey, have taught me how to keep moving forward. They’ve also made me more empathetic, and more determined to help others who face similar struggles. Like John Acuña, I believe in giving back, especially to other veterans and underserved communities. I’ve mentored former sailors applying to college and transitioning to civilian life. I’ve volunteered with organizations supporting LGBTQ+ veterans. I run a YouTube channel that breaks down complex policy and economic issues in plain language, helping people feel informed, included, and empowered. My hope is that the work I do both online and off helps close the gap between knowledge and access. Receiving this scholarship would be an incredible honor. Not only would it provide financial support during a critical time in my academic journey, but it would also serve as a reminder of what’s possible when veterans help pave the way for other veterans. John Acuña’s legacy lives on through those who continue to serve in classrooms, in neighborhoods, and in the everyday work of building something better. Thank you for considering me.

I grew up with two competing forces in my life: instability and grit. We moved constantly, and money was tight. But what we lacked in resources, we made up for in drive. My mom worked multiple jobs to support our family, and from a young age, I learned how to navigate uncertainty, adapt quickly, and keep pushing forward even when things felt stacked against me. After college, I joined the Navy as an Intelligence Officer. I served for eight years and grew into a leader; someone who others relied on, someone who had to show up, no matter what. It wasn’t easy, and I came out of it with scars, both visible and invisible. I live with PTSD and bipolar disorder, and for a long time, I didn’t talk about either. But over time, I’ve come to see that being honest about my mental health is part of what gives me strength, not just for myself, but for others who need to see that resilience doesn’t mean being invincible. It means continuing to show up, even when it’s hard. After the military, I got an MBA from NYU Stern and transitioned into the world of tech and analytics, working in AI and data platforms. I helped build tools to solve complex problems and led teams, managed projects, and translated big ideas into working systems. But I kept feeling pulled toward something deeper. I wanted to use the skills I had built not just to protect systems, but to improve people’s lives. That’s why I’m now pursuing a master’s degree in applied analytics. My goal is to build platforms and policies that help close divides; economic, educational and social, and make institutions work better for more people. I’m also deeply interested in storytelling and media, and I recently launched an educational YouTube channel focused on geopolitics, economics, and overlooked global issues. I believe the way we share information and who gets access to it shapes everything from public policy to personal opportunity. Through this work, I’m trying to bridge divides, challenge misinformation, and help people think more critically about the world around them. Being a veteran, being gay, living with a disability... these are all parts of my identity, but they don’t define the limits of what I can do. If anything, they’ve pushed me to work harder, to stay grounded in my values, and to build a life where I can pay opportunity forward. I’ve mentored younger veterans, helped friends navigate school and career choices, and always tried to create space for others to feel seen and heard. That’s the kind of leader I want to continue becoming; someone who listens deeply, builds with purpose, and leaves things better than I found them.

After leaving the military, I assumed the transition to civilian life would feel like a relief. Instead, it felt like falling through space. For years, I had structure, purpose, and a sense of identity tied to service. Once that disappeared, I was left with a kind of silence I wasn’t prepared for. It didn’t take long before that silence filled with anxiety, depression, and eventually something I couldn’t ignore anymore; a diagnosis of PTSD and bipolar disorder. I didn’t grow up in a world where mental health was talked about openly. In the military, you’re trained to push through pain, to compartmentalize, to stay mission-ready no matter what. That mindset is useful in combat zones, but it doesn’t work when you’re alone in your apartment staring at the ceiling at 2 a.m. wondering why your thoughts are racing or why you haven’t felt like yourself in months. At first, I avoided asking for help. I didn’t want a label, didn’t want to feel broken. But eventually, I hit a point where I realized I couldn’t keep living like that. I reached out to the VA and began working with a therapist and psychiatrist. That decision was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but it saved my life. Therapy helped me name what I was experiencing. Medication helped stabilize what felt uncontrollable. Slowly, I began rebuilding not just my daily routine, but my entire outlook on life. I learned that mental health isn’t something you deal with in the background. It’s something you prioritize actively, deliberately, and without shame. Living with PTSD and bipolar disorder has taught me how to listen to my body and mind in a way I never did before. It’s forced me to build systems of care around myself. I journal almost every day. I track my moods and sleep. I’ve developed the discipline to say no to things that trigger instability, even if it disappoints people. I’ve created a life that works with my conditions, not against them. This experience has completely changed how I prepare for my future. I’m currently pursuing a master’s degree in Applied Analytics at Columbia, something I would have never had the focus or confidence to do just a few years ago. I know the academic pressure will be intense, so I’m going into it with a plan. I’ve already established care through the VA and campus resources. I’ve built a support network. I know what I need to stay balanced, and I no longer treat that as optional. This journey has also reshaped how I see success. For me, success isn’t just academic achievement or career milestones. It’s having the self-awareness to take care of my health and the courage to talk about it. It’s being able to show up for others in work, school, and life because I’ve done the work to show up for myself. The truth is, I used to see my diagnoses as barriers. Now, I see them as part of what makes me strong. Not because they define me, but because managing them has forced me to develop resilience, empathy, and a deeper sense of purpose. My mental and emotional health are not side issues. They’re central to everything I’m building. Prioritizing them was the first step toward becoming who I am now, someone who’s still standing, still working, and more committed than ever to building a future worth fighting for.