As a person with autism and anxiety, I always need to have ready-to-go resources in my mental health toolkit. For the past two years, I’ve had two favorite ways to clear my mind. The first, I call the Countdown Technique. I use it when I’m having a panic attack or when my anxiety starts to get severe. The second, the Calm app, is a great resource for every other occasion. The Countdown Technique is simple, yet effective. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and then look around at my environment. I count five things I can see, four things I can touch, three things I can hear, two things I can smell, and one thing I can taste. Doing this helps me connect myself to the real, present world around me instead of my fears and anxieties. After using this grounding technique, I’m a little bit closer to breathing properly and thinking clearly. I can then focus enough to use other resources to help myself calm down further. When I’ve deescalated enough after a panic attack, or I’m only feeling slightly anxious, I love using the Calm app. One of my favorite features are the guided meditations. In addition to anxiety, I also struggle with misophonia, which is a disorder that causes me to start to panicking and feeling angry when I hear chewing or certain other mouth sounds. As a result, I can’t listen to a lot of guided meditations because of the way the speaker’s mouth is moving. But with the Calm app, there are so many choices of speakers to listen to. There’s almost always a track I can listen to without having any issues. If I’m not calm enough yet to sit still and meditate, I find their measured breathing exercises very helpful. All I have to do is watch the screen and breathe as the bubble expands and contracts. A minute or two of healthy breathing makes a huge difference. There are also features on the Calm app that I use to help me focus on my studying and schoolwork. For example, there are over 50 different soundscapes available to play in the background. There are no words spoken, so no focus is pulled away from my work. They each play indefinitely until you hit stop. Some of my favorites are the Coniferous Forest, Edgar Allen Poe’s Library, and the Enchanted Moss Garden. Lastly, I listen to Sleep Stories almost every night. My mind is often overactive at night, but these stories give me something simple and calming to focus on, and eventually, I drift off. Even on good days, I enjoy using the Calm app to keep track of my moods. I find it helpful to use the Five-Minute Check-In’s to take a moment to center myself. I can work on identifying what I’m feeling and why. A few years ago, my anxiety was completely taking over every day. I couldn’t make it through a day of school without melting down, and there were some days when I just couldn’t focus on anything no matter how hard I tried. But after going to therapy regularly and using the aforementioned coping mechanisms, my quality of life has improved more than I ever thought it could. I will continue to use these tools moving forward, and I’ll take every chance I get to share them with others.

When I was five years old, I fell head-over-heels in love with theatre. I had to be a part of it. It wasn’t an option, it was my purpose. My being and theatre seemed synonymous. When I was nine, we moved to a city that had a community theatre. I was elated! I auditioned and was cast in a few shows there, and for the first time, I knew what it was like to actually be on stage. It felt like a fireworks show shooting from my feet and bursting in my heart and mind. Even when I was tired from school and wanted to stay home on the couch, going to rehearsal instead was always 100% worth it. A couple of times a year, my parents would take my brother and I to go see big professional shows. I would sit there, awestruck by this beautiful art form. I would wish harder than anything I’ve ever wished for that I could be in a professional show one day. I knew I had it in me to eventually succeed in doing that, but I couldn’t see a way to make that happen. It seemed nearly impossible, but somehow I knew I would do it one day. I kept doing shows at the community level. I even worked up the nerve to put my social anxiety aside and played the lead in two of my middle school’s musicals. Even when bullies and cliques were in my way, theatre was still undeniably worth it. When I was 14, I started taking extracurricular acting classes and played parts in student Shakespeare productions at The Ballet School Performing Arts. A year later, I participated in a summer intensive theatre program recommended to me by my teachers at The Ballet School, who helped run it. That summer, I took a directing class from Scott Dennison, the director of an annual professional production of “A Christmas Carol.” I put every drop of sweat I had into that summer intensive, and loved it more than anything. At the end of the summer, Scott and a few of my acting teachers pulled me into a room at The Ballet School. And then the dream came true. Scott wanted me to be in a real-life, big-time, professional show. I would get to spend that winter in Victorian England among some of the best actors and mentors I’ve ever met. At the time, my mind was in a cloud of excitement and disbelief. But now, I’ve realized that that experience has taught me something really valuable. Dreams don’t magically come true on their own. But if you put in the hours of dedication and hard work to get yourself there, you’ll experience an even more fulfilling magic: the feeling of accomplishment. No goal is ever truly out of reach, no matter how far away or unlikely it may seem. It may take you a minute to stretch your arm that far, but you’ll reach it if you decide to. I’d been told that cliché before: you can do anything you put your mind to. But getting to be in that show and multiple other professional productions since has really instilled in my bones that I actually can achieve my dreams. Learning that lesson transformed me from an anxious little kid that things just happened to, into a confident young adult that knows he can make things happen for himself. Even when I fail, I know I’ll still make my goals happen. There is more than one way to get there, I just have to forge the right path for myself.

In an ideal world, the best solution for helping more people with their mental health struggles would be universal mental health care for all. Unfortunately, that’s not the most practical solution in today’s America, and doesn’t seem to be in our near future. But there are smaller actions we can take that would make a huge difference. When a person is depressed or needs help with their mental health, there’s a good chance they’re not going to know how to reach out to a provider about it. It’s really hard to make the first move, especially if you don’t know where to start. That means in order for a solution to be effective, we’re going to need to find a way to meet young children, teens, and adults where they already are. We need easily accessible mental health education for preschool-aged learners, such as storytime, crafts, and similar activities in every school district. For older children, nationwide mandatory mental health classes would make a world of a difference. I’d propose one in middle school and one in high school with adjustments in the curriculum that keep pace with students’ neurological development. In order to reach adults and senior citizens as well as homeschooled students, automatic mailers with up-to-date information on websites, hotlines, and local resources should be sent quarterly to every residential address Obviously, these solutions alone wouldn’t completely solve the mental health crisis. Honestly, I don’t think it’s possible to cure every single person’s depression or anxiety. What I do know is that in the case of mental health, something is always better than nothing. Information needs to be genuinely accessible to anyone and everyone. If a person is already feeling hopeless, communities don’t need to make them feel more lost by not knowing where to look for help.

1. Why do you deserve this scholarship? I don’t like to work… so… if you could just give me the money that you worked hard for… that would be cool. 2. What are your academic and/or career goals? What does academic mean? I don’t know what career is either… 3. Tell me about a time you’ve overcome an obstacle. Oh! This one I can answer. One time, I was sitting on the couch eating Cheetos, and my hand cramped up. The Cheeto I was holding fell to the floor. But, being the brave hero that I am, I bent all the way down to pick it up. And then I ate it. I had to sleep for, like, three days to recover from that one. It was rough, bro.

Being on the autism spectrum, I always felt somewhat distant from the people around me. I could tell that my brain worked differently. And when I became a teenager and started struggling with depression, I had come to the conclusion that my mental health situation was also different from what other people go through. I thought, “Yes, people can overcome clinical depression, but there’s no cure for what I have.” I was isolated and alone. I had been repeatedly self-harming since I was about 10 years old. I had kept it a secret and no one knew I had given myself all of those sprains and broken bones. I was just labeled a “clumsy kid.” But at the age of 16, I intentionally overdosed on Tylenol, and my secrets were revealed. It was almost an out-of-body experience when I swallowed all of those pills. I didn’t want to die, but I also didn’t want to carry on living the way I was. I was brought to the hospital and put on a 72-hour psych hold, which would take place in a psychiatric facility for teenagers. I hated it. I didn’t think I belonged there and I couldn’t stop the tears from flooding down my face. But it was through my first mandated session of group therapy the next day that I learned that I. Was. Not. Alone. When I described what I was going through, I got nods and murmurs of understanding and agreement. I wasn’t some alien no one could understand. My depression was just that: clinical depression. And if so many people before me, including my own mother, could overcome it, so could I. It was then that I made the choice to put the work in. I am happy to report that I have not self-harmed, or even thought of self-harming, since that overdose. The darkness is gone. I am truly in a better place. I battled my inner demons, and at long last, arose victorious into the warm, golden sunlight. Nowadays, if I have a dream or career goal, I’m going to go after it full-force. It’s why I worked so hard to get into NYU Tisch as an acting major. I don’t linger on the negatives and “what-if’s” of the journey ahead of me, I just start running. Because why not me? Why not now? Life is too short and beautiful to waste time sitting around, dwelling on hypotheticals. I’ve realized that if my current reality doesn’t look like the dream I have, only I have the power to change that. I am the author of my own story. Additionally, I have learned to value friendships so much more than I did. People aren’t inherently bad. They’re not going to automatically think bad things about me and abandon me the first chance they get. Learning to trust people and to let them hold me up in times of need isn’t a bad thing. I can have good friends and be a good friend in return. I had to reach my lowest low to be able to see it, but I’m not as different as I thought. I can relate to people and they can relate to me. No matter where we come from or who we are, we all struggle with our own minds and insecurities in some way. To be human is to be self-aware. And sometimes, that can cause issues when we become too self-critical. Being so painfully and beautifully human is what links us. We are more the same than we are different, myself included. My brain may work differently, but my soul is just like anyone else’s. We all want joy. We all want love. We all just want everything to be okay, and more often than not, if we put in the work, it will be. So I’ll keep putting in that work. I’ll keep striving to learn and grow. I’ll reach out to my friends when one of us needs support. And I’ll never lose sight of the fact that life is the most valuable thing any of us can ask for.

Being on the autism spectrum, I always felt somewhat distant from the people around me. I could tell that my brain worked differently. And when I became a teenager and started struggling with depression, I had come to the conclusion that my mental health situation was also different from what other people go through. I thought, “Yes, people can overcome clinical depression, but there’s no cure for what I have.” I was isolated and alone. I had been repeatedly self-harming since I was about 10 years old. I had kept it a secret and no one knew I had given myself all of those sprains and broken bones. I was just labeled a “clumsy kid.” But at the age of 16, I intentionally overdosed on Tylenol, and my secrets were revealed. It was almost an out-of-body experience when I swallowed all of those pills. I didn’t want to die, but I also didn’t want to carry on living the way I was. I was brought to the hospital and put on a 72-hour psych hold, which would take place in a psychiatric facility for teenagers. I hated it. I didn’t think I belonged there and I couldn’t stop the tears from flooding down my face. But it was through my first mandated session of group therapy the next day that I learned that I. Was. Not. Alone. When I described what I was going through, I got nods and murmurs of understanding and agreement. I wasn’t some alien no one could understand. My depression was just that: clinical depression. And if so many people before me, including my own mother, could overcome it, so could I. It was then that I made the choice to put the work in. I am happy to report that I have not self-harmed, or even thought of self-harming, since that overdose. The darkness is gone. I am truly in a better place. I battled my inner demons, and at long last, arose victorious into the warm, golden sunlight. Nowadays, if I have a dream or career goal, I’m going to go after it full-force. It’s why I worked so hard to get into NYU Tisch as an acting major. I don’t linger on the negatives and “what-if’s” of the journey ahead of me, I just start running. Because why not me? Why not now? Life is too short and beautiful to waste time sitting around, dwelling on hypotheticals. I’ve realized that if my current reality doesn’t look like the dream I have, only I have the power to change that. I am the author of my own story. Additionally, I have learned to value friendships so much more than I did. People aren’t inherently bad. They’re not going to automatically think bad things about me and abandon me the first chance they get. Learning to trust people and to let them hold me up in times of need isn’t a bad thing. I can have good friends and be a good friend in return. I had to reach my lowest low to be able to see it, but I’m not as different as I thought. I can relate to people and they can relate to me. No matter where we come from or who we are, we all struggle with our own minds and insecurities in some way. To be human is to be self-aware. And sometimes, that can cause issues when we become too self-critical. Being so painfully and beautifully human is what links us. We are more the same than we are different, myself included. My brain may work differently, but my soul is just like anyone else’s. We all want joy. We all want love. We all just want everything to be okay, and more often than not, if we put in the work, it will be. So I’ll keep putting in that work. I’ll keep striving to learn and grow. I’ll reach out to my friends when one of us needs support. And I’ll never lose sight of the fact that life is the most valuable thing any of us can ask for.

When I think about my goals, they generally fit into one of two categories: career/theatre goals and life goals. However, sometimes the line between the two blurs, and I can’t definitively tell which label a goal should fall under. Perhaps that’s because all of my goals, at their core, have to do with me growing as a human being. I tend to dream big, and could probably fill 600 pages with goals I have if given the time. But I’ve narrowed it down to three theatre goals and three life goals I think are worth sharing. My biggest aspirations as an actor are to perform on Broadway and in a National Tour of a Broadway show, perform in a Shakespeare play on the Globe Stage, and to play the role of Peter Pan. Every time I visualize myself getting to do any of those things, I can feel my heart light up inside, and I can’t help but grin. When it comes to life goals, they are a little less specific, but equally as powerful. The things I want most to achieve as a human are to remain in a perpetual state of growth and learning, have a positive impact on the people and environments around me, and to share my humanity with those who need hope. Even if I don’t achieve some of my goals in my lifetime, I’d be happy if I could lie down at night and have a smile on my face when I think about my life and my career. I can’t control when or how I’m going to die, but I can control how I choose to spend my time on this planet. If I’ve experienced and spread joy, love, and curiosity, then I’d be satisfied knowing my work here is done.

My experience in California’s K-12 school system was unique, to say the least. I credit a couple of my teachers for giving me helpful note-taking and outlining strategies that helped me in college. I also appreciate that my K-12 education gave me an adequate introduction to biology, geology, and math. However, my English classes didn’t prepare me for college at all. In fact, my English professors told us in the first week of class to forget everything K-12 had taught us about writing essays and reading critically. Before I dive into the specifics of my experience, it’s important to mention that I’m autistic and was a gifted child. Academics had always come easily to me, but socializing was more difficult. Entering kindergarten, I already knew how to read, add and subtract numbers, and identify shapes and colors. Needless to say, I didn’t learn much, academically, that year. But that’s not to say I didn’t learn. Kindergarten, first, and second grade helped develop my social skills. We had structured ways of telling our friends how we felt, and we learned how to give and receive apologies. In that respect, school at the time was helpful. In the summer between second and third grade, I moved school districts. My new school was composed of very wealthy families, which came as a shock to me. But being in an affluent area meant our schools were supposed to be amazing. We would allegedly have access to more resources and technologies. I was excited about the Gifted And Talented Education (GATE) program, and desperately wanted to participate. Much to my chagrin, the placement testing for GATE took place in second grade, which I wasn’t there for. Older kids could take the test, but it cost about $80, which my family couldn’t afford. General education it was! Being “the new kid” halfway through elementary school, I struggled to fit in. Everyone already had a best friend or group of friends, and since no one wanted to interrupt that pattern, I was often left out. After elementary school, things got bad. I was bullied constantly and the staff did nothing about it. I was depressed and repeatedly self-harming. School was the worst part of my life. I already knew the academics and would get frustrated that my classes were so slow. My parents and I had meetings with my teachers explaining that I needed an academic challenge, but all they could offer to do was give me extra homework on the same materials. I didn’t want more monotonous work, I wanted to learn something. I was so angry that the district had resources for students who needed remedial support, but nothing for kids who were more advanced. All school did was beat me down. When I turned 15, it was legal for me to test out of the K-12 system. So, after the first semester of sophomore year, I took the California High School Proficiency Examination and passed with flying colors. I then started college, which was exponentially better, academically and socially. I was grateful to be able to catch on quickly, but I felt that the most helpful knowledge I had came from doing my own research at home, not from my time in school. Overall, California’s K-12 system didn’t prepare me for college. That being said, I realize I was in a unique position, so I can’t speak for the majority of students. In the future, I hope to see resources for gifted students more readily available to families of all financial backgrounds. If remedial services are free of charge, advanced classes should be, too.

When I was fifteen, I was diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease. Among other things, my experience being chronically ill has taught me that you really don’t know what you don’t know. I sometimes wish I didn’t have Crohn’s, but I am grateful that it opened my eyes to the world of Invisible Illnesses. Though you might not be able to see it from the outside, just going to the store might be a huge accomplishment for someone due to pain, nausea, fatigue, and mobility issues. Not all disabilities are visible. And even if the stranger in front of you is physically healthy, they may be dealing with emotional or mental struggles in their life that you have no way of knowing about. You almost never know why a person in public snaps at you or a driver flips you off. But you can choose to let it go and treat that person with the same empathy you’d want on your worst days. So instead of getting mad or feeling hurt, I always remind myself that a person lashing out at me isn’t personal and that they’ll probably regret their actions later. Being empathetic makes my life less stressful and is much gentler on the people around me. It can prevent a confrontational situation from escalating, as well as being beneficial for my mental health. It’s okay to feel hurt by what someone does or says, but it’s never okay to intentionally try to make them hurt in return. Empathy should always be used over anger because you never know what kind of adversities a person is facing.

Our planet is but a tiny, accidental fleck of paint on the canvas of the universe. We are infinitesimal, pointless, and extraordinary. While potentially bleak, it’s true that we mean nothing and will have no impact on the grand scheme of the multiverse. But our world and life form are also extremely unlikely and beautiful. I don’t think human life has one specific purpose, but the purpose I’m giving my life is to help people celebrate humanity through theatre. The human race will only be here for a millisecond, and I think it’s important to throw our hands up, dance, laugh, and have fun. That being said, however, we also need to be responsible with our natural resources and take care of the Earth. I want future generations to be able to be happy and have as much fun as possible, too, but they can’t do that if they’re dying from radiation poisoning or suffocating from a lack of oxygen and a ludicrous surplus of atmospheric carbon-dioxide. So, while I strive to create joy and demonstrate the beauty of humanity through my work as an actor, I also try to be as eco-conscious as possible and help others to do the same. At the end of the day, I believe our lives are measured by the joy and love we’ve spread to those around us. When I’m dead and gone, I want people to smile and laugh when they think of me. I want the echoes of my work to provide respite and inspire love, kindness, and curiosity. I need to be able to rest assured that my children and grandchildren will have a healthy planet to call home. But until I get there, I plan to work hard, have fun, and never take myself too seriously.

My bucket list has 12 items on it, one of which I’ve already completed three times over. It’s mostly theatre-based, as acting is my passion, but there are a few thrill-seeking adventures as well. Below is a rough sketch of what I’d like to achieve in my lifetime: -Perform in a professional show (Done!) -Perform on Broadway -Perform in a National Tour -Play the role of Peter Pan -Perform at the Globe Theatre in London -Play a lead role in a movie -Work with Lin Manuel Miranda, Andrew Garfield, Freddie Highmore, and Olivia Colman -Go hang-gliding -Go wingsuit-diving -Learn a kickflip on my skateboard -Write a book -Raise kids As you can see, I dream pretty big. I consider myself lucky to have been able to check an item off my list already. At age 16, I got to perform in my first professional show, which was the biggest rush of my life! I remember feeling a constant high and never quite believing my eyes. I couldn’t wait to get through school each day so I could get to the theater to perform. Since then, I’ve been able to be in two more professional shows. Many of the items on my list require weeks, months, and years of training to be able to complete. I’m thrilled to be attending NYU Tisch School of the Arts as an acting major this fall, because the training I receive there will get me so much closer to being able to reach those dreams. I know I’ll get to accomplish the goals on my bucket list, because I won’t stop chasing them until I do! My life story is beginning to unfold in front of me, and I can’t wait to find out how I manage to live the best life I possibly can.

From a young age, I was grateful for what I had. Growing up in a poor area, I was aware that not all of my classmates got to eat every day, so I knew how lucky I was to always have at least lunch and dinner. We didn’t have money for a ton of groceries or new clothes, but my parents always showed my brother and I that love could fill material gaps. It wasn’t until we moved to a wealthier area to escape gang violence that I realized some kids whined and whined and were rewarded with iPhones. And frankly, it made me sick. But that’s not to say I didn’t take things for granted. When I was 15, I became very sick and was diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease. There were weeks and weeks of hospital stays and chemo treatments. It wasn’t fun, but I’m appreciative of the new perspective it gave me. Now that I’m in remission, I’m grateful for simple things like being able to go outside, breathe without pain, eat solid food, and walk around. It took temporarily losing those things for me to be able to see just how precious they are. And above all, I’m grateful for time. Time can run out so fast, but gratitude for life can stretch it out. I’m determined never to take time spent alive and with family for granted ever again. There are multiple random moments throughout the day where I’m able to step back and appreciate what’s happening and the people I’m with. Additionally, every night before bed, I make a mental list of everything I’m grateful for that day. Life is a fleeting, messy, and beautiful thing. Gratitude is how I allow myself to bask in the simple joys surrounding me while I still have time.

Throughout my life, I’ve learned that voicing my thoughts and needs is the only way to create the change I want to see. As a kid, I used to suppress all my thoughts and feelings about what I wanted. Money was always tight, and my parents were always stressed about trying to afford things. So, when I was five years old, I promised myself I would never ask for or want anything. It wasn’t until much later that I realized how unhealthy that was. If you’re unhappy with the way things are, the only way to change it is to advocate for yourself. You have to put the work in to change your own story. It was always easier for me to speak up for others than it was to talk about my own needs. My journey of learning to speak up began with climate activism. I started protesting our local government’s lack of effort with regard to the climate emergency. I sat alone outside City Hall every Friday with a handmade sign. Eventually, people started joining me and we formed a larger grassroots organization. We were creating the change we needed to see, and it was empowering. Recently, I’ve learned to use the power my words can have to advocate for myself. When high school turned out to be nothing but bullying, I found a way to graduate at 15 and start college. When I was struggling with my mental health, I spoke up about needing therapy and started having weekly appointments, which led to major improvements. When I knew I wanted to get into a top Acting BFA Program, I fought for access to resources to help me sharpen my craft, and as a result, I’ll be attending NYU Tisch this fall. I’ve turned communication into my superpower.

I believe 90% of having confidence comes down to trusting yourself. There will always be uncertainty in life, but being confident means you can trust yourself to tell right from wrong, persevere and succeed, be a good person, and stand up for yourself. I’m a work in progress, but generally, I consider myself to be a confident person. From January 2020 to February 2021, I was in an emotionally, psychologically, and physically abusive relationship. Lots of bad things happened, but the scars that have lasted the longest have been mental. When I was with him, I was convinced I wasn’t smart or capable and that I couldn’t trust my own memories of how things happened. After escaping from that situation, I felt broken. For a year afterward, I still didn’t trust myself. But when I started regularly talking to my therapist, things started to get better. I employed a simple (though initially taxing) strategy in my life that I still use today. Whenever a self-deprecating thought entered my head, I flipped it around by adding the short prefix, “Of course.” So, when thinking, “Do I actually remember what happened?” I would change it to, “Of course I remember what happened.” The shaky question, “Am I actually smart?” became, “Of course I’m smart.” Over time, my self-doubt shrank. Now, I’m back to being certain that I’m a talented, intelligent, and fully capable human being. The other 10% of confidence is pure courage. It’s impossible to be completely certain of anything; there is always that daunting margin of error looming about. But to be confident means to push forward even if you could be wrong, or a situation could be scary. I’m confident because I trust that my legs will carry me, and I have the courage to keep taking steps forward.

I am a lucky person: I’ve always been able to catch onto new activities or school subjects fairly easily. But when I was young, I discovered a powerful truth: you can be talented at 100 things, but if none of them bring you joy, there’s really no point. At nine years old, I was cast in my first community play. One night, during a performance, I felt like I had been struck in the chest by a hot bolt of lighting. It was the first time I had experienced the euphoria derived from passion. I was completely in love with theatre. I had the seeds of talent for acting, but it was the love I felt for the craft that drove me to put in the hard work to sharpen my skills. Ten years have gone by since then. Now, after performing in over a dozen small-scale shows and three professional productions, my childlike wonderment and infatuation for theatre remain. But my instrument is more refined; I act intentionally and put a lot of creative focus into creating a character. I practice my craft by diving into monologues, scene-work, and physical training. I take intensive seminars over the summer, and there’s not a day of rehearsal that goes by where I’m not sitting in the corner watching the older actors work. I’ve always been a sponge for knowledge, and as an actor, I’ve learned to apply that to my everyday life. Being good at my job means being able to mirror human life onstage as it appears in the real world. So, wherever I go, I’m constantly observing the people around me and storing those mental images in my brain for safekeeping. I, like anyone, will never be a perfect artist. But I can always be good at getting better.

I have two main sources of motivation in my life. One is powerful, but temporary, and the other is something I know will last forever. The first is the fact that I get to wake up every morning knowing I’m going to live my dream. Theatre and acting have always been my passion, and this fall, I’m going to start studying acting at the NYU Tisch School of Drama. I make the choice every day to practice my technique and become a better artist. But now, I have the added motivation of working hard to earn enough money to pay for tuition. I know I’ll have to take out student loans, but I’m ready to work every day to ensure I only have to borrow the smallest amount possible. Getting my BFA from NYU is an aspiration worth fighting for. Though chasing pennies for tuition is a potent source of motivation, it won’t last forever. Four years from now, I’ll be graduating, and attending NYU will be in the past. I’ll have new goals and new motivations. But I know I have one source of inspiration that will last a lifetime: when I’m 80 years old and my grandchildren ask me about my life, I want to be able to tell them a story I’m proud of. I want them to be able to find inspiration from me that they can use to drive their own lives forward. Life is so incredibly and tormentingly short, and in the grand scheme of things, nothing we do here on Earth will matter. I used to find that fact depressing, but now, it makes me feel relieved. There’s no pressure to do anything other than have the best time I can in this life. And I intend to do just that: be happy.

As a person on the autism spectrum, I’ve always experienced emotions a little differently. As a kid, I was never quite sure how to tell how I was feeling. I understood the textbook definition of most emotions (happy feels good, sad makes you feel like crying), but identifying them in real life was more difficult. I had one emotion that felt like standing on my tippy toes and looking straight down with my arms extended at my sides and all of my fingers outstretched. I now know that that is how I experience the feeling of joy. In my daily life, I feel as though I have an invisible compass inside guiding me toward the “right” thing: whatever will bring me the most joy during or after completing it. That doesn’t mean I’ll always choose fun over work; I make an effort to manage my time efficiently. But it does mean that I’ll be able to pick out which of my to-do list tasks should come first, middle, and last, according to how I’ll feel after completing them. So even if I’m working on something seemingly boring, I know I’m going to get joy out of doing it a particular way. When I don’t have chores or work tasks to get done, I often find joy just by sitting on the landing of the staircase in my house. I like to watch the peaceful stillness that happens in the empty room below. The light dances on the rug, and sneaky little particles of dust pirouette through the air, illuminated by sunbeams. Sure, doing bigger things like playing a game or going to the movies can be fun. But more often than not, I find more joy in the smallest and quietest of moments. I can always find joy in peace.

When I was 15 years old, I became very sick. After months of internal bleeding and fatigue, I passed out at school. A week later, I was admitted to the UCSF Benioff Children’s Hospital Oakland and diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease and Superior Mesenteric Artery Syndrome (SMAS). Over the next two years, I was hospitalized for weeks and months at a time. I was (and still am) on chemo, and most of the time, I had an NG tube down my throat because I couldn’t eat. My anxiety was high during hospital stays. As I lost any connection to the outside world, my fears took over. I had multiple panic attacks and life got dark. I had two patients die right next to me, and I thought I was headed the same way. But I began working with an inpatient psychologist who taught me coping mechanisms, like visualization, breathing, and meditating to escape to my happy place. One morning, I woke up and made a decision: I was going to find the positives in everything around me that day. Sure, I couldn’t eat solid foods, but I did love the orange jello I was allowed to eat that morning. Yes, I was stuck in this room, but the view of San Francisco was beautiful. There was a tube down my throat, but I was alive because of it. I found gratitude in everything, and it was like I had flipped a switch. I made the choice to be happy, even if it seemed like I had no good reason to be. When I stopped letting my diseases control my perspective, I unlocked an immense amount of joy. Now, four years later, both my Crohn’s and SMAS are in remission. It’s ironic, but I am a healthier person because of my illnesses.

The best books are different every time you read them. My perception of the ideas presented in Henry David Thoreau's "Walden" evolved as I grew up, but the most important lesson I learned came from my first read-through. At the age of ten, my grandpa brought me over to his bookshelf and handed me a small, old paperback. "The Variorum Walden," I read. He nodded. "We read this when I was in college," he remarked, "but I bet you could read it now. I wouldn't have understood a lick of it at your age, but I have a feeling you'll get it." Challenge accepted. I strode over to the couch and sat down. Gently, I cracked it open. The distinct smell of ink-laced pages filled my nose. As my world drifted away, I was surrounded with flashes of Thoreau's secluded cabin and the coniferous forest enveloping it. Walden taught me the power and freedom born from independent thought. It instilled in me the value of stepping off the beaten path and forging ahead in whatever direction is best for yourself (even if that direction is opposite from the norm). People may steal confused glances at you from time to time, but none of that matters. What matters is discovery. What matters is finding that elusive majesty hiding within the folds of Stillness. Being only ten years old, I couldn’t do exactly what Thoreau did. Regretfully, you can’t build a life-size cabin out of one set of Lincoln Logs. But I could follow his example by opening my mind to unconventionality. I had never fit in at school, so I was used to those weird looks Thoreau described. But this book helped me accept that about myself. There was nothing wrong with me; I was just different. And different is good.

The best books are different every time you read them. My perception of the ideas presented in Henry David Thoreau's "Walden" evolved as I grew up, but the most important lesson I learned came from my first read-through. At the age of ten, my grandpa brought me over to his bookshelf and handed me a small, old paperback. "The Variorum Walden," I read. He nodded. "We read this when I was in college," he remarked, "but I bet you could read it now. I wouldn't have understood a lick of it at your age, but I have a feeling you'll get it." Challenge accepted. I strode over to the couch and sat down. Gently, I cracked it open. The distinct smell of ink-laced pages filled my nose. As my world drifted away, I was surrounded with flashes of Thoreau's secluded cabin and the coniferous forest enveloping it. Walden taught me the power and freedom born from independent thought. It instilled in me the value of stepping off the beaten path and forging ahead in whatever direction is best for yourself (even if that direction is opposite from the norm). People may steal confused glances at you from time to time, but none of that matters. What matters is discovery. What matters is finding that elusive majesty hiding within the folds of Stillness. Being only ten years old, I couldn’t do exactly what Thoreau did. Regretfully, you can’t build a life-size cabin out of one set of Lincoln Logs. But I could follow his example by opening my mind to unconventionality. I had never fit in at school, so I was used to those weird looks Thoreau described. But this book helped me accept that about myself. There was nothing wrong with me; I was just different. And different is good.