When posed the question, "Who inspires you?" my mind wanders to many wonderful women. Maybe my mother is my biggest inspiration? Perhaps Amelia Earhart? Or even Michelle Obama! The list goes on forever, of outstanding women who have withstood the test of time. There is one name, however, that will always ignite a fire inside me to be the best version of myself that I can be; Jeannie Leavitt. She is not very widely known, but to me she's a true icon. Jeannie Leavitt was the first female fighter pilot in the U.S. Military, blazing a path for many other women to achieve their dreams of becoming military aviators. Her story has taught me dedication and determination. I will carry myself with that spirit, with her spirit, as go to college to become a pilot, and join the Air Force to be the next best female fighter pilot.

The idea of having children never interested me; I've never wanted to have a family, or at least I didn't want to raise kids. As I've grown up, when I've told people of my plan to live childless, they've responded with statements about my "legacy," (or lack thereof) but in my mind a legacy is not the story that your children pass down for generations, but the impact you leave on the world before you leave it behind; in the words of Lin-Manuel Miranda, a legacy is "planting seeds in a garden which you never get to see." I have found purpose in military service. As a woman, I want to become a role model for girls who wish to join the armed forces; when I was growing up, I dreamt of being a pilot for the Air Force, but I had never heard of any other girls who wanted to be pilots like me. For the longest time, I thought it to be impossible. Now, I know that I will be the woman whom young girls look up to when they say they want to be pilots, or when they say they want to serve their country, and that will be my legacy.

It's generally known that middle school is a difficult time in everyone's life. For me, especially, I struggled, because I was bullied on the daily. I felt alone, abandoned, and angry. Around that time, my parents discovered a small church a little ways out of town, and took me there one Sunday morning, just to let me test the waters of faith. The words of God hit me like a tidal wave of kindness and relief; I felt okay again. It was as if a safety net of sermons was woven together beneath me. Over the years, I've taken more steps with the Lord and found myself happier, healthier, and more prepared to face the world, as I've put my trust in God.

A white girl with white parents in a conservative white town doesn't seem like the most likely activist in the world, and I didn't always see everything the way I see it now. It took a long time for me to understand how necessary it is for everyone to be an activist, but now, as I see that there is change to be made to build up a better future for all people. In my conservative high school, we have two political clubs; Students For Change (democrats) and Students For Freedom (republicans). There is a massive difference between the numbers in these clubs-- Students For Freedom has a whopping twenty or more members, whereas Students For Change only has three, one of which is myself. Due to scheduling conflicts, I've been unable to attend most meetings with the club, but I am the most outspoken member of the group nonetheless. This past year, I've talked with the school newspaper and the yearbook committee on multiple occasions, as the figurehead of Students For Change, to speak on the election, Trump, BLM, and the future of America. I hope that as I move forward in my life, as well as my career in the military, I can introduce a more liberal viewpoint to the people I meet. There's an overwhelming number of conservatives in the armed forces, and that invalidates the liberal people who serve; I want to be outspoken to where liberals in the military feel seen and can be pushed to speak out as well.

My self-love is like the tide. Throughout a week, or sometimes even a day, it fluctuates, between adoration and abhorrence. The way I feel about myself only ever depends on me, though, and no longer on other people. It took me a long time to feel that way. In middle school, I was a quiet tween. I escaped reality by engrossing myself in books, and surrounded myself with other bookworms, so I never had to talk to them; we could just sit and read in silence. Middle school me didn't have any problem, really, with her appearance, even though I'd been bullied relentlessly for my mousy looks ever since elementary school. But I started to gain weight, as I grew, and that didn't go over well in my brain. I began to believe that I was some sort of a failure. Doubt instilled itself in me; I'm never going to achieve my dreams. I'll never be a pilot, I'll never make it into the Air Force, not being fat like this, I'll be too heavy to fit in a plane! Early stages of an eating disorder took hold of me, as well as a deep insecurity about my body, and that resulted in reaching out for validation in my appearance through male attention. For some reason I thought that if a boy could like me, then maybe I would like me too. Three-odd years go by, and I've made it into high school. I'm trapped in an abusive relationship with a new guy, and I've been enveloped in a toxic "friend" group of drug addicts and law breakers. As the only kid in the group that followed the rules, I was very out of place. Finally, my parents stepped in, noticing that I was being treated poorly by my boyfriend, and blocked him from ever contacting me. At the time, I was furious, because I couldn't see how detrimental he was to my health; I was blinded by the fact that he liked my appearance, that he wanted me and didn't think I was ugly. When I escaped him, I escaped that toxic "friend" group. For a long time, a two full years in fact, I was completely alone. No one talked to me, no one texted me, no one gave me the attention (negative or otherwise) that I had been given for so long from all those boys I'd attached myself to for validation. In being alone, I found myself. Over those years, I had to give myself the love I had been seeking from others, because no one else could give it to me, and I wasn't going to let myself fall into that abusive pattern again. I cut off my hair, worked past my eating disorder, and got into fitness. At rowing practice, rather than ignoring everyone, I started to converse with strangers, and ended up making new friends who've been there for me ever since, as well as my current (much kinder and more supportive) partner.

These two lovely boys are Spencer the Australian shepherd and Kirby the Old-English bulldog. Spencer's an old man now, turning nine pretty soon, and Kirby's right behind him. My mom, a photographer, took these great pictures at the beginning of quarantine. Her instagram is @photosbykellyandkelly and mine is @courtney_louderback

Cold air stings my face and burns my lungs as I try to keep the boat balanced. With numb fingers and aching quads, I push on through the rolling waves, caused by a passing pleasure craft.. I'm in the final sprint of the race-- Only two hundred meters to go. I'm not a rower; My varsity letter was earned as a coxswain, AKA the kid who steers the boat and barks orders. Rowing isn't exactly my forte, and yet here I am, passing the finish line as if it's second nature, taking sixth of thirteen in my first ever race.