It might sound cliché but the movie Coach Carter, has had the greatest impact on my life. And it wasn't the underdog story, the wins, or even the killer soundtrack that I still listen to. It was that one haunting question that kept resurfacing, "What are you afraid of?" That question follows Timo Cruz and at first, it seems simple. You could answer with heights, spiders, or snakes. But nothing important is ever surface-level, especially in storytelling. That question was our Chekhov's Gun, it was introduced early so it had to "go off" later. Every time it came up, you could feel the tension get stronger. It wasn't really about basic fears, it was something deeper, something a lot of us wouldn't say out loud, Cruz included. Watching that, I realized I didn't have a real answer either. Or maybe I did, and I just hadn't found the words yet. Then the gun goes off. The gym is locked, and everything the team worked for is on pause until they uphold their end of the contract. Their grades didn't reflect the contract they signed and Coach Carter refuses to let them play. At first, it feels like everything is falling apart but instead of quitting, the team chooses to stay and support their coach. The community forced open the locks but they couldn't make the boys play. That choice alone says everything about how much they've grown. And then Cruz stands up. He finally answers that haunting question, the one he's been avoiding. He recites a poem by Marianne Williamson, "our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure." That moment changed how I understand fear. It's easy to think we're afraid of heights, spiders, and snakes. Heights could mean you were afraid of falling, physically and mentally. Spiders could mean you were afraid of being crushed and walked over by others, physically and mentally. Snakes could mean you were afraid you would never find a true friend, you'd only be surrounded by fakes, physically and mentally. It's easy to think we're afraid of failing, of not being good enough, of falling short. But that quote flips the idea completely. It suggest that what we're really afraid of is our own potential. What happens if we actually succeed, if we actually become everything we're capable of. Because then there are no excuses left. There's no hiding. I saw myself in that. As someone who pushes myself in athletics and academics, I'm used to working hard. But there are still moments where I hesitate, not because I think I'll fail, but because succeeding means stepping into something bigger, bigger expectations, higher standards. More pressure. More responsibility. It's easier to stay comfortable than to fully test what I'm capable of. Coach Carter made me confront that. Now, when I think about fear, I don't just see it as something that holds me back. I see it as a sign that I'm standing at the edge of growth. That maybe the things that scare me the most are the things that matter the most. "What are you afraid of?" isn't just part of a movie anymore. It's something I'm still learning how to answer. It's something I ask myself right before new opportunities. It's something I ask myself when I hesitate.

People don't get rejected enough. I know, it sounds harsh but it's something that I wanted to experience more of this year because that meant that I was going out and trying new things and opportunities. It's so easy for everyone to stay in their comfort zones, me included, I'd love to keep rewatching The Pitt and not exert energy into everyone that comes my way during the day but I'd be robbing myself of life. This school year specifically, I wanted to change that. While I can manage a crowd and handle daunting tasks, I wanted to challenge myself even more. Instead of waiting until I felt confident enough, I started putting myself into situations where I might fail. I signed up for things I wasn't sure I'd be good at, held conversations with people I swore I'd have nothing in common with, and got more involved in school activities. There were moments where I felt out of place, especially when I was working for my school's Athletic Trainer during football season. I was the water girl but on Fridays, I reported to her office as soon as I got off the bus. My "shift" started as soon as I stepped in and the water bottles needed washing. There were times where conversations didn't flow naturally or where I questioned if I even belonged there. But instead of pulling back like I wanted to, I kept showing up. I'm a military brat so I've always felt out of place but I wanted to rewire how I looked at rejection. I started to understand that rejection isn't always loud or obvious, sometimes it's just the feeling of not immediately fitting in. And that's okay. One of the biggest areas where I applied this mindset was within my school community. A town where sports are a major part of bringing people together and I chose to be more present and involved instead of just observing from the sidelines. I didn't feel like Adam Sandler's rip off "Water Boy" character, I felt apart of something that I could make a change in. I was a part of the environment, not the onlooker. Even when it felt uncomfortable, I reminded myself that growth doesn't happen without risk. By putting myself into these new environments, I met people I wouldn't have and gained experiences and knowledge that pushed me beyond what felt familiar. Each time I stepped into something new, I became a little more confident, not because I succeeded every time, I failed a lot, but because I proved to myself that I could handle the discomfort. I've learned that rejection isn't something to fear, it's something to expect. It's a sign that you are trying and you're reaching beyond what's easy. And the more I experienced it, the less power it had over me. It's not a reason to stop, it's a reason to keep going. Becoming more involved in my community didn't happen all at once. It was a series of small, uncomfortable choices that opened up closed doors and relationships. It comes from consistency, effort, the willingness to fail, and the stubbornness to get up and keep going. I think it was Michael Jordan who said, "I've failed over and over and over again in my life. And that is why I succeed."

Growing up as a military brat is a whole different world. You learn early on that love and distance can exist at the same time even if it's torturous. Some of my earliest memories are of my mom leaving for deployments, missing years of my life when we count all of it up. Birthdays, milestones, ordinary days that quietly matter. I didn't always have the words for it then but I understood what it felt like to miss someone who was still very much part of your world. Military brats and families know that it's never just a phone call. It's the specialized time across both timezones where you get an hour at most to say everything that happened within a day or week. They were either the best part of my day or the hardest. Some days, hearing her voice made everything feel more tolerable like the distant between us wasn't so vast. Other days, you could almost feel how far away you were from each other and how much you wished they could be there in person. That constant emotional shift taught me how to hold gratitude and longing at the same time which is something I've carried into all my relationships with my friends and family. When my mom was gone, life didn't stop. I remember sitting in my dad's office on base while he worked long hours, opening document after document, focused on getting everything done. There wasn't much for me to do except sit quietly and entertain myself with the same boring TV channels (sorry HGTV), learning patience in a way most kids don't have to. It was in those uneventful moments that I started to understand responsibility, just just in a big, dramatic sense, but in everyday acts of showing up and doing what needs to be done. Another constant in my life was change. Every two to three years, I would leave behind the friends I had just begun to fee at home with, something every military has felt. Each move meant starting over, new schools, new faces, and new environments. At times, it was exhausting, having to rebuild connections again and again, but it taught me how to adapt. I learned how to walk into unfamiliar spaces and confidently find my place, how to connect with people quickly, and how to stay open even when I knew goodbyes were just part of this inevitable gig. Despite all of the distance, long days, and constant change, I wouldn't change a thing. These experiences shaped me into someone who is resilient, deeply empathetic, independent, and extremely hard working. I've learned how to appreciate time with the people I love, how to stay grounded in uncertainty, and how to find strength in situations that feel out of my control. Most importantly, growing up in a military family has shown me what it means to serve something greater than yourself. Watching my mom dedicate her life to others across the country, even when it meant personal sacrifice, has influence the path I want to take. I want to be someone who shows up when it matters most, who brings strength and care into critical moments. This life hasn't always been easy, God only knows that, but it has been meaningful. And it's given me a foundation that I know will carry me forward, no matter where I go next.