Optimism is not a tangible thing. It's not something you can grasp, not something you can hold in your hands and keep close to you like a safety blanket. It's a mindset, one that's hard won through trial and error. It's a system based entirely on perspective, making it one of the hardest things to keep throughout one's lifetime. It is easy to lose sight of it in the murk of a pandemic and in the darkness of political upheaval. But it is also intrinsic to our generation. I was born in 2002, which places me firmly in the early stages of Gen Z. My generation remembers the panic our parents went through in 2008, has watched the neighborhood teens disappear off into the sunsets of Afghanistan, and has grown up seeing the Twin Towers fall on television every single year, reliving the tragedy and trauma over and over and over again. And yet, we continue to preservere. We look at the world not as a collection of individuals with issues but as a mass of people who are capable of solving anything given to them. We remind ourselves that nothing is hopeless or impossible. We are dadaists, not defeatists. Every day, I remind myself that I'm breathing. I close my eyes and recognize that through sheer force of will and luck, billions of years has brought stardust into the form that I now inhabit. I have thought, and soul. Two things that should be impossible, and yet. Through optimism, I can find answers to anything, everything, because all is equally possible. There's no wrong paths, just longer ones. There isn't a defined end, or failure, or heartbreak. It's all just one stepping stone after another to find answers to each question we ask. Optimism is both answer and solace.

When I was in fourth grade, I read Chasing Redbird for the first time. It's an older book, older than I am by five years, and outside of children's literature it's not all that well known. What catches most peoples attention is that it was written by Sharon Creech, a well-known prize winning children's author. I've read her other works, the ones far more well known such as Walk Two Moons, but Chasing Redbird holds a special place in my heart for reasons that I can describe, and reasons that I will never be able to. To this day, I still wonder at the amount of literature I've had in my own two hands that barely anyone else has ever seen. Sharon Creech's work is well known, but what about the other titles, by other authors, the people you skim over on the Scholastic list and later the lists on private blogs and on library binary code shelves. Every once in a while I'll stumble upon an old memory of some short book I read on the swing set and try desperately, desperately to find it only to come up with nothing. The digital age has left behind thousands of titles never to be read again, simply because physical product is scarce and memory scarcer. I can't quite recall when the itch began, but I certainly didn't wake up one day mad at the unfairness of it all. It was a slow burn, building behind my ribcage only to be untethered at night when I would silently fume to myself. Writing was hard work, I knew that. I didn't do much of it but I knew it. To never recieve recognition seemed like such a sin to me, with the amount I read and memorized. It was when I had to write a short story for class that everything clicked for me. I had gotten an A, but the teacher never said much beyond it besides a nod and a 'good work.' But writing, having something finished, felt good. It felt really good, to hold those printed pages in my own hands, just to have them. Its the catharsis at the end that we all reach for. In hindsight, it seemed almost obvious that I would study English. What else was there for me, on that scale? I'm a writer. I'll always write. Ever since that day I've written constantly. I've managed to win competitions, and I'm working on getting published. You'll find me in a few years on some indie bookshelves, I'm sure. But I also know that I'll always be the sum of everything about myself, too. Deep down, I'm the kind of person who likes to share, particularly in success. I'll be going into editing when I graduate, I'm sure of it, because if I can get people to that goal post too, then maybe that's worth more than recognition. Maybe that's worth more than even getting your own works finished. My life's work is beyond just my own fiction and nonfiction, though it's certainly a part of it. I want to be the published, the publisher, the reader and the readee. I want to be the whole process front to back for everyone involved. I want to be the kind of person who gets work done at night and then gets other people's work done during the day. I want a whole Kumbaya circle of people writing and reading and starting all over again. And as for recognition? Print my name on the back in Time's New Roman and send it to the press. That's all.