The performance of "The Man" at the Eras Tour is the one I find most inspiring, especially since seeing it in person a few years ago. At the time, I knew the song addressed gender double standards, but seeing it live made the message come to life for me. It was no longer about Taylor's life, but it was about my own as well. It became something I could apply to my own life, goals, and understanding of leadership. What stood out to me most was Taylor's confidence when she owned the stage. She wasn't asking for approval or trying to soften the message. She was direct and fully aware of her influence. That performance pushed me to realize that leadership isn't about being the loudest person in the room, but it's about having the confidence to stick to your values, even when they go against expectations. Watching her perform "The Man" showed me that strong leadership could be both powerful and intentional. Not long after that, I became the captain of my cheer team, a role that challenged me in ways I had never anticipated. Leading a team required more than skill or experience; it required accountability, communication, and emotional maturity. There were moments when I felt pressure to soften my voice to avoid being seen as demanding or bossy. Thinking back to "The Man," I was reminded that leadership sometimes means being firm, even when it's uncomfortable. I learned that setting expectations and leading by example weren't signs of being harsh; they were signs of caring about my team's success. The performance also resonated with me as the oldest sibling to two younger brothers. Being the oldest has taught me responsibility from a young age. I'm looked to as the role model, whether I realize it or not. Watching Taylor use her platform with intention made me more aware of how leadership shows up in everyday life. It reminded me that leadership isn't tied to titles; it's reflected in patience, consistency, and the way you treat others, even when no one is watching. Looking back, that performance was more than just a memorable concert experience. It shaped how I approach leadership and responsibility in my daily life. It inspired me to embrace my voice, take initiative, and lead authentically. That moment continues to guide the leader I am becoming and the example I hope to set for others.

Silence might be remembered. It was not a quiet peace, but a void, where thoughts echoed but never escaped. Then came the first whispered word, and with it, the first breath of a new life. Living with selective mutism taught me what life feels like without a voice, and it is why I am deeply grateful for the one I have now. Gratefulness, to me, is not just about appreciating opportunities. Gratefulness is about remembering what it means to go without, and valuing every word, every connection, and every moment of being heard. For nearly ten years, I lived in silence. Selective mutism separated me from my classmates and friends, and even the smallest acts of speaking, like answering a question in class, saying “hello,” or laughing with people, felt impossible. My silence often left me feeling misunderstood and like I had nothing to say. In reality, my mind was overflowing with thoughts that I could not let out. All those years without a voice gave me a perspective that only a few people experience. I learned what it feels like to long for something as simple as a conversation. I saw how easy it was for others to overlook quiet people, and I have experienced how painful it is to feel unseen. Most of all, I realized how bad I craved connection and how powerful just one spoken word could be. With the support of my family, but mainly my own determination, I began to push myself past my anxiety. Every small victory, like a whisper or a conversation with a friend, was monumental to me. Slowly but surely, my voice returned, and it came with a new sense of freedom. I embraced every single opportunity to speak, not just because I could, but because I wanted to honor the gift God gave me that I had once been without. Selective mutism gave me the greatest lesson of my life. It taught me that gratefulness is born from absence. Since I know what it feels like to live without a voice, I treasure every chance I have to use mine. I am grateful for words, the ability to express myself, the courage it took me to get here, and for the connections I now build every single day. Gratefulness is more than just being thankful, it is choosing to value what others may take for granted. For me, it will always mean honoring the voice I fought so hard to find.