A (small) selection of my favorite things: •strawberries that still have a little bit of their stem •cool blue Gatorade •cinnamon flavor (specifically, square cinnamon lollipops from Hotlix in Pismo Beach, California) •watermelon (the kind that crunches) •fake watermelon flavor •watching ultra clear tape disappear when you put it on wrapping paper •Michael Jackson's Thriller dance •Jennifer Garner's version of Michael Jackson's Thriller dance in the movie 13 Going on 30 •sitting down in the shower •pants with big pockets •counting the seconds from thunder to lightning to see how far away it is •stealing a bit of freshly grated parmesan cheese just before someone puts it on their pasta •Tillamook cheddar cheese with Worker Bee whipped honey on top •this emoticon : ) •this emoticon : D •using emoticons instead of emojis •cutting off the excess of a freshly cooled crumb coat •anything with extra sauce (especially orange chicken) •flying at night (especially to or from a city) •rolling your car windows down and blasting music in the weather between spring and summer •putting on socks that are fresh out of the dryer •the click of a game card into the Nintendo Switch game card slot •the click of a game card out of the Nintendo Switch game card slot •giggling (the word and the action, especially by someone I love) •dimples •the way the world and its people look just before sunset •the first day of spring when you feel like you're photosynthesizing •napping in the grass in the middle of summer •water!!! •(unnecessary) exclamation points (I think they're always necessary!) •messing up something you've never done before •saying I love you •messing up something you've done a million times before •the moment just before you hear really, really good news •reading a list of someone's favorite things

After being taught that a woman's role was to be quiet and nothing else, I started shouting about injustice as soon as I could. Every issue I found, I shouted about it until my spit ran red. When I first got into the BLM movement, my voice became a whisper. I stopped shouting and started to listen, to actually hear, and finally understand the experiences of the people around me. For the first time in my life, I realized that they had better things to say, and needed to be the ones saying them. I had been shouting for so long that I started to drown out the people whose voices mattered most. This abuse, this systemic mistreatment of countless people I love, was happening on my turf. I was realizing that the people closest to me just needed me to listen. On the other hand, I'd never wanted to shout more in my life. It took a little time, but I got there. I realized that they weren't my stories, so I had to be a silent supporter. I realized that, often, silence is better than shouting. So, I do a lot less shouting now. Don't get me wrong, I can still be plenty loud when I need to be, but mostly, I listen. I listen to stories that I'm not always the protagonist in, because I'm not supposed to be. Stories that I'm an extra in, because that's where I'm needed. Stories that I am a part of. I'll keep working to be a part of them until the day I die of old age in a hospital bed, or in the middle of the street fighting for what I believe. So, although I still shout quite a bit, it's not over everyone else anymore, it's with them.

Growing up with two pastor grandpas, the golden rule was a constant refrain: “do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” Being born in a primarily white, politically unified community, I never had to grapple with the inherent inequality of issues like police brutality, feminism, or lgbt+ rights. After I moved and began to experience downtown Minneapolis, however, my reality changed. Witnessing inequality became a part of everyday life as I began to recognize racism on the street, dealt with catcalling, and questioned my sexuality. So, keeping with what my grandpas had taught me, I began to protest. I’ve marched, chanted, sat in, and walked out. I’ve helped inform students about how to protest responsibly and respectfully. I’ve spoken and written to representatives. I’ve spent hours dedicated to preparing and planning for protests, and countless more hours actually protesting. Of equal importance, I have done my best to support the oppressed, rather than oppose the proverbial “man”. I’ve volunteered for companies helping unhoused people and people of color be heard and get their needs met, donating bags of clothes and toiletries to homeless shelters in my hometown. I’ve helped clean streets and provide food to those affected by the George Floyd protests, bringing dozens of bags of groceries to those living closest to the riots. I can proudly say that I have been a support to my friends of color and others within the LGBT+ community throughout my time knowing them, and have been a quiet support when they’ve needed one. Because of me and people like me, we as a society are growing to be more inclusive, understanding, and just. This is the way that I always have, and hopefully always will, give back to my community.

At the very beginning of my sophomore year of high school, I participated in my first climate strike. Hundreds of students from all over came to the capital to tell our legislators how they felt. After signing up for a few newsletters, I started getting more and more involved in climate activism. Since then, I've organized, spoken at, advertised for, and attended more climate strikes than I can count. I have had the incredible opportunity to participate in protests such as the one against Line 3, the Minnesota pipeline planned to illegally cross through indigenous land. Through this, I got to meet some incredible native leaders, and be included in a culture entirely different than my own. This is the main reason why preserving nature, especially through combatting climate change, is something I'm incredibly passionate about; it affects everyone. Although it's sort of a cliché, we were only given one Earth, and the only way for humanity itself to continue to flourish is if we respect it. Whether or not you believe in it, the climate is absolutely changing, and our lives are changing with it. My specific platform in relation to the broader issue of combatting climate change is this: educating as many people as possible about the fallacious belief that individuals are to blame for and can single-handedly fix climate change. I have dedicated countless hours of time solely to conversations about the role of the consumer, and the fact that only 100 companies are responsible for 71% of fossil fuel emissions. In order to save our planet, it is an absolute necessity that we make massive, systemic changes that are oriented towards respecting and repairing our planet. I have and will absolutely continue to show my appreciation for nature by doing everything I can to save it.

I started getting involved in activism when I was about 13 years old, around the time that the MeToo era was coming to full fruition. My passion started in advocation for women's rights, but those marches gave me a taste for activism. I started going to protests whenever I could, which was quite a bit, given that, at the time, I lived six blocks away from the Minnesota state capital. After that, I was hooked. My young eyes were finally opened to the power of peaceful protesting. I started getting involved in more organized protests, and advocated for pretty much everything I could, from gun violence to BLM to climate justice. I participated in my first climate strike at the very beginning of my sophomore year of high school. Hundreds of high schoolers from all over the Twin Cities came to the capital to tell our legislators how they felt. After signing up for a few newsletters, I started getting more involved in climate activism. Since then, I've organized, spoken at, advertised for, and attended more climate strikes than I can count. I have had the incredible opportunity to participate in protests such as the one against Line 3, the Minnesota pipeline planned to illegally cross through indigenous land. Through this, I got to meet some incredible native leaders, and be included in a culture entirely different than my own. This is the main reason why climate change is one of the issues I'm most passionate about; it affects everyone. Whether or not you believe in it, the climate is absolutely changing, and our lives are changing with it. My specific platform in relation to the broader issue of combatting climate change is this: educating as many people as possible about the fallacious belief that individuals are to blame for and can single-handedly fix climate change. I have dedicated countless hours of time solely to conversations about the role of the consumer, and the fact that only 100 companies are responsible for 71% of fossil fuel emissions. I am incredibly passionate about this specific aspect of climate change activism because it incorporates a lot of other societal issues as well. Mainly, I want to erase the shame that individuals are given simply for going about their every day lives. In so many aspects of life, top companies and powerful individuals are seen pitting the less fortunate against each other so that they can go on wreaking havoc in our communities without consequence. I believe that, for this thought to be washed away in all aspects of life, it's best to start somewhere like climate change. This is because our climate is something that every single one of us experiences together, encouraging so much unity among activists. Climate strikes are some of the only protests I go to where participants are allowed inside and close to the capital, and are even able to speak with representatives. More and more people are starting to listen, and to actually care, to young activists fighting for the Earth. I am passionate about climate change because I think it has the power to unite an entire generation, giving them the strength to decide on a better tomorrow.

The youth theater in my extremely conservative community never taught me about creating art that manifested an inclusive and safe environment for everyone. However, as I grew up, I began to learn about the importance of these to every community, theatrical or not. I started to seek out information so that I might educate myself on how to become a more effective member of my community. I learned about consent, representation, and how to build theater that is constantly changing standards for what is considered "normal," redefining how we treat each other, and addressing the failures of our society. This, the changing of societal standards lacking compassion and inclusivity, are where my long-term goals lie. Living in a big theater community like the Twin Cities has helped me to define these goals, realizing that I want to become an artist who not only works in the current theater world, but constantly aims to innovate and create a safe and welcoming space for everyone, POC and queer artists in particular. Being a part of the Minneapolis theater community has exposed me to and helped me realize my passion for inclusive, envelope-pushing theater for social change. I want to be involved in creating the theater of tomorrow, working with or even running theater companies that are making theater by and for POC, queer communities, and other marginalized groups. I am aiming to expand and define my performance, management, and other skills so that I can be a versatile contributor to bettering our artistic community, hoping that my career work might bring along change and betterment to the world at large as well.

On April 18, 2019, I permanently ended my relationship with my father after spending almost 16 years enduring emotional abuse. While one might think this was the worst moment of my life, really it was an indicator of the hard work and time I spent bettering myself so that I might have the strength to cut off my abuser, once and for all. Four years before this, I was decidedly not in a similar mental space. To spare the gritty details, I was 11 years old living with undiagnosed depression, anxiety, and complex PTSD. I realized that, when I looked in the mirror, I saw someone I didn't recognize. Someone who lived for everyone else, and had stopped finding any joy in life, majorly juxtaposing the happy-go-lucky kid I had always seen growing up. So, I decided to make a change. I sought therapy, which taught me countless skills and lessons, including this: recovery is work. A lot of it. Over my life I have spent hours and hours in therapy, but they were well worth it. Almost three years after I started therapy, I had worked hard enough that I actually started living for myself again. Subsequently, I finally had the self-respect to say goodbye to the person who I used to think loved me immensely. I am and will always be incredibly proud of myself for my ability to make and carry through with this decision. Now, I am in the best place I have ever been. I truly love myself and all that I stand for, and, once again through commitment and hard work, have found joy in almost every aspect of life. Now, I value myself enough that I can unapologetically recognize and callout mistreatment and injustice towards of everyone, including, and especially, myself.

The youth theater in my extremely conservative community never taught me about creating art that manifested an inclusive and safe environment for everyone. However, as I grew up, I began to learn about the importance of these to every community, theatrical or not. I started to seek out information so that I might educate myself on how to become a more effective member of my community. I learned about consent, representation, and how to build theater that is constantly changing standards for what is considered "normal," redefining how we treat each other, and addressing the failures of our society. This, the changing of societal standards lacking compassion and inclusivity, are where my long-term goals lie. Living in a big theater community like the Twin Cities has helped me to define these goals, realizing that I want to become an artist who not only works in the current theater world, but constantly aims to innovate and create a safe and welcoming space for everyone, POC and queer artists in particular. Being a part of the Minneapolis theater community has exposed me to and helped me realize my passion for inclusive, envelope-pushing theater for social change. I want to be involved in creating the theater of tomorrow, working with or even running theater companies that are making theater by and for POC, queer communities, and other marginalized groups. I am aiming to expand and define my performance, management, and other skills so that I can be a versatile contributor to bettering our artistic community, hoping that my career work might bring along change and betterment to the world at large as well.

As a performer, maintaining my physical and mental health is the single most important factor of my career. I used to become physically sick from stress and over-exertion, especially if I had a major play or project coming up. Still, I'd force myself to perform long before recovering. COVID-19 forced me to take a break and recognize how detrimental these habits were to my long term health. Although I can't say I'm thankful for the pandemic, it did do one thing: make me recognize the importance of rest. Last semester, I began meditating and stretching thoroughly before each theater class or performance. The results have been astounding, improving my mental health immensely, and bringing my physical health with it. Before I began meditating, I was never the biggest believer in the interconnectedness of mental and physical health. However, taking moments of rest throughout the day, and a day of complete rest every few weeks or so, has changed me from someone who gets sick (as in horrible, can't move sick) at the drop of a hat, to someone who gets sick twice a year at most. I'm more productive, have a much better social life, and regularly sleep through the night, more than at any other point in my life. Now, I've realized that creating healthy habits now will allow my career to flourish. I have specific rituals, mentally and physically, that I follow to the letter depending on whether I'm directing, acting, singing and dancing, or anything else. I've finally fully committed to keeping my body and mind content so that I might be able to create meaningful work and do what I love for as long as possible, because I finally understand that any type of career in the arts is physically impossible without a healthy, balanced lifestyle.

As a performer, maintaining my physical and mental health is the single most important factor of my career. I used to become physically sick from stress and over-exertion, especially if I had a major play or project coming up. Still, I'd force myself to perform long before recovering. COVID-19 forced me to take a break and recognize how detrimental these habits were to my long term health. Although I can't say I'm thankful for the pandemic, it did do one thing: make me recognize the importance of rest. Last semester, I began meditating and stretching thoroughly before each theater class or performance. The results have been astounding, improving my mental health immensely, and bringing my physical health with it. Before I began meditating, I was never the biggest believer in the interconnectedness of mental and physical health. However, taking moments of rest throughout the day, and a day of complete rest every few weeks or so, has changed me from someone who gets sick (as in horrible, can't move sick) at the drop of a hat, to someone who gets sick twice a year at most. I'm more productive, have a much better social life, and regularly sleep through the night, more than at any other point in my life. Now, I've realized that creating healthy habits now will allow my career to flourish. I have specific rituals, mentally and physically, that I follow to the letter depending on whether I'm directing, acting, singing and dancing, or anything else. I've finally fully committed to keeping my body and mind content so that I might be able to create meaningful work and do what I love for as long as possible, because I finally understand that any type of career in the arts is physically impossible without a healthy, balanced lifestyle.

This year I was chosen to be a student ambassador. I’m designated to help both freshmen and other incoming students find their way around our school, schedule and organize their academic lives, and get them acclimated to high school life. This entails me spending a few hours during conferences, dedicating extra school days at the beginning and end of the school year, and completing any necessary work, like schedules, tours, student panels, and anything else the school needs. Student ambassadors are chosen by teachers for their character and merit; I’m responsible and my teachers know that I’m able to answer any questions that incoming students have, while also keeping track of and completing work I have to do for myself. Additionally, I’ve shown that I’m equipped to be a representative for our school, as I’m being trusted with the care and responsibility of younger students. Separately, me and a small group of other seniors have taken the initiative to begin an extracurricular program, called the Student Leadership Assembly. We put together things such as fundraisers, school activities, and all types of community building events to benefit our student body. We have created and managed committees within the “SLA” to focus on specific events such as fundraisers and spirit weeks, and have been in charge of communicating with faculty, these committees, and students about our needs, meetings, plans, events, and much more. This has allowed us to take problems such as scheduling, creating interest, and funding in stride. Through the SLA, I have been stretched in many ways. I’ve made cookies that will be sold for the entire school, begun morning announcements with my peers, and continue to work towards bigger events such as bake sales, art auctions, and more, all funded and created by our student body. By being chosen for student shadow days and tours, and becoming a member of the SLA, I’ve been forced to grow into confidence in my skills as a leader. I continually strive to make my peers feel welcomed, give them someone to respect and look up to, and to become a better leader.

I have dedicated most of my life to theater through performing, producing, stage managing, and so much else. I attend St. Paul Conservatory for Performing Artists, a high school that offers significant theater training, and I’ve taken years of voice and technical dance lessons. Most of my teachers are professional performers that work in and around the Twin Cities. I have also spent a great deal of time gaining experience in the professional theater world. In high school I have been treasurer to a Young Artist's Council, completed 3 internships, performed in 11 different shows, directed 2, and worked behind-the-scenes in 10. The youth theater in my extremely conservative community never taught me about creating art that manifested an inclusive and safe environment for everyone. However, as I grew up, I began to learn about the importance of these to every community, theatrical or not. I learned about consent, representation, and how to ensure theater is constantly changing standards for what is considered "normal," redefining how we treat each other, and addressing the failures of our society. Living in a big theater community like the Twin Cities has helped me to define my goals of becoming an artist who not only works in the current theater world, but is constantly aiming to innovate and create a safe and welcoming space for everyone, POC and queer artists in particular. I want to be involved in creating the theater of tomorrow, working with or even running theater companies that are making theater by and for POC, queer communities, and other marginalized groups. I am aiming to expand and define my performance, management, and other skills so that I can be a versatile contributor to bettering our artistic community.

I have dedicated most of my life to theater through performing, producing, stage managing, and so much else. I attend St. Paul Conservatory for Performing Artists, a high school that offers significant theater training, and I’ve taken years of voice and technical dance lessons. Most of my teachers are professional performers that work in and around the Twin Cities. I have also spent a great deal of time gaining experience in the professional theater world. In high school I have been treasurer to a Young Artist's Council, completed 3 internships, performed in 11 different shows, directed 2, and worked behind-the-scenes in 10. The youth theater in my extremely conservative community never taught me about creating art that manifested an inclusive and safe environment for everyone. However, as I grew up, I began to learn about the importance of these to every community, theatrical or not. I learned about consent, representation, and how to ensure theater is constantly changing standards for what is considered "normal," redefining how we treat each other, and addressing the failures of our society. Living in a big theater community like the Twin Cities has helped me to define my goals of becoming an artist who not only works in the current theater world, but is constantly aiming to innovate and create a safe and welcoming space for everyone, POC and queer artists in particular. I want to be involved in creating the theater of tomorrow, working with or even running theater companies that are making theater by and for POC, queer communities, and other marginalized groups. I am aiming to expand and define my performance, management, and other skills so that I can be a versatile contributor to bettering our artistic community.

I have dedicated most of my life to theater through performing, producing, stage managing, and so much else. I attend St. Paul Conservatory for Performing Artists, a high school that offers significant theater training, and I’ve taken years of voice and technical dance lessons. Most of my teachers are professional performers that work in and around the Twin Cities. I have also spent a great deal of time gaining experience in the professional theater world. In high school I have been treasurer to a Young Artist's Council, completed 3 internships, performed in 11 different shows, directed 2, and worked behind-the-scenes in 10. The youth theater in my extremely conservative community never taught me about creating art that manifested an inclusive and safe environment for everyone. However, as I grew up, I began to learn about the importance of these to every community, theatrical or not. I learned about consent, representation, and how to ensure theater is constantly changing standards for what is considered "normal," redefining how we treat each other, and addressing the failures of our society. Living in a big theater community like the Twin Cities has helped me to define my goals of becoming an artist who not only works in the current theater world, but is constantly aiming to innovate and create a safe and welcoming space for everyone, POC and queer artists in particular. I want to be involved in creating the theater of tomorrow, working with or even running theater companies that are making theater by and for POC, queer communities, and other marginalized groups. I am aiming to expand and define my performance, management, and other skills so that I can be a versatile contributor to bettering our artistic community.

I have dedicated most of my life to theater through performing, producing, stage managing, and so much else. I attend St. Paul Conservatory for Performing Artists, a high school that offers significant theater training, and I’ve taken years of voice and technical dance lessons. Most of my teachers are professional performers that work in and around the Twin Cities. I have also spent a great deal of time gaining experience in the professional theater world. In high school I have been treasurer to a Young Artist's Council, completed 3 internships, performed in 11 different shows, directed 2, and worked behind-the-scenes in 10. The youth theater in my extremely conservative community never taught me about creating art that manifested an inclusive and safe environment for everyone. However, as I grew up, I began to learn about the importance of these to every community, theatrical or not. I learned about consent, representation, and how to ensure theater is constantly changing standards for what is considered "normal," redefining how we treat each other, and addressing the failures of our society. Living in a big theater community like the Twin Cities has helped me to define my goals of becoming an artist who not only works in the current theater world, but is constantly aiming to innovate and create a safe and welcoming space for everyone, POC and queer artists in particular. I want to be involved in creating the theater of tomorrow, working with or even running theater companies that are making theater by and for POC, queer communities, and other marginalized groups. I am aiming to expand and define my performance, management, and other skills so that I can be a versatile contributor to bettering our artistic community.

I have dedicated most of my life to theater through performing, producing, stage managing, and so much else. I attend St. Paul Conservatory for Performing Artists, a high school that offers significant theater training, and I’ve taken years of voice and technical dance lessons. Most of my teachers are professional performers that work in and around the Twin Cities. I have also spent a great deal of time gaining experience in the professional theater world. In high school I have been treasurer to a Young Artist's Council, completed 3 internships, performed in 11 different shows, directed 2, and worked behind-the-scenes in 10. The youth theater in my extremely conservative community never taught me about creating art that manifested an inclusive and safe environment for everyone. However, as I grew up, I began to learn about the importance of these to every community, theatrical or not. I learned about consent, representation, and how to ensure theater is constantly changing standards for what is considered "normal," redefining how we treat each other, and addressing the failures of our society. Living in a big theater community like the Twin Cities has helped me to define my goals of becoming an artist who not only works in the current theater world, but is constantly aiming to innovate and create a safe and welcoming space for everyone, POC and queer artists in particular. I want to be involved in creating the theater of tomorrow, working with or even running theater companies that are making theater by and for POC, queer communities, and other marginalized groups. I am aiming to expand and define my performance, management, and other skills so that I can be a versatile contributor to bettering our artistic community.

I have dedicated most of my life to theater through performing, producing, stage managing, and so much else. I attend St. Paul Conservatory for Performing Artists, a high school that offers significant theater training, and I’ve taken years of voice and technical dance lessons. Most of my teachers are professional performers that work in and around the Twin Cities. I have also spent a great deal of time gaining experience in the professional theater world. In high school I have been treasurer to a Young Artist's Council, completed 3 internships, performed in 11 different shows, directed 2, and worked behind-the-scenes in 10. The youth theater in my extremely conservative community never taught me about creating art that manifested an inclusive and safe environment for everyone. However, as I grew up, I began to learn about the importance of these to every community, theatrical or not. I learned about consent, representation, and how to ensure theater is constantly changing standards for what is considered "normal," redefining how we treat each other, and addressing the failures of our society. Living in a big theater community like the Twin Cities has helped me to define my goals of becoming an artist who not only works in the current theater world, but is constantly aiming to innovate and create a safe and welcoming space for everyone, POC and queer artists in particular. I want to be involved in creating the theater of tomorrow, working with or even running theater companies that are making theater by and for POC, queer communities, and other marginalized groups. I am aiming to expand and define my performance, management, and other skills so that I can be a versatile contributor to bettering our artistic community.

Approximately nine months before I was born, my parents adopted a dog. My brother affectionately named the beagle puppy "Midgel," after his favorite character in 3-2-1 Penguins, our favorite show growing up. Approximately two weeks after Midgel was adopted, my mom found out she was pregnant. While, at first, my parents were incredibly worried about having a puppy with a newborn baby in the house, I am incredibly thankful that I got the chance to grow up with a dog. Not just any dog, either. Midgel. When I was born, Midgel was just a bit taller than me. His snout was a caramel brown with little white spots near his nose, and his eyes were innocent and incredibly kind. By the time I started walking when I was around nine months old, Midgel hadn't quite yet grown into his ears. So, whenever he would come over to me, I would stand by pulling myself up by his floppy, two-tone ears. Now, I know what most adoptive dog owners are thinking right now: danger. Surely, there is no possibility that a puppy of maybe 18 months would be calm while a small child was tugging that hard on his ears. Well, he was. My entire childhood, Midgel was calm, even when nothing else was. Midgel was my best friend. Growing up with much older siblings and two parents working full-time can get lonely; every time a hint of loneliness crossed my mind, he was there. He would protect me from the raccoons and squirrels in our backyard, and pose for me when I felt like an impromptu photo shoot. Later in life, around the time in everyone's life when their rose colored glasses start to crack, Midgel was there for me. He would quietly sit with me when there was distress in my home, and was always there to calm me down as I dealt with issues like emotional abuse and PTSD. For my entire childhood, he slept in my room every night, right next to my bed as to make sure that I knew he was there for me. When I was about thirteen years old, Midgel passed away from liver failure. I was out of state when it happened, and cried harder than I'd ever cried before at the thought of my oldest friend going to sleep in a room full of strangers. The thought that I wasn't there for the one 'person' who had always, always been there for me made my breath stall in my lungs. I wondered how he could ever, ever forgive me for something like that. Then, I remembered something I'd read online a couple of years earlier: a dog knows when you feel remorseful. They hear it. They can hear when we're sad, happy, or anything else because they know us and care about us enough to listen. All of those times that I'd cried in my bed, laughed at a joke, he knew. He knew, and continuously chose to be right next to me through all of it. So, somewhere inside of me I knew that, although I wasn't able to be with him when it happened, Midgel could feel me thinking of him. Midgel was my first and most important teacher. He taught me about support, understanding, forgiveness, and helped me get through the lowest points of my life. Most importantly, he taught me what love is. He was the first in my life to show me what complete, unfailing, unconditional love was. In all the years that I knew him, he never once snapped at me, hurt me, or even so much as barked at me. Even when I would feed him treats, he would take up to a minute figuring out how to get it out of my hand without hurting me. Although I will never stop feeling his absence at the end of my bed, I will forever remember everything he taught me. He was my first dog. He was my only dog. But, more than anything, he is my oldest, greatest friend.

Approximately nine months before I was born, my parents adopted a dog. My brother affectionately named the beagle puppy "Midgel," after his favorite character in 3-2-1 Penguins, our favorite show growing up. Approximately two weeks after Midgel was adopted, my mom found out she was pregnant. While, at first, my parents were incredibly worried about having a puppy with a newborn baby in the house, I am incredibly thankful that I got the chance to grow up with a dog. Not just any dog, either. Midgel. When I was born, Midgel was just a bit taller than me. His snout was a caramel brown with little white spots near his nose, and his eyes were innocent and incredibly kind. By the time I started walking when I was around nine months old, Midgel hadn't quite yet grown into his ears. So, whenever he would come over to me, I would stand by pulling myself up by his floppy, two-tone ears. Now, I know what most adoptive dog owners are thinking right now: danger. Surely, there is no possibility that a puppy of maybe 18 months would be calm while a small child was tugging that hard on his ears. Well, he was. My entire childhood, Midgel was calm, even when nothing else was. Midgel was my best friend. Growing up with much older siblings and two parents working full-time can get lonely; every time a hint of loneliness crossed my mind, he was there. He would protect me from the raccoons and squirrels in our backyard, and pose for me when I felt like an impromptu photo shoot. Later in life, around the time in everyone's life when their rose colored glasses start to crack, Midgel was there for me. He would quietly sit with me when there was distress in my home, and was always there to calm me down as I dealt with issues like emotional abuse and PTSD. For my entire childhood, he slept in my room every night, right next to my bed as to make sure that I knew he was there for me. When I was about thirteen years old, Midgel passed away from liver failure. I was out of state when it happened, and cried harder than I'd ever cried before at the thought of my oldest friend going to sleep in a room full of strangers. The thought that I wasn't there for the one 'person' who had always, always been there for me made my breath stall in my lungs. I wondered how he could ever, ever forgive me for something like that. Then, I remembered something I'd read online a couple of years earlier: a dog knows when you feel remorseful. They hear it. They can hear when we're sad, happy, or anything else because they know us and care about us enough to listen. All of those times that I'd cried in my bed, laughed at a joke, he knew. He knew, and continuously chose to be right next to me through all of it. So, somewhere inside of me I knew that, although I wasn't able to be with him when it happened, Midgel could feel me thinking of him. Midgel was my first and most important teacher. He taught me about support, understanding, forgiveness, and helped me get through the lowest points of my life. Most importantly, he taught me what love is. He was the first in my life to show me what complete, unfailing, unconditional love was. In all the years that I knew him, he never once snapped at me, hurt me, or even so much as barked at me. Even when I would feed him treats, he would take up to a minute figuring out how to get it out of my hand without hurting me. Although I will never stop feeling his absence at the end of my bed, I will forever remember everything he taught me. He was my first dog. He was my only dog. But, more than anything, he is my oldest, greatest friend.

As a performer, maintaining my physical and mental health is the single most important factor of my career. In my first few years of performance, I would unintentionally make myself physically sick from stress and over exertion. If I had a major play or project coming up, rest assured I would be on the bathroom floor no more than two days before opening night, still forcing myself to go on stage long before my body was ready. Needless to say, this habit didn't last long. COVID-19 forced me to take a break and recognize how detrimental my habits were to my long term health. Although I can't say I'm thankful for the pandemic, it did do one thing; it made me recognize the importance of rest. I've always done my best to create healthy eating and exercise habits by starting to cook for myself at the age of 13 and buying myself gear to box (my preferred method of working out) from home, I never truly recognized how valuable moments of peace can be. This last semester, I began meditating and stretching my body thoroughly before each theater class, rehearsal, or performance. Frankly, the results have been astounding. Not to mention the fact that I can do the splits for the first time since I was about eight years old, my mental health has immensely improved, bringing my physical health with it. Before I began meditation, I was never the biggest believer in the interconnectedness of mental and physical health. However, over the last couple of years, I have been less sick than at any other point in my life. Taking moments of rest throughout the day, and a day of complete rest every couple of weeks or so, has changed me from someone who gets sick (as in horrible, can't move sick) at the drop of a hat, to someone who gets sick twice a year at most. Additionally, I'm more productive, have a much better social life, and regularly sleep through the night, more than at any other point in my life. Now, I do everything I can to portray the picture of a healthy performer. I've realized that creating healthy habits now will propel me into my future, allowing my career to flourish rather than burning out before I can say the word "Macbeth." I have specific rituals, mentally and physically, that I follow to the letter depending on whether I'm directing, acting, singing and dancing, or anything else. I've finally fully committed to keeping my body and mind content so that I might be able to create meaningful work and do what I love for as long as possible, because I finally understand that any type of career in the arts is physically impossible without a healthy, balanced lifestyle.