Who knew that my future path ahead would literally hit me square in the face just between my eyes? More specifically, in the form of a waterlogged, neon green basketball. I still remember Bryson’s nervous smile peeking around the poolside net, awaiting my reaction to his crazy misfire. Not going to lie, for a 24-year-old man with low tone related to down syndrome, he had tons of power behind that throw. His laugh that followed moments later instantly diffused my initial shock. I didn’t know what to expect when I was paired with Bryson during my volunteer work at Adventurers Academy through the Young Men’s Service League. While he was seven years my senior, hanging out with him felt in many ways like I was spending the afternoon with my 9-year-old little sister and her friends. Adventurers Academy has provided a space for adults like Bryson to feel valued, supported and provided opportunities to thrive. Who knew it would do the same for me? Working through an activity or playing a game, I often noticed his hesitation every time instructions were given. He wanted to participate. His curiosity and effort were obvious, but the words meant to guide him often created confusion instead. At first, I didn’t know how to help. Then I slowed down, rephrased directions, and focused on listening rather than correcting. Slowly, his shoulders relaxed, and his confidence grew. By the end of the sessions, he was always laughing, engaged, and proud of what he had accomplished. My time spent with Bryson has changed my perspective on the world around me. It forced me to confront a hard truth that exclusion is often unintentional. Systems are not always built to be unkind, but they are frequently built without considering everyone who must navigate them. Watching someone struggle, regardless of ability, because of how information was presented has changed the way I see access and fairness. This realization began to shape my academic interests and ultimately guided the focus of my capstone project. During my summer internship at the Travis County Civil Courts, I encountered a much larger version of the same problem. I observed individuals who were overwhelmed by legal terminology, complex forms, and rigid procedures. Many were self-represented and already under immense stress. It became clear to me that the court system, while designed to uphold justice, can feel inaccessible and intimidating to those who need it most. I often thought back to my experience at Adventurers Academy. Just as a small change in communication allowed my volunteer partner to fully participate, I saw how similar adjustments of clearer language, accessible resources, and supportive processes could make the courts more equitable. Friends like Bryson are the “why” beyond my passion to focus on accessibility in the legal system and the thoughtful reforms that can reduce barriers for individuals with disabilities and other marginalized populations. These experiences have solidified my desire to pursue a career in law. I want to become an attorney who not only understands the law, but who also recognizes how policies and systems impact real people. My goal is to advocate for changes that make justice more understandable, approachable, and fair for those who have historically been excluded. What began as a simple volunteer experience became a defining moment in my path toward advocacy. It taught me that equity is not achieved by treating everyone the same, but by ensuring everyone has what they need to succeed. This belief now guides my education, my service, and my commitment to building more inclusive communities.

I am extremely passionate about both football and wrestling. I started playing both the sports as an 11-year-old and quickly found that my passion was in working as a team, building endurance through the hard days and focusing on the goal ahead. This short answer response feels a little heavy to answer right now, as I am quite honestly still in the thick of it all. Two weeks ago, as a starting defensive end on my varsity football team, I blew out my knee with a torn ACL, MCL, Meniscus, and deep bone contusions in both my femur and tibia. To quote the Orthopedic PA, “I done it good.” Physically, emotionally, mentally... I'm still not "okay". Allowing the vulnerability of raw grief has created a space to not hide from this loss. Every day feels a little less heavy, and honestly, that measurable change holds the promise that I will get through this. The irony is not lost on me that my role as an athlete is calling me to pivot because of a joint that can literally no longer pivot. The funny thing about sports injuries is that while your mobility, endurance, and pain tolerance are completely altered, the academic rigor of your coursework remains unchanged. Dang. Teachers and coaches have been extremely flexible with my weekly appointments for rehab, MRIs, and surgical consultations, in addition to my extra time needed to ambulate to classes. Sure wish I had selected classes that were at least grouped on the same side or level of the high school. I’m definitely getting a daily workout. I am hopeful that my ability to maintain high grades remains unchanged in the weeks ahead following surgery and recovery. I am attempting to be as proactive as possible in connecting with my teachers to prepare for the missed classes and feel confident in my ability to “bounce back” - all heart, with minimal actual bouncing, that is. The only direction is up. My role as a dual athlete and student leader for this senior year is markedly changed. As hard has it has been to release the expectation of what I felt my senior year would like in sports, I feel slightly motivated by the forced circumstances to show up for my team in a new way. My leadership will not be reflected this sports season by holding the largest squat record for our school (which I currently hold) or my rigorous workout schedule. It will be reflected instead through my presence in encouraging other athletes to give all they have, my abilities to mentor to peers with their studies and vocally support their endeavors in the sport. My role as a leader is far from over and I am humbled by this opportunity to grow these new skills.

This past summer, I walked through the doors of the Travis County Civil Courts not entirely sure what to expect. I’d always been curious about how the legal system works, not just from the headlines, but from the inside, where real people’s lives intersect with institutions. What I didn’t anticipate was how deeply this internship would shape the way I see my community, and how it would turn my curiosity into a commitment to better understand and want to improve the systems. From my first day observing hearings, I was captivated by the rhythm of the courtroom. I would soak up each interaction, the way judges guided proceedings, attorneys crafted arguments, and everyday citizens stepped up to represent themselves. But beyond the formal language and legal procedures, I began to notice the way some people moved through the system with ease, while others faced invisible barriers. Individuals with limited English often relied on rushed translations. People with disabilities sometimes struggled to navigate the courthouse or understand the accommodations available to them. I found myself scribbling questions in my notebook between hearings: How does someone request an interpreter? What happens if they don’t know how? Why aren’t the signs clearer? These questions eventually led to my capstone project of exploring accessibility in the courts for people with disabilities and language barriers. I observed interpreters, interviewed courthouse staff, and studied the resources/legal proceedings that were supposed to make the courts more accessible. While accommodations technically existed, they weren’t always easy to find or use. For someone unfamiliar with legal systems, these gaps could make the difference between being heard and being overlooked. I didn’t want to stop noticing the problem. I wanted to learn more and contribute something meaningful. So I gathered what I’d learned and developed a set of practical recommendations such as clearer multilingual signage throughout the courthouse, a more streamlined interpreter request process, and greater training for staff on disability accommodations. Presenting these ideas to court administrators was both nerve-wracking and thrilling. I wasn’t a lawyer or policymaker, just a curious high school student. Seeing my ideas taken seriously made me realize that intellectual engagement isn’t just about absorbing information but more so redistributing it into my community. Beyond my project, I spent hours talking with clerks, bailiffs, and interns, piecing together how each role fits into the larger court ecosystem. It isn’t lost on me that the roles of the justice system in our country today are the final gateway to protecting the rights of the most vulnerable populations. The integrity of the courts is under more pressure to uphold what is just and fair than ever before. The more I learned, the more I wanted to understand. I felt connected to the people these systems are meant to serve. This internship showed me that curiosity can be a catalyst for change. It taught me that asking “why” and “how” isn’t just about finding answers for myself but for uncovering ways to support those who are often overlooked. My summer at the Travis County Civil Courts didn’t just satisfy my intellectual curiosity; it sparked a deeper passion for learning about my community and advocating for those who need it most.