When I first began exploring career paths, nursing wasn't even on my radar. My ambitions were a rotating door of creative and technical interests: I spent months researching the logic of video game design, months more dreaming of the spotlight on Broadway, and an entire year obsessed with the structural elegance of architecture. Looking back, I enjoyed the idea of these fields, but as I moved deeper into the preliminary coursework for each, they felt slightly hollow. They lacked a sense of direct, human-centered purpose that I couldn’t quite name at the time. I was looking for a way to build something meaningful, but I hadn't yet found the right medium. It wasn't until a writing assignment in my first early college English course that my perspective finally shifted, and I realized why none of those fields felt quite right, and found a field that did. The prompt was academic and seemingly dry: analyze a "discourse community" and explain how its members communicate to achieve a common goal. I decided to focus on healthcare communications—mostly because my mother is a registered nurse, and I knew she’d be an easy, accessible primary source to interview for my paper. I went into that conversation expecting to hear about medical jargon, charting systems, and the technicalities of shift handoffs. Instead, I received a masterclass in empathy. That interview changed everything. As we sat down to discuss how communication in her field has evolved, my mother didn’t talk about much software or administrative efficiency. Instead, she spoke passionately about the nurse’s role as an advocate. She described the weight of standing up to other professionals or navigating tense moments with family members to honor a patient’s specific wishes. She spoke of the courage it takes to represent those who cannot speak for themselves, even taking that advocacy beyond the hospital walls to the state Capitol to push for better patient care standards. She looked at me and said, "Sometimes healthcare professionals think we treat diseases, but really, we should be treating people." That single insight redefined my understanding of the the healthcare field. I realized that the "hollow" feeling I had experienced in other fields came from a lack of high-stakes connection. In video games, the interaction is simulated; in architecture, it is structural. But in nursing, the "structure" you are building is a support system for a human life in crisis. To me, human touch means that healthcare shouldn't be dictated solely by algorithms, rigid protocols, or the cold data on a monitor. True healing happens when a professional takes the time for a genuine, human-to-human conversation to understand a patient’s specific concerns, cultural background, and personal goals. This realization bridged the gap between my past interests and my future. I saw that nursing requires the creative problem-solving of a designer, the presence and communication of a performer, and the structural integrity of an architect—all applied to the most important "project" there is: the human person. I realized then that I want to be part of that mission. I am no longer looking for a career that just fills my time; I am looking for one that demands my heart and my voice. I want to be a nurse who makes a difference not just through clinical excellence, but by listening to, and fiercely fighting for, the people behind the charts. This scholarship will help me to be able to afford the schooling necessary for me to achieve these goals.

When I first began exploring career paths, nursing wasn't even on my radar. My ambitions were a rotating door of creative and technical interests: I spent months researching the logic of video game design, months more dreaming of the spotlight on Broadway, and an entire year obsessed with the structural elegance of architecture. Looking back, I enjoyed the idea of these fields, but as I moved deeper into the preliminary coursework for each, they felt slightly hollow. They lacked a sense of direct, human-centered purpose that I couldn’t quite name at the time. I was looking for a way to build something meaningful, but I hadn't yet found the right medium. It wasn't until a writing assignment in my first early college English course that my perspective finally shifted, and I realized why none of those fields felt quite right, and found a field that did. The prompt was academic and seemingly dry: analyze a "discourse community" and explain how its members communicate to achieve a common goal. I decided to focus on healthcare communications— mostly because my mother is a registered nurse, and I knew she’d be an easy, accessible primary source to interview for my paper. I went into that conversation expecting to hear about medical jargon, charting systems, and the technicalities of shift handoffs. Instead, I received a masterclass in empathy. That interview changed everything. As we sat down to discuss how communication in her field has evolved, my mother didn’t talk about much software or administrative efficiency. Instead, she spoke passionately about the nurse’s role as an advocate. She described the weight of standing up to other professionals or navigating tense moments with family members to honor a patient’s specific wishes. She spoke of the courage it takes to represent those who cannot speak for themselves, even taking that advocacy beyond the hospital walls to the state Capitol to push for better patient care standards. She looked at me and said, "Sometimes healthcare professionals think we treat diseases, but really, we should be treating people." That single insight redefined my understanding of the the healthcare field. I realized that the "hollow" feeling I had experienced in other fields came from a lack of high-stakes connection. In video games, the interaction is simulated; in architecture, it is structural. But in nursing, the "structure" you are building is a support system for a human life in crisis. To me, human touch means that healthcare shouldn't be dictated solely by algorithms, rigid protocols, or the cold data on a monitor. True healing happens when a professional takes the time for a genuine, human-to-human conversation to understand a patient’s specific concerns, cultural background, and personal goals. This realization bridged the gap between my past interests and my future. I saw that nursing requires the creative problem-solving of a designer, the presence and communication of a performer, and the structural integrity of an architect—all applied to the most important "project" there is: the human person. I realized then that I want to be part of that mission. I am no longer looking for a career that just fills my time; I am looking for one that demands my heart and my voice. I want to be a nurse who makes a difference not just through clinical excellence, but by listening to, and fiercely fighting for, the people behind the charts. This scholarship will help me to be able to afford the schooling necessary for me to achieve these goals.

When I first began exploring career paths, nursing wasn't even on my radar. My ambitions were a rotating door of creative and technical interests: I spent months researching the logic of video game design, months more dreaming of the spotlight on Broadway, and an entire year obsessed with the structural elegance of architecture. Looking back, I enjoyed the idea of these fields, but as I moved deeper into the preliminary coursework for each, they felt slightly hollow. They lacked a sense of direct, human-centered purpose that I couldn’t quite name at the time. I was looking for a way to build something meaningful, but I hadn't yet found the right medium. It wasn't until a writing assignment in my first early college English course that my perspective finally shifted, and I realized why none of those fields felt quite right, and found a field that did. The prompt was academic and seemingly dry: analyze a "discourse community" and explain how its members communicate to achieve a common goal. I decided to focus on healthcare communications—mostly because my mother is a registered nurse, and I knew she’d be an easy, accessible primary source to interview for my paper. I went into that conversation expecting to hear about medical jargon, charting systems, and the technicalities of shift handoffs. Instead, I received a masterclass in empathy. That interview changed everything. As we sat down to discuss how communication in her field has evolved, my mother didn’t talk about much software or administrative efficiency. Instead, she spoke passionately about the nurse’s role as an advocate. She described the weight of standing up to other professionals or navigating tense moments with family members to honor a patient’s specific wishes. She spoke of the courage it takes to represent those who cannot speak for themselves, even taking that advocacy beyond the hospital walls to the state Capitol to push for better patient care standards. She looked at me and said, "Sometimes healthcare professionals think we treat diseases, but really, we should be treating people." That single insight redefined my understanding of the the healthcare field. I realized that the "hollow" feeling I had experienced in other fields came from a lack of high-stakes connection. In video games, the interaction is simulated; in architecture, it is structural. But in nursing, the "structure" you are building is a support system for a human life in crisis. To me, human touch means that healthcare shouldn't be dictated solely by algorithms, rigid protocols, or the cold data on a monitor. True healing happens when a professional takes the time for a genuine, human-to-human conversation to understand a patient’s specific concerns, cultural background, and personal goals. This realization bridged the gap between my past interests and my future. I saw that nursing requires the creative problem-solving of a designer, the presence and communication of a performer, and the structural integrity of an architect—all applied to the most important "project" there is: the human person. I realized then that I want to be part of that mission. I am no longer looking for a career that just fills my time; I am looking for one that demands my heart and my voice. I want to be a nurse who makes a difference not just through clinical excellence, but by listening to, and fiercely fighting for, the people behind the charts.

When I first began exploring career paths, nursing wasn't even on my radar. My ambitions were a rotating door of creative and technical interests: I spent months researching the logic of video game design, months more dreaming of the spotlight on Broadway, and an entire year obsessed with the structural elegance of architecture. Looking back, I enjoyed the idea of these fields, but as I moved deeper into the preliminary coursework for each, they felt slightly hollow. They lacked a sense of direct, human-centered purpose that I couldn’t quite name at the time. I was looking for a way to build something meaningful, but I hadn't yet found the right medium. It wasn't until a writing assignment in my first early college English course that my perspective finally shifted, and I realized why none of those fields felt quite right, and found a field that did. The prompt was academic and seemingly dry: analyze a "discourse community" and explain how its members communicate to achieve a common goal. I decided to focus on healthcare communications—mostly because my mother is a registered nurse, and I knew she’d be an easy, accessible primary source to interview for my paper. I went into that conversation expecting to hear about medical jargon, charting systems, and the technicalities of shift handoffs. Instead, I received a masterclass in empathy. That interview changed everything. As we sat down to discuss how communication in her field has evolved, my mother didn’t talk about much software or administrative efficiency. Instead, she spoke passionately about the nurse’s role as an advocate. She described the weight of standing up to other professionals or navigating tense moments with family members to honor a patient’s specific wishes. She spoke of the courage it takes to represent those who cannot speak for themselves, even taking that advocacy beyond the hospital walls to the state Capitol to push for better patient care standards. She looked at me and said, "Sometimes healthcare professionals think we treat diseases, but really, we should be treating people." That single insight redefined my understanding of the the healthcare field. I realized that the "hollow" feeling I had experienced in other fields came from a lack of high-stakes connection. In video games, the interaction is simulated; in architecture, it is structural. But in nursing, the "structure" you are building is a support system for a human life in crisis. To me, human touch means that healthcare shouldn't be dictated solely by algorithms, rigid protocols, or the cold data on a monitor. True healing happens when a professional takes the time for a genuine, human-to-human conversation to understand a patient’s specific concerns, cultural background, and personal goals. This realization bridged the gap between my past interests and my future. I saw that nursing requires the creative problem-solving of a designer, the presence and communication of a performer, and the structural integrity of an architect—all applied to the most important "project" there is: the human person. I realized then that I want to be part of that mission. I am no longer looking for a career that just fills my time; I am looking for one that demands my heart and my voice. I want to be a nurse who makes a difference not just through clinical excellence, but by listening to, and fiercely fighting for, the people behind the charts.

When I first began exploring career paths, nursing wasn't even on my radar. My ambitions were a rotating door of creative and technical interests: I spent months researching the logic of video game design, months more dreaming of the spotlight on Broadway, and an entire year obsessed with the structural elegance of architecture. Looking back, I enjoyed the idea of these fields, but as I moved deeper into the preliminary coursework for each, they felt slightly hollow. They lacked a sense of direct, human-centered purpose that I couldn’t quite name at the time. I was looking for a way to build something meaningful, but I hadn't yet found the right medium. It wasn't until a writing assignment in my first early college English course that my perspective finally shifted, and I realized why none of those fields felt quite right, and found a field that did. The prompt was academic and seemingly dry: analyze a "discourse community" and explain how its members communicate to achieve a common goal. I decided to focus on healthcare communications—mostly because my mother is a registered nurse, and I knew she’d be an easy, accessible primary source to interview for my paper. I went into that conversation expecting to hear about medical jargon, charting systems, and the technicalities of shift handoffs. Instead, I received a masterclass in empathy. That interview changed everything. As we sat down to discuss how communication in her field has evolved, my mother didn’t talk about much software or administrative efficiency. Instead, she spoke passionately about the nurse’s role as an advocate. She described the weight of standing up to other professionals or navigating tense moments with family members to honor a patient’s specific wishes. She spoke of the courage it takes to represent those who cannot speak for themselves, even taking that advocacy beyond the hospital walls to the state Capitol to push for better patient care standards. She looked at me and said, "Sometimes healthcare professionals think we treat diseases, but really, we should be treating people." That single insight redefined my understanding of the the healthcare field. I realized that the "hollow" feeling I had experienced in other fields came from a lack of high-stakes connection. In video games, the interaction is simulated; in architecture, it is structural. But in nursing, the "structure" you are building is a support system for a human life in crisis. To me, human touch means that healthcare shouldn't be dictated solely by algorithms, rigid protocols, or the cold data on a monitor. True healing happens when a professional takes the time for a genuine, human-to-human conversation to understand a patient’s specific concerns, cultural background, and personal goals. This realization bridged the gap between my past interests and my future. I saw that nursing requires the creative problem-solving of a designer, the presence and communication of a performer, and the structural integrity of an architect—all applied to the most important "project" there is: the human person. I realized then that I want to be part of that mission. I am no longer looking for a career that just fills my time; I am looking for one that demands my heart and my voice. I want to be a nurse who makes a difference not just through clinical excellence, but by listening to, and fiercely fighting for, the people behind the charts.

When I first began exploring career paths, nursing wasn't even on my radar. My ambitions were a rotating door of creative and technical interests: I spent months researching the logic of video game design, months more dreaming of the spotlight on Broadway, and an entire year obsessed with the structural elegance of architecture. Looking back, I enjoyed the idea of these fields, but as I moved deeper into the preliminary coursework for each, they felt slightly hollow. They lacked a sense of direct, human-centered purpose that I couldn’t quite name at the time. I was looking for a way to build something meaningful, but I hadn't yet found the right medium. It wasn't until a writing assignment in my first early college English course that my perspective finally shifted, and I realized why none of those fields felt quite right, and found a field that did. The prompt was academic and seemingly dry: analyze a "discourse community" and explain how its members communicate to achieve a common goal. I decided to focus on healthcare communications—mostly because my mother is a registered nurse, and I knew she’d be an easy, accessible primary source to interview for my paper. I went into that conversation expecting to hear about medical jargon, charting systems, and the technicalities of shift handoffs. Instead, I received a masterclass in empathy. That interview changed everything. As we sat down to discuss how communication in her field has evolved, my mother didn’t talk about much software or administrative efficiency. Instead, she spoke passionately about the nurse’s role as an advocate. She described the weight of standing up to other professionals or navigating tense moments with family members to honor a patient’s specific wishes. She spoke of the courage it takes to represent those who cannot speak for themselves, even taking that advocacy beyond the hospital walls to the state Capitol to push for better patient care standards. She looked at me and said, "Sometimes healthcare professionals think we treat diseases, but really, we should be treating people." That single insight redefined my understanding of the the healthcare field. I realized that the "hollow" feeling I had experienced in other fields came from a lack of high-stakes connection. In video games, the interaction is simulated; in architecture, it is structural. But in nursing, the "structure" you are building is a support system for a human life in crisis. To me, human touch means that healthcare shouldn't be dictated solely by algorithms, rigid protocols, or the cold data on a monitor. True healing happens when a professional takes the time for a genuine, human-to-human conversation to understand a patient’s specific concerns, cultural background, and personal goals. This realization bridged the gap between my past interests and my future. I saw that nursing requires the creative problem-solving of a designer, the presence and communication of a performer, and the structural integrity of an architect—all applied to the most important "project" there is: the human person. I realized then that I want to be part of that mission. I am no longer looking for a career that just fills my time; I am looking for one that demands my heart and my voice. I want to be a nurse who makes a difference not just through clinical excellence, but by listening to, and fiercely fighting for, the people behind the charts.

When I first began exploring career paths, nursing wasn't even on my radar. My ambitions were a rotating door of creative and technical interests: I spent months researching the logic of video game design, months more dreaming of the spotlight on Broadway, and an entire year obsessed with the structural elegance of architecture. Looking back, I enjoyed the idea of these fields, but as I moved deeper into the preliminary coursework for each, they felt slightly hollow. They lacked a sense of direct, human-centered purpose that I couldn’t quite name at the time. I was looking for a way to build something meaningful, but I hadn't yet found the right medium. It wasn't until a writing assignment in my first early college English course that my perspective finally shifted, and I realized why none of those fields felt quite right, and found a field that did. The prompt was academic and seemingly dry: analyze a "discourse community" and explain how its members communicate to achieve a common goal. I decided to focus on healthcare communications—mostly because my mother is a registered nurse, and I knew she’d be an easy, accessible primary source to interview for my paper. I went into that conversation expecting to hear about medical jargon, charting systems, and the technicalities of shift handoffs. Instead, I received a masterclass in empathy. That interview changed everything. As we sat down to discuss how communication in her field has evolved, my mother didn’t talk about much software or administrative efficiency. Instead, she spoke passionately about the nurse’s role as an advocate. She described the weight of standing up to other professionals or navigating tense moments with family members to honor a patient’s specific wishes. She spoke of the courage it takes to represent those who cannot speak for themselves, even taking that advocacy beyond the hospital walls to the state Capitol to push for better patient care standards. She looked at me and said, "Sometimes healthcare professionals think we treat diseases, but really, we should be treating people." That single insight redefined my understanding of the "human touch" in medicine. I realized that the "hollow" feeling I had experienced in other fields came from a lack of high-stakes connection. In video games, the interaction is simulated; in architecture, it is structural. But in nursing, the "structure" you are building is a support system for a human life in crisis. To me, human touch means that healthcare shouldn't be dictated solely by algorithms, rigid protocols, or the cold data on a monitor. True healing happens when a professional takes the time for a genuine, human-to-human conversation to understand a patient’s specific concerns, cultural background, and personal goals. This realization bridged the gap between my past interests and my future. I saw that nursing requires the creative problem-solving of a designer, the presence and communication of a performer, and the structural integrity of an architect—all applied to the most important "project" there is: the human person. I realized then that I want to be part of that mission. I am no longer looking for a career that just fills my time; I am looking for one that demands my heart and my voice. I want to be a nurse who makes a difference not just through clinical excellence, but by listening to, and fiercely fighting for, the people behind the charts.

Bill English of San Francisco Playhouse said, "Theatre is like a gym for empathy. It's where we can go to build up the muscles of compassion, to practice listening and understanding and engaging with people that are not just like ourselves." This quote settled in me as capturing the theatre experience perfectly. My first musical theatre experience was when my older cousin was playing Scar in a youth production of The Lion King, and they were looking for an extra boy to be in the ensemble drum troupe, to make the cast numbers even. So, without any audtion, nor knowing what to expect, at age 11, I joined my first theatre show. I loved it. I loved everything about it. I loved pulling together with the cast and crew. I loved learned the music and they way the different parts joined together. I loved performing on stage for an audience. I have gone on to perform in 15 different musical theatre productions. I have had the amazing fortune of playing such iconic roles as Jean Valjean in Les Misérables, Oliver Warbucks in Annie, Mayor Dobbs in Bright Star, Captain Hook in Peter Pan, Buddy in Elf, and Hades is Hades in Hadestown. I had the opportunity to attend and perform as Hades at the Utah High School Musical Theatre Awards, where we were awarded Best Musical of the 2024/2025 school year. All of those were amazing experiences. When I was in that first show, I know immediately that I loved theatre, but I had no idea how much I would learn and grow from it over the next serveral years. I learned empathy and understanding. from the many different theatre productions and scenes I have been able to be a part of through my teen years. The most difficult roles have proven to be the ones I have grown the most from. From Hadestown, I learned about healthy and unhealthy relationships, as well as the power and importance of hope and standing up in the face of oppression. From Bright Star, I learned about the tricks people use to convince themselves they are doing the right thing, when it's really the comforts of social status and money driving their actions. I can't think of any production or scene I have been a part of that hasn't taught me something important that has helped me to grow as a person. I am just one person, who has learned and grown so much from theatre, but I imagine multiplying that by the millions of people who experience live theater each year, either by participating in a production, or experiencing it as an audience member. That impact, increasing empathy in our society as a whole, is something I hope and plan to continue to be a part of throughout my life.

Bill English of San Francisco Playhouse said, "Theatre is like a gym for empathy. It's where we can go to build up the muscles of compassion, to practice listening and understanding and engaging with people that are not just like ourselves." This quote settled in me as capturing the theatre experience perfectly. My experiences in theatre have helped me build empathy and understanding through working with a variety of people from all different backgrounds, as well as from delving deeply into characters and stories very different from myself and my own life. When I attended a performing art charter high school my junior year of high school, every class I walked into had a diversity of race, gender, and orientations among my fellow students, as well as this same diversity among our teachers. I was able to learn so much from my fellow teens, who have become my closest friends, regarding how their experiences, both large scale and day-to-day, differ from my own. I learned for my first reaction to be understanding and a listening ear, rather than judgement. I learned from the expertise of amazing teachers in the way they encouraged and brought out the best in us students, and even more so to see them be supportive in the way they worked with and respected each other, even when they looked and believed differently. I have also learned empathy from many different theatre productions and scenes I have been able to be a part of through my teen years. The most difficult roles have proven to be the ones I have grown the most from. From Hadestown, I learned about healthy and unhealthy relationships, as well as the power and importance of hope and standing up in the face of oppression. From Bright Star, I learned about the tricks people use to convince themselves they are doing the right thing, when it's really the comforts of social status and money driving their actions. I can't think of any production or scene I have been a part of that hasn't taught me something important that has helped me to grow as a person. I am just one person, who has learned and grown so much from theatre, but I imagine multiplying that by the millions of people who experience live theater each year, either by participating in a production, or experiencing it as an audience member. That impact, increasing empathy in our society as a whole, is something I hope and plan to continue to be a part of throughout my life.