When exploring career paths, my ambitions were a rotating door of creative and technical interests, from video game design to theater and architecture. However, as I moved into the coursework for each, they felt hollow. They lacked a sense of direct, human-centered purpose. I was looking for a way to build something meaningful, but I had not yet found the right medium.My perspective shifted during a college English assignment to analyze a "discourse community." I chose healthcare communications and interviewed my mother, a registered nurse. Expecting technical talk about medical jargon and charting, I instead received a masterclass in patient impact. My mother spoke passionately about the nurse’s role as an advocate—standing up to professionals, navigating tense moments with families to honor a patient’s wishes, and even taking advocacy to the state Capitol for better care standards. She told me, "Sometimes healthcare professionals think we treat diseases, but really, we should be treating people."This insight redefined healthcare for me. In my past interests, connection was simulated or purely structural. In nursing, the "structure" being built is a support system for a human life in crisis. True healing requires genuine, human-to-human conversations to understand a patient’s unique background and goals. Nursing perfectly bridges my past interests, demanding the creative problem-solving of a designer, the presence of a performer, and the integrity of an architect. I want to be a nurse who fiercely fights for the people behind the charts.To transform this vision into reality, I have structured a self-reliant roadmap to earn my Bachelor of Science in Nursing (BSN) and, ultimately, a Doctor of Nursing Practice (DNP). For my BSN, I have secured a federal Pell Grant and a university Dean’s Scholarship, covering half of my tuition. To fund the remaining balance, books, and fees without debt, I am living with my parents to eliminate housing overhead and working 24 hours per week as a Certified Nursing Assistant (CNA). I am also actively applying for external scholarships to further offset these costs.Graduating with a BSN is just the first milestone. Transitioning to doctoral studies requires an escalated financial commitment. As a registered nurse, I plan to secure employment at an institution offering tuition reimbursement or clinical partnerships. Shifting from my undergraduate savings model to healthcare-sponsored professional development will allow me to finance my DNP coursework out-of-pocket, ensuring my focus remains entirely on mastering advanced clinical leadership.Securing this scholarship is a vital piece of my financial puzzle. It will directly alleviate the immediate strain of undergraduate tuition, allowing me to preserve my CNA earnings for fees and future educational savings. By investing in my education, you are supporting a future Doctor of Nursing Practice who possesses a disciplined blueprint for academic success and an unwavering dedication to patient advocacy.

I was an early teenager when I first realized my family was considered a lower-income household. My mom was seated at our kitchen table filling out an application for a financial assistance program, and I noticed that our family was formally categorized as "tier 1"—the lowest income bracket on the form. This moment sparked a permanent shift in how I viewed my upbringing, and I began noticing distinct differences between my childhood and those of my peers. I was born at home rather than in a corporate hospital, I had never had health insurance, and neither of my parents possessed a bachelor's degree. Living in a modest household with an income significantly lower than our surrounding neighborhood, financial barriers naturally dictated different opportunities for me than for many of my classmates.Yet, my parents never allowed our lack of financial capital to equate to a lack of life enrichment. Instead of expensive gadgets, the latest video game consoles, or family vacations, my childhood was filled with the simple freedom of climbing trees, hiking local trails, and deeply exploring the natural world. This hands-on upbringing instilled in me a deep resourcefulness, proving to me at a young age that a rich, fulfilling life is built on curiosity, resilience, and personal freedom rather than material wealth or status.When I reached high school, my education extended far beyond the traditional classroom walls as I began working regularly for our family’s small construction business. Balancing rigorous honors schoolwork with demanding physical labor taught me the true meaning of grit. Spending my afternoons and long weekends hauling heavy materials, organizing tools, and working on active job sites built a unique perspective. Laboring through freezing Utah winters and blistering summer heat demanded intense physical stamina and mental focus. The strengths I developed from this labor helped me to graduate from high school with a 4.1 weighted GPA, while also successfully pursuing advanced, early college classes during my senior year. Alongside my academics and manual labor, I found wonder, emotional expression, and a deep sense of community through the performing arts and theater. I worked hard to independently master music theory, eventually learning to play the piano, guitar, bass guitar, and drums. I also dedicated countless hours outside of school hours to improving my vocal stamina and acting techniques. These focused efforts helped to earn me the opportunity to play lead roles in several iconic musical theater productions, including Jean Valjean in Les Misérables, Mayor Dobbs in Bright Star, Ren McCormack in Footloose, and the title character in Sweeney Todd. In my junior year, I portrayed Hades in Hadestown at my charter high school. Our production went on to win Best Musical in the highly competitive Utah High School Musical Theater Awards, a milestone that forever solidified my belief in collaborative hard work. Witnessing how individual grit joins together to create something beautiful and larger than ourselves was truly life-changing. Because of these varied experiences, I will be the very first person in my family to pursue a bachelor's degree, and hopefully, eventually, a clinical doctorate degree. To achieve my long-term career goals, higher education is absolutely essential, but the underlying cost remains an insurmountable hurdle for my family. This scholarship represents more than just financial relief; it is the vital catalyst that will allow me the opportunity to work just as hard for my college education as I have in so many other areas of my life. My long-term goal is to become a Registered Nurse (RN), gain critical care experience in high-acuity environments, and ultimately obtain a Doctor of Nursing Practice (DNP) specializing in Nurse Anesthesia. The high-stakes, collaborative environment of an operating room requires the exact blend of presence, communication, and absolute focus that I developed on the theater stage and the construction site. I am especially driven to serve underinsured and working-class communities, bringing top-tier care to families who often feel excluded from the healthcare system. However, the path to a clinical doctorate is demanding and expensive. As a first-generation college student, navigating the financial landscape of higher education is an entirely unfamiliar challenge. The wages from our family construction business keep us afloat, but they cannot stretch to cover the rising costs of tuition, textbooks, and clinical supplies. With your investment, I will carry the work ethic I learned as a laborer, the resilience I gained growing up spending so much time outdoors, and the passion I found in theater, into the healthcare field, building a career dedicated to healing, advocacy, and service.

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: video game design, a performing arts careee on Broadway, and then architecture. I initially enjoyed the idea of these fields, but as I moved deeper into the preliminary coursework for each, they felt hollow. They lacked a sense of 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 medical jargon, charting systems, and technicalities of shift handoffs. Instead, I received a masterclass in the difference a nurse can make. 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 standing up to other professionals and navigating tense moments with family members to honor a patient’s wishes. She spoke of the courage it takes to represent those who cannot speak for themselves, even taking that advocacy beyond her job to the state Capitol to push for better patient care standards. She said, "Sometimes healthcare professionals think we treat diseases, but really, we should be treating people." I thought of my own health and fitness hourney, and the major role nutrition has played. The holistic healing she referrenced in treating the whole person means recognizing that medicine alone is not enough; I hold a deep belief in the critical role of nutrition in recovery and long-term health. As a nurse, I will integrate my knowledge of nutrition into patient education and care plans, using food as a foundational tool to help bodies heal from the inside out.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. 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.