I’ve spent nearly 15 years of my life looking up to those who have come before me. Like any child who is a part of a loving, supportive community, I “idolize the older girls”, as my dance studio’s director always says. They’re like these unattainable, all-powerful goddesses that make moving through the space seem completely effortless. I absolutely dreamed for the day when I would become one of them—an incredible dancer who deserved all of the love and attention that the world had to give. More than that, though, I dreamed for the day when they would give me even the smallest amount of attention. I grew up thinking none of them knew my name and that none of them would recognize me if I walked past them on the street. Even when I was in my freshman year of high school and they were seniors, I was almost completely sure that if they had seen me in the Target down the street, they wouldn’t know who I was. Looking back, they had to have at least known my name. I was in the same room as them for hours every week. But there’s no way I would have known that from the way that they pretended like I didn’t exist. At our annual camping retreat, they would do their little emotional vulnerability circle and leave out the three “weird” freshmen. Being selected as one of only three freshmen for the studio’s highest level was a huge deal, but around them, it seemed like we were still a level below. I don’t know what it takes to leave a good legacy out in the real world, but I do know that I will never forget how those girls treated me and the other younger dancers. I felt completely powerless standing next to them, almost like nothing I did was good enough or mattered. One of the girls that I looked up to, Molly, wasn’t like that at all. I remember when I was around 12 she was the teacher’s assistant for a little girls’ class, and I was her “shadow assistant”. I felt so incredibly cool because she had always been this idol I had looked up to, and now I was serving in this role with her and learning from her. On that same annual camping retreat years after I was her shadow, she talked to me during our whole hike up the mountain, just trying to get to know me. She would always be this majestic idol of mine, but having a moment of human connection made me feel important and loved. That’s the kind of legacy I want to leave behind. I want to serve not only as an idol for the younger girls, but also as their friend. Kids will love you and look up to you no matter how incredible of a dancer you are, but it’s the people who put in the effort to make them feel loved and appreciated that matter the most.

Our communities shape us. They teach us valuable lessons, show us what is and isn’t socially acceptable, and hopefully provide us with meaningful experience in how to be the best version of ourselves. They can be so much more than the town we live in, the people on our street, or our academic peers—they can be a second family filled with people who care about you, support you, and want the very, very best for you. They say you become like the 5 people you spend the most time with, and I think that phenomenon becomes even more powerful when you are a part of a collective of similar people with similar goals. Our communities shape us, and it’s important to be involved in them not only to show your appreciation for their role in your development, but also to give them as much of a chance as possible to raise future generations like they did you. By far the most influential community in my life, the non-profit community outreach organization at my dance studio called Springs Dance Company, has led me through thick and thin. I’ve been a part of that community since I was first eligible at age 9, and the positive outlook and words of encouragement I have received from our studio’s director and from the other dancers has truly made me into the person that I am today. This year, I have been able to give back to that community by serving voluntarily as a captain for their highest company. In my role, I serve as a primary point of contact between the company’s nearly 200 members and studio’s director, as well as perform menial tasks around the studio in order to help rehearsals and daily operations go more smoothly. I also strive to serve as a role model for the younger dancers, as I know that having incredible people to look up to within a community is such a valuable tool for little kids in terms of their motivation and confidence. I also work really hard in my role as a dance instructor for kids aged 3-12 to serve primarily as their role model and their “older friend” to give them someone to look up to and to help guide them through life’s struggles. Through my time in this company, I’ve also been able to have a big role in meaningfully impacting our broader community. At our winter show every year, called Holiday Cabaret, we bring some much-needed holiday cheer to the community. More importantly, though, we dedicate every cent of profit from that show to a local charity called Meg’s Smile Foundation, which provides experiences for kids battling terminal illnesses in North Carolina. It’s like Make-A-Wish on a much smaller and more local scale, but it holds a place deep in the studio’s heart. Meg, the company’s namesake, was a dancer at the studio before a brain tumor took her life in January of 2011, and we love giving back to this charity in her honor every year. Through ticket sales and donations, we are able to raise almost $25,000 annually. It’s an amazing feeling to be able to use dance, something we love so much, to give back to the community, but it’s more than that. It’s not something we do to feel fulfilled, rather, it’s something we do because it’s just so important. Everyone should give back to the communities that raised them, especially if it’s through doing something that you love to do. In terms of my future career, my primary goal is to give back to the people that have made me into who I am. When I first learned of biomedical engineering, I was beyond captivated. The thought of pursuing a career using the subjects of math and science that I love so much and find the most success in was enchanting, and I’ve wanted to work in the field ever since. It wasn’t until recently, though, that my biggest goal became not to make the most extravagant new medical device, but to strive for change within the field. So many people around the world lack access to valuable pieces of medical equipment and healthcare, a completely preventable atrocity that defines the lives of many underprivileged communities in the United States and abroad. During my time in the field, I hope to move the industry towards products that are both more equitable and more available to the general public, hopefully saving hundreds, if not thousands, of people from unjust medical suffering and death. I’m excited to start my education, sure, and learn about everything biomedical engineering-related, but I’m even more excited by the prospect of helping members of communities all over the country, and the world, to have access to the basic medical care they need to thrive. It’s only fair that we, as the next generation of innovators, businessmen, and artists, work towards making life easier for those who made us who we are. It is only through helping our communities—our towns, our neighborhoods, and our schools—that we can help those who come after us be built into newer, fancier versions of the people we became.

In my experience this past year with jumping back into social situations, interacting with my peers is a little bit like riding a bike. No matter how long it has been since I last talked to someone outside of my household, it’s always pretty easy to get back into the rhythm of conversations with people that I love. I’m a little bit rusty at first, of course, but after a few hours, a couple days, or a week, I’m always able to jump back into conversations fairly easily. I don’t really think that social interactions as an entity will be intrinsically different once COVID finally decides to move on, rather, I think the biggest change in our daily lives will be with whom we have those social interactions. This whole pandemic has served, if nothing else, to dichotomize the people around me. It’s a pretty simple separation, too, but it’s given a whole new perspective on those that I actually want to spend time with versus those who aren’t worth the energy. There are those that have religiously followed social guidelines and government restrictions through the whole pandemic, and there are those who haven’t. It’s a whole new way by which to measure those who actually care about other people and those who just put up a caring facade in order to further their own agendas. I know so many people who constantly claim to “love” and “care about” everyone, yet they go out and party, eat dinner in restaurants, or sleep over at their friends’ houses. They’ve been able to have a social life, sure, but in doing so they’ve lost the respect of many people that used to care about them. There’s been a line created in thick sharpie separating those who have and those who haven’t been following restrictions, and the hardest part about getting back to normal, for me, will be to find new relationships with those I know actually care about others’ health and wellbeing. I fully believe that at some point, my social interactions will go back to pretty much how they were pre-COVID. I’ll be able to spend the night at my friends’ houses without worrying about their grandmas getting sick, I’ll be able to ride in the car with the windows up, and I’ll be able to see my friends' beautiful smiles as we hang out without having to wear masks. My social battery may run out a little bit earlier, or I may have a little bit more of a struggle coming up with the right things to say, but I know that there will be normalcy sooner or later. I also take a lot of comfort in knowing that the people I choose to spend time with actually care about me and the rest of the world. I know that they value the health and wellbeing even of the strangers standing next to them in the store, and that makes me extremely happy and proud to call them my friends. I can't help but hope that others had the same experience with the pandemic, as being able to find your people is so important.

“Be more present.” I understood the words, but they meant nothing to my 11-year-old mind. I was seated on a very familiar black bench in my home away from home—my dance studio—with my studio’s director seated eye-level with me telling me everything I had been doing wrong. My eyes skittered between the green walls littered with pictures of the studio’s most talented members and making uncomfortable eye contact with my life-long mentor. I had just been denied a spot in the studio’s next highest company and I was extremely disappointed in myself for not making the cut. Looking back, it was a vital moment in changing the way I approached nearly every aspect of my life Fresh off the disappointment, I attempted to regain my dancer’s edge. But without fail, my director would repeat those fateful words. Be. More. Present. Eventually, it clicked: my lackluster demeanor complete with glazed eyes had me just going through the motions, rather than feeling the music and the movements. I intentionally changed the way I approached dance, and from moments of eye contact with my friends to hysterical laughing fits when something didn’t go quite as planned, I learned how to really cherish the tiny and seemingly insignificant moments. I started to understand that I wasn’t there for dance—the dance was there for me. Throughout the years, I’ve applied those words to other aspects of my life, including my family. Every night I squish between my parents in their bed to watch a TV show with them. I spend summer weekends celebrating my brother’s baseball wins with his teammates and their families; bonding with siblings and parents as a sort of baseball family that I truly enjoy spending time with. My brother and I head to the pool during the summer for much-needed relaxation and fun, fighting over whether we should go on the lazy river or the slide first. These moments are life-giving and remind me of what matters most. In school, I’m now more committed to not only learning the classroom material, but also engaging with my peers to gain a better understanding of who they are as people and how they view the world. In my classes, I’ve had riveting conversations about hot-button topics such as women’s and reproductive rights, racial prejudices, the nature of evil, and even corporate healthcare--all of which I have learned from through actively listening to my peers’ opinions rather than being trapped by my own. Back at my studio, I’ve been able look to dance as a formidable grounding force, bringing me back to reality when life seems out of control. I’ve been able to pass down my love for dance to baby ballerinas and other young dancers, giving them something to look forward to and a love for each other—essentially becoming the role model I admired when I was their age. I’ve turned my whole perspective towards experiencing and cherishing the little things, all thanks to those three little words.