If you asked me my future goals a few years ago, I probably would’ve said something like, “Buy my mom a house and a Tesla.” And while that’s still on the list, especially the Tesla, I’ve learned that goals are more than wish lists; they’re blueprints for who I want to become. Now, as a freshman studying finance at Temple University, my goals are about more than success—they’re about significance. My short-term goal is to master the language of money. I don’t just want to crunch numbers; I want to understand how financial systems shape opportunity. Growing up, I saw how financial literacy—or the lack of it—can determine a family’s future. That’s what pushes me to learn, to question, and to think bigger. I plan to intern with financial firms, join business clubs, and build connections that help me bridge what I learn in the classroom with what happens in the real world. Long-term, I dream of starting my own firm dedicated to teaching financial empowerment in underrepresented communities. I want to make finance accessible—not intimidating. Maybe even host free workshops where teens learn how to budget for sneakers and stocks. Every goal I set comes with a lesson in patience, persistence, and purpose. The road ahead won’t be smooth, but that’s fine. I’ve got ambition in my backpack, faith in my pocket, and the determination to turn every “maybe” into a “definitely.”

My name is Jesse Shaw, and this fall, I’ll be a freshman at Temple University majoring in Finance. I’m 18, still figuring things out, but I know one thing for sure: I want to use my education to create real change, especially in communities like the one I grew up in. For me, finance isn’t just about money; it’s about freedom, stability, and opportunity. Growing up in a single-parent household, I learned early what financial struggle looks like. I watched my dad balance multiple jobs, stretch every dollar, and still put food on the table with grace. But I also saw how a lack of access to financial knowledge and resources held us and so many others back. That experience didn’t just shape me. It gave me purpose. I want to be someone who breaks that cycle, who helps people move from surviving to thriving. My passion for finance started when I took a personal finance class in high school. For the first time, I saw how money worked beyond just spending and saving. I saw tools for building generational wealth, credit, investing, budgeting, and I wanted to learn them all. I started sharing what I learned with my family and friends, explaining how credit cards worked, why saving early matters, and how student loans could impact our futures. That’s when I realized I didn’t just want to learn finance, I wanted to lead through it. Leadership and service have always been part of my story. I volunteered at a local youth center, tutoring middle school students and helping organize food drives and clothing giveaways. I also worked as a restaurant host during high school, where I learned how to manage pressure, communicate with people, and show up for others with consistency. Whether it was greeting guests or staying late to help a coworker, I took pride in being reliable. Service, to me, is leadership in action. The program I’m pursuing at Temple will give me the tools to understand complex financial systems and how they impact policy, opportunity, and equality. I want to use what I learn to design community programs that teach financial literacy in schools and neighborhoods that have been historically left out. I also hope to work in financial consulting or public sector finance to influence how cities like mine allocate resources and create economic mobility. The Byte into STEM Scholarship would help lift the financial pressure on my family and allow me to focus on learning, building, and giving back. I want to prove that a young Black man from Baltimore can succeed in finance and bring others with him. I’m not just investing in my education. I’m investing in a future where knowledge turns into power, and power turns into change.

My name is Jesse Shaw, and I’m an 18-year-old student from a hardworking family in Maryland. This fall, I’ll be attending Temple University to study Finance. At first glance, finance might not seem directly related to public policy or social justice, but for me, numbers have always told a deeper story. Growing up, I saw how a lack of access to financial education, stable housing, and good-paying jobs created a cycle that trapped people in my neighborhood. Families worked hard but stayed broke. Young people got discouraged and dropped out. Dreams were often replaced with survival. That’s the reality that shaped me, but it’s not the future I plan to accept. I want to be part of changing it. I hope to make a positive difference by combining financial literacy with public policy to create lasting change. My dream is to develop community-based financial programs that educate young people, advocate for fair lending practices, and influence policies that support economic mobility. I believe that many of the social issues we face, poverty, mass incarceration, and underfunded schools, are tied to a lack of economic opportunity. If we want to shift that, we need to understand and change the systems behind it. Right now, I’m already working to address these issues in small but meaningful ways. In high school, I volunteered at a youth center tutoring younger students, and I used that opportunity to talk about money basics—budgeting, saving, and even credit. I also helped organize a coat drive during winter and participated in local food giveaways. These actions may seem small, but to me, they represent the start of something bigger: using my voice and my time to uplift others. I also believe policy change starts with awareness, so I’ve made it a point to educate myself. I attend town halls when I can, follow local city council meetings, and read up on policy decisions that impact housing, education, and economic equity in Baltimore. I’ve learned that real change doesn’t happen overnight—it happens when enough people are informed, involved, and unwilling to stay silent. I want to be one of those people. Being a young Black man pursuing finance often feels like walking a path not designed for me. I don’t see many faces like mine in this field. But that only pushes me harder. I want to take up space in boardrooms, policy discussions, and classrooms—not just for myself, but for the next generation who needs to see what’s possible. The Larry Joe Gardner Memorial Scholarship would help me take another step toward this vision. It would ease the financial burden on my family, allowing me to focus more on learning, organizing, and connecting with mentors who can help shape my journey. More than that, it would serve as validation that my goals matter—that someone else believes in what I’m trying to build. I don’t have it all figured out yet. I’m still learning, still growing. But what I do have is commitment to community, to justice, and to making systems work better for everyone. That’s who I am. That’s the difference I plan to make.

I chose to study finance because money has always been present in my life, but rarely in a positive way. I’ve seen it stress out my mom, divide families, and block opportunity. I’ve also seen what happens when people learn how to manage it: freedom, confidence, and peace of mind. That’s what I’m chasing—not just for myself, but for others too. I want to be the kind of person who breaks the cycle of financial silence that’s hurt so many families like mine. I’ll be attending Temple University this fall as a Finance major because I want to understand the systems that impact my community the most—credit, investing, saving, and business. I want to master the language of money, then translate it into something my peers and family can understand. My ultimate goal is to become a certified financial planner and eventually open my own firm focused on serving people in underserved communities—people who were never taught how to build wealth, but who deserve the same opportunities as anyone else. I believe financial literacy is more than a skill—it’s a form of empowerment that can change generations. Being a young Black man in finance means I rarely see people who look like me in this field. Sometimes that’s discouraging, but mostly, it fuels me. I know I’m walking into spaces that weren’t built for me. I know I’ll have to prove myself again and again. But I’m ready. In fact, I see my underrepresentation as a responsibility—to not only succeed for myself, but to make space for others. I want young Black students to see someone like me and think, “If he can do it, so can I.” Because representation isn’t just inspiring—it’s necessary. This scholarship would lift a huge burden off my family and allow me to focus fully on my education. It would mean fewer hours worrying about tuition and more time in the library, networking, and building the foundation for my future. But more than that, it would show me that others believe in my vision, and that kind of support carries weight. Every dollar would be an investment not just in my success, but in the people I plan to serve one day. I’m still growing, still learning, and still figuring things out. But what I do know is this: I’m committed to changing the way my community sees—and uses—money. I’m not just trying to make a living. I’m trying to make a difference. And this opportunity brings me one step closer to doing both.

For me, giving back isn’t a choice—it’s part of who I am. I come from a community where people look out for each other, not because they have a lot, but because they know what it feels like to have a little. Whether it was my neighbor offering rides when my mom’s car broke down, or my middle school basketball coach checking in on me when he noticed I wasn’t myself, I’ve been lifted by people who expected nothing in return. That’s where I learned what community really means, and why I believe in giving back. It taught me that the smallest acts of kindness can make the biggest difference when someone’s going through a hard time. In high school, I volunteered at a local youth center where I helped tutor middle school students in math and reading. At first, I didn’t think I had much to offer. I wasn’t a straight-A student or some kind of expert. But I quickly learned that what mattered most wasn’t perfection—it was presence. Just showing up consistently, listening, and believing in them was enough to make a difference. One of the boys I worked with told me, “You’re the only person who actually talks to me like I’m smart.” That stuck with me. It reminded me that sometimes, the greatest way to give back is to see someone fully, especially when they’re still learning to see themselves. That experience helped me discover that leadership starts with service, not status. I also participated in food drives and neighborhood cleanups, and even helped organize a coat giveaway during the winter. These moments might seem small, but they created a connection. They reminded me that community isn’t built by grand gestures—it’s built by consistent effort. Every time I showed up, I felt like I was honoring the people who once showed up for me. And in giving back, I began to understand the true meaning of responsibility—not just for myself, but for the people around me. Now, as I head to Temple University to study finance, I want to take my giving back to another level. I plan to create financial literacy programs for youth in underserved communities—starting right in Philly. I want to teach budgeting, credit, saving, and investing in ways that actually make sense to young people who’ve never heard those words outside of a classroom. I want to be the person I wish I had, someone who could break down financial systems and open doors that felt locked. By giving others the tools to build their futures, I know I’ll also be building my own legacy. Giving back matters to me because I know what it feels like to be helped. I know what it means to be seen. And I know that success means nothing if I’m not using it to lift someone else up. That’s why giving back isn’t just something I do, it’s something I live by, every single day.

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 4, Paragraph 3: “Do not waste what remains of your life in speculating about your neighbors, unless with a view to some mutual benefit. Suppose you are often forgetting what your mind should be set upon: give yourself leisure to learn something good and cease to be whirled around. You should avoid being scattered in every direction, for such people are not in control of themselves. They live their lives as if in a dream, performing mechanical actions and always getting caught in the drama of others.” In this passage, Marcus Aurelius warns us against the danger of distraction—particularly the kind that comes from obsessing over the lives of others—and urges us to focus inward, suggesting that clarity, peace, and purpose can only be achieved through disciplined attention to our own growth. His words feel more relevant than ever in a world where comparison and distraction dominate, especially for young people like me still trying to understand who we are. When Marcus Aurelius says, “Do not waste what remains of your life in speculating about your neighbors,” he’s not just telling us to mind our business. He’s calling us to preserve our energy for what truly matters: becoming better versions of ourselves. As an 18-year-old student about to enter Temple University to study finance, I know how easy it is to get caught up in what everyone else is doing—who got into what school, who’s already making money, who seems further ahead in life. Social media makes it worse. We’re constantly watching each other instead of watching ourselves. But Aurelius reminds me that this comparison game is a trap that robs us of our most limited resource: time. His phrase, “cease to be whirled around,” hits me hard. It speaks to how easily we’re pulled in every direction—by trends, opinions, expectations. When we’re constantly reacting to other people’s lives, we lose control of our own. As someone who’s still figuring out his path, that hits home. I’ve had moments where I moved through life on autopilot—doing what I thought I was “supposed” to do, instead of making intentional choices based on what I value. Aurelius challenges that. He says, “Give yourself leisure to learn something good.” That’s not about luxury or laziness. It’s about making space to grow. In today’s world, productivity is praised, but often confused with busyness. We chase results, likes, grades, and job offers, without checking if they align with who we want to become. But I’m starting to understand that real progress isn’t just about external achievement; it’s about internal alignment. That’s what Aurelius is really talking about. He’s pushing us to live consciously—to stop being “scattered in every direction,” and instead become grounded in purpose. From a finance perspective, this also feels like a metaphor for investing. Just like spreading your money too thin across random, unresearched stocks leads to instability, spreading your time and energy across every distraction leads to personal instability. You need a strategy. You need focus. That’s how you grow wealth, and that’s how you grow as a person. Marcus isn’t against action; he’s against wasted action. What I also take from this paragraph is a sense of self-respect. Aurelius isn’t being harsh; he’s being protective. He’s saying, “Don’t sleepwalk through life. Don’t hand over your mind to people who don’t care about your purpose.” As someone who comes from a community where distractions can be loud—violence, poverty, social pressure—his words feel like armor. They remind me that even if the world is chaotic, I can still be calm. I can still choose where my energy goes. In the end, this passage isn’t about isolating yourself. It’s about prioritizing your development so that when you do show up for your family, your community, your work, you’re bringing your best self. That’s what I want to do with my life. I want to build a career in finance that helps people, especially those in underserved communities, make smarter decisions. But first, I have to make smart decisions with myself. I have to quiet the noise. Marcus Aurelius lived nearly 2,000 years ago, but he speaks to my life like he’s standing right next to me, telling me to stay focused, stay grounded, and not get caught in the crowd. That’s the power of ancient wisdom—it reminds us that the human struggle hasn’t changed. And it gives us a blueprint for how to rise above it.