I don’t remember the exact moment when I decided I wanted to study plant science when I grew up– but somewhere between 7th and 8th grade, I started to want to learn more about plants and how they function. As I was soon to learn, it would open my eyes to more opportunities than I could have ever imagined. After memorizing every placard on the trails of my local state parks and borrowing every book from my public library, words I had never heard before began to impress themselves onto my brain– “auxin”, “asexual reproduction”, “nodes”. Just like that, I was hooked. The more I learned about plants, the more I realized there was to learn. Since then, I’ve become more and more involved in the plant world. What started with teaching myself the basics of botany during middle school led me to more opportunities as I entered high school; while it was challenging at first to find people who were interested in plants like I was, I eventually found a local plant ID class, where I met with people more than twice my age to learn about how to identify plants in nature. As I became increasingly aware of plants, I also began to realize how oblivious other people could be. Plants tend to be overlooked in nature, and are often perceived as backdrops for the more interesting animal life in front of it. This phenomenon has been coined by plant scientists as “plant blindness”. This makes advocating for endangered plant species much harder than animal species, but equally as important. So we lose a subspecies or two. So what? There are so many. However, each plant species brings unique and necessary traits to an ecosystem. They are the base of every food web and often contain chemicals with medicinal properties that are still used in modern medicine today. Many plants are the hosts for specific types of insects to lay their eggs on. Some are so intrinsically connected to each other that the extinction of the host plant can lead the insect to go extinct as well. These are just a few examples of how plants can impact the environment's well-being as much as animals can. As I continue to explore the world of plants, this all becomes increasingly clear to me. It was after I had taken a plant ID class that I reached out to a non-profit organization in my hometown about volunteer opportunities for someone who was interested in plant advocacy. I was able to team up with the policy director to create social media posts and pamphlets about endangered plants that had not been included in the endangered species list yet. My co-president in the biology club and I have also begun to make plans to plant a garden in the outside eating area of our high school. Plant blindness can often be counteracted simply by seeing and becoming aware of the vast complexities and range of characteristics plants can have. Each one is worth acknowledging and appreciating because each one brings something new and unique to the environment. In my years of studying plants, I've realized how easy it is to reach the end of humanity’s understanding of plants, and how much we still have to learn together, which is why I want to spend the rest of my life researching and protecting plants. They might be less showy or endearing as animals, but they are equally as important to the relationship we have with nature.

Almost everything I do is touched by art. As far back as I can remember, I’ve always looked forward to my art classes in elementary school, and was always the first to rush out of my seat to get started once the teacher finished giving directions. Of all my numerous random interests I’ve accumulated over the years, art seems to be the one that has stuck around the longest— and doesn’t seem to be leaving anytime soon. It’s influenced how I look at the world and shaped my personality in a way no other hobby of mine has. To me, art has always been the binding agent for all of my interests– and I have quite a lot of random interests. I’m basically the definition of maximalism; I spend my free time writing, hiking, swimming, gardening, reading— the list could go on. While I like being a jack of all trades, sometimes I feel as if I’ll always end up being a master of none, doomed to only have a surface level understanding of each topic. I often feel overwhelmed with the amount of coursework and pressure I put on myself to do well in everything. But that’s the thing about art’s definition of maximalism– seemingly mismatched, tiny details are combined and layered in a way that makes it look unifying, not chaotic. I can pull all my interests together into one big, messy frame and don’t have to worry if it’s not perfect. It’s the fullness and emotion of the piece that makes it so great. For me, art is the glue of my maximalist collage. Art somehow ends up working its way into all my other activities. I’ll illustrate my short stories, doodle zentangle designs in the margins of my sheet music, embroider tiny fireflies onto my hiking pack, or sketch the first budding flower from my garden in spring. That’s how I try to live my life– with as much passion and substance as I can, and art is how I organize it all. It will continue to be the scaffolding connecting all my loves. With everything I do, I want to leave my mark on the world in as many places as possible. Not just with the things I had, but with the things I’ve created and the impacts I’ve made. If I can contribute even one stroke of paint to the canvas of the universe, I will be happy.