Waking up cocooned in a bright red sleeping bag, I peered outside of the tent to see the first rays of sunlight glimmer through the trees. I clumsily crawled out of the tent, rustling the leaves below and dodging the lumps of sleeping bags beside me.  My legs seemed to lag behind, weighed down by the soreness from the day before and the layers of clothing I threw on in attempt to keep myself warm. As I pulled back the nylon flap and poked my head outside of the tent, I saw the day come to life. My time outdoors during the pandemic allowed me to feel as though time was not moving quite so fast. Moments like this gave me perspective to see who I am becoming and who I want to be. And in all my time outdoors, one principle in particular stuck with me. “Leave no trace”. In other words, there should be no evidence that I was there – both to honor the efforts of the people who came before me and to preserve the beauty of nature for the people to follow. And as much as I love rules, I believe this one was made to be broken. Not in nature, but in human nature. I am afraid this principle meant for hiking has infiltrated and permeated into the culture that I live in. Rather than preserving the beauty of the world around me, I have come to realize the idea of “leaving no trace” strips the world of the beauty that is possible in real, genuine connections. I want there to be evidence of where I have been; I hope that parts of who I am are scattered in each place I visit, each person I talk to, and each day that passes. Outside of a coffee shop in San Francisco, I caught glimpses of a silhouette behind the current of people streaming past. Her name was Lily. She showed me her bruises as she described the man that caused them. She showed me the soles of her feet, blackened by the streets she called home. Her beauty and strength were intertwined with the intimate details of her story. In her struggles I saw the stories of so many people in my own community. I was left with questions and a connection in a way I had never experienced before. Why did it take traveling to a city across the country to discover the details of a problem so prevalent in my own? How could I do something tangible to help, though I may never see Lily again? The answer lay in the name of the woman who started it all, Lily. Four letters, two syllables, and yet somehow her name perfectly embodied both the beauty of her story and the simplicity of connection. So the idea took root, and Looking for Lilies came to life – a flower cart to raise money for women facing homelessness in my own city, and to inspire both myself and my peers to look for the “Lilies” in our community. In a world of modern nomads, a world in which I can travel and connect with more people than ever before, I want to leave roots. I hope to look back on my life and see more than my accomplishments or even the lessons I have learned. I want to know the faces and names of people all over the world. I want to have more moments like this one – where total strangers connected through tears shed on a street corner in San Francisco. Moments with lasting impact, where my life becomes woven into the stories of the places I go and the people I meet. So, unless I am camping, I want to leave a trace.

My time outdoors allows me to feel as though time is not moving quite so fast. Moments like this give me perspective to see who I am becoming and who I want to be. And in all my time outdoors, one principle in particular has stuck with me. “Leave no trace”. In other words, there should be no evidence that I was there – both to honor the efforts of the people who came before me and to preserve the beauty of nature for the people to follow. And as much as I love rules, I believe this one was made to be broken. Not in nature, but in human nature. I am afraid this principle meant for hiking has infiltrated and permeated into the culture that I live in. Rather than preserving the beauty of the world around me, I have come to realize the idea of “leaving no trace” strips the world of the beauty that is possible in real, genuine connections. I want there to be evidence of where I have been; I hope that parts of who I am are scattered in each place I visit, each person I talk to, and each day that passes. Outside of a coffee shop in San Francisco, I caught glimpses of a silhouette behind the current of people streaming past. Her name was Lily. She showed me her bruises as she described the man that caused them. She showed me the soles of her feet, blackened by the streets she called home. Her beauty and strength were intertwined with the intimate details of her story. In her struggles I saw the stories of so many people in my own community. I was left with questions and a connection in a way I had never experienced before. Why did it take traveling to a city across the country to discover the details of a problem so prevalent in my own? How could I do something tangible to help, though I may never see Lily again? The answer lay in the name of the woman who started it all, Lily. Four letters, two syllables, and yet somehow her name perfectly embodied both the beauty of her story and the simplicity of connection. So the idea took root, and Looking for Lilies came to life – a flower cart to raise money for women facing homelessness in my own city, and to inspire both myself and my peers to look for the “Lilies” in our community. I am involved in Before Care Service, Omicron Service Society, Varsity Track and Cross Country, Student Government Service Chair, Ambassadors, Wesleyan Outdoors Club, Students Advocating Life without Substance Abuse and Peer Leadership, but my brief time with Lily was the most impactful experience of my high school career. In a world of modern nomads, a world in which I can travel and connect with more people than ever before, I want to leave roots. I hope to look back on my life and see more than my accomplishments or even the lessons I have learned. I want to know the faces and names of people all over the world. I want to have more moments like this one – where total strangers connected through tears shed on a street corner in San Francisco. Moments with lasting impact, where my life becomes woven into the stories of the places I go and the people I meet. So, unless I am camping, I want to leave a trace.

My time outdoors allows me to feel as though time is not moving quite so fast. Moments like this give me perspective to see who I am becoming and who I want to be. And in all my time outdoors, one principle in particular has stuck with me. “Leave no trace”. In other words, there should be no evidence that I was there – both to honor the efforts of the people who came before me and to preserve the beauty of nature for the people to follow. And as much as I love rules, I believe this one was made to be broken. Not in nature, but in human nature. I am afraid this principle meant for hiking has infiltrated and permeated into the culture that I live in. Rather than preserving the beauty of the world around me, I have come to realize the idea of “leaving no trace” strips the world of the beauty that is possible in real, genuine connections. I want there to be evidence of where I have been; I hope that parts of who I am are scattered in each place I visit, each person I talk to, and each day that passes. Outside of a coffee shop in San Francisco, I caught glimpses of a silhouette behind the current of people streaming past. Her name was Lily. She showed me her bruises as she described the man that caused them. She showed me the soles of her feet, blackened by the streets she called home. Her beauty and strength were intertwined with the intimate details of her story. In her struggles I saw the stories of so many people in my own community. I was left with questions and a connection in a way I had never experienced before. Why did it take traveling to a city across the country to discover the details of a problem so prevalent in my own? How could I do something tangible to help, though I may never see Lily again? The answer lay in the name of the woman who started it all, Lily. Four letters, two syllables, and yet somehow her name perfectly embodied both the beauty of her story and the simplicity of connection. So the idea took root, and Looking for Lilies came to life – a flower cart to raise money for women facing homelessness in my own city, and to inspire both myself and my peers to look for the “Lilies” in our community. In a world of modern nomads, a world in which I can travel and connect with more people than ever before, I want to leave roots. I hope to look back on my life and see more than my accomplishments or even the lessons I have learned. I want to know the faces and names of people all over the world. I want to have more moments like this one – where total strangers connected through tears shed on a street corner in San Francisco. Moments with lasting impact, where my life becomes woven into the stories of the places I go and the people I meet. So, unless I am camping, I want to leave a trace.

Waking up cocooned in a bright red sleeping bag, I peered outside of the tent to see the first rays of sunlight glimmer through the trees. I clumsily crawled out of the tent, rustling the leaves below and dodging the lumps of sleeping bags beside me.  My legs seemed to lag behind, weighed down by the soreness from the day before and the layers of clothing I threw on in attempt to keep myself warm. As I pulled back the nylon flap and poked my head outside of the tent, I saw the day come to life. My time outdoors allows me to feel as though time is not moving quite so fast. Moments like this give me perspective to see who I am becoming and who I want to be. And in all my time outdoors, one principle in particular has stuck with me. “Leave no trace”. In other words, there should be no evidence that I was there – both to honor the efforts of the people who came before me and to preserve the beauty of nature for the people to follow. And as much as I love rules, I believe this one was made to be broken. Not in nature, but in human nature. I am afraid this principle meant for hiking has infiltrated and permeated into the culture that I live in. Rather than preserving the beauty of the world around me, I have come to realize the idea of “leaving no trace” strips the world of the beauty that is possible in real, genuine connections. I want there to be evidence of where I have been; I hope that parts of who I am are scattered in each place I visit, each person I talk to, and each day that passes. Outside of a coffee shop in San Francisco, I caught glimpses of a silhouette behind the current of people streaming past. Her name was Lily. She showed me her bruises as she described the man that caused them. She showed me the soles of her feet, blackened by the streets she called home. Her beauty and strength were intertwined with the intimate details of her story. In her struggles I saw the stories of so many people in my own community. I was left with questions and a connection in a way I had never experienced before. Why did it take traveling to a city across the country to discover the details of a problem so prevalent in my own? How could I do something tangible to help, though I may never see Lily again? The answer lay in the name of the woman who started it all, Lily. Four letters, two syllables, and yet somehow her name perfectly embodied both the beauty of her story and the simplicity of connection. So the idea took root, and Looking for Lilies came to life – a flower cart to raise money for women facing homelessness in my own city, and to inspire both myself and my peers to look for the “Lilies” in our community. When COVID shutdowns began, I pivoted my Looking for Lilies campaign and began creating handcrafted earrings that I use to continue to raise money and awareness - and gave me the opportunity to donate dozens of pairs for the women at City of Refuge. In a world of modern nomads, a world in which I can travel and connect with more people than ever before, I want to leave roots. I hope to look back on my life and see more than my accomplishments or even the lessons I have learned. I want to know the faces and names of people all over the world. I want to have more moments like this one – where total strangers connected through tears shed on a street corner in San Francisco. Moments with lasting impact, where my life becomes woven into the stories of the places I go and the people I meet. I hope to use the creativity that has been fostered in my life through art in order to find new and unique approaches towards working to create change in a nonprofit environment. I hope to use the creativity that has been fostered in my life through art in order to find new and unique approaches towards working to create change in a nonprofit environment. So, unless I am camping, I want to leave a trace.