Living in Portland, Oregon during the summer of 2020 was hot, tumultuous, and inspiring. Despite Oregon often being labeled as a liberal paradise, things are much different on the streets. Oregon’s unfortunate racist past has reverberated into the future, a recurring echo of hate, segregation, gentrification, and inaccessible resources for the Black community. After the death of George Floyd, the city and I came face to face with the sins of the past. I joined a movement that caused an entire city to do better for their Black, Brown, and Indigenous neighbors. While some people took to the streets to create an immediate impact, I wanted to create lasting and sustainable change for my community. I joined a small group of like-minded, ragtag, impassioned individuals who had a wild idea to create an emergency fund dedicated to healing and resilience by providing direct financial support to our Black community. This movement began as a tiny fund on GoFundMe asking for a small lump sum of money to help Black Portlanders pay their bills or receive a warm meal. I immediately connected to this cause; neighbors helping neighbors in the most direct way possible. I saw real potential for this small fund to become a large organization that could create a lasting impact and social change. I began volunteering to help fundraise and make this group a full non-profit organization with 501c3 status. During this period, I was also employed full time and studying for the LSAT but made the time for this Organization fund in any sliver of free time, because I knew how important it was to help create a just, equitable society. This small fund bloomed into a full organization in under a year. Since June 1, 2020, the Black Resilience Fund ended up raising over $2,300,700.00 with the support of over 18,000 individual donations and made an immediate impact for over 7,000 of our Black neighbors through direct cash relief, mutual aid, and advocacy. As the protests on the streets of Portland began to die down or transform into causes that no longer directly supported People of Color, The Black Resilience Fund remained and continues to create partnerships with Black, Brown, and Indigenous-owned businesses in the Portland Metro area. My work in the organization is not often glamourous or exciting – I often spend hours upon hours with excel spreadsheets of businesses and individuals that have pledged their support – but it is a vital role in the Black Resilience Fund. In many ways, much of my work is intentionally done behind the scenes, because I believe the public face of the group should be the People of Color who run the group and those who benefit from its successes. I do this work not to be seen or congratulated, I do it because it is the right thing to do. I ended up getting accepted into Law School, and I am compelled to continue this work by going straight to the source to attack and dismantle systemic injustice within Oregon communities by pursuing a career in public interest and government law. Listening to the needs of others and supporting your own community is the pathway to revolution. I’ve seen it work, and I will continue doing what is right.

Living in Portland, Oregon during the summer of 2020 was hot, tumultuous, and inspiring. Despite Oregon often being labeled as a liberal paradise, things are much different on the streets. Oregon’s unfortunate racist past has reverberated into the future, a recurring echo of hate, segregation, gentrification, and inaccessible resources for the Black community. After the death of George Floyd, the city and I came face to face with the sins of the past. I joined a movement that caused an entire city to do better for their Black, Brown, and Indigenous neighbors. While some people took to the streets to create an immediate impact, I wanted to create lasting and sustainable change for my community. I joined a small group of like-minded, ragtag, impassioned individuals who had a wild idea to create an emergency fund dedicated to healing and resilience by providing direct financial support to our Black community. This movement began as a tiny fund on GoFundMe asking for a small lump sum of money to help Black Portlanders pay their bills or receive a warm meal. I immediately connected to this cause; neighbors helping neighbors in the most direct way possible. I saw real potential for this small fund to become a large organization that could create a lasting impact and social change. I began volunteering to help fundraise and make this group a full non-profit organization with 501c3 status. During this period, I was also employed full time and studying for the LSAT but made the time for this Organization fund in any sliver of free time, because I knew how important it was to help create a just, equitable society. This small fund bloomed into a full organization in under a year. Since June 1, 2020, the Black Resilience Fund ended up raising over $2,300,700.00 with the support of over 18,000 individual donations and made an immediate impact for over 7,000 of our Black neighbors through direct cash relief, mutual aid, and advocacy. As the protests on the streets of Portland began to die down or transform into causes that no longer directly supported People of Color, The Black Resilience Fund remained and continues to create partnerships with Black, Brown, and Indigenous-owned businesses in the Portland Metro area. My work in the organization is not often glamourous or exciting – I often spend hours upon hours with excel spreadsheets of businesses and individuals that have pledged their support – but it is a vital role in the Black Resilience Fund. In many ways, much of my work is intentionally done behind the scenes, because I believe the public face of the group should be the People of Color who run the group and those who benefit from its successes. I do this work not to be seen or congratulated, I do it because it is the right thing to do. I ended up getting accepted into Law School, and I am compelled to continue this work by going straight to the source to attack and dismantle systemic injustice within Oregon communities by pursuing a career in public interest and government law. Listening to the needs of others and supporting your own community is the pathway to revolution. I’ve seen it work, and I will continue doing what is right.

I was raised in poverty by a single mother in rural Oregon and experienced the isolation of being mixed race and never meeting another person like myself. I only knew the microcosm of Central Oregon culture; a big-hearted community with close-minded ideals. My worldview was changed, shaped, and nurtured when I was exposed to theatre. Thanks to theatre, I finally saw other cultures, other races, and other stories. I was no longer alone. For 15 years, I immersed myself in the culture of theatre, even though I felt an undercurrent of institutional inequalities that threatened to pull me under its surface. Although I am mixed race, I changed myself to appear whiter and wealthier, in alignment with the values the American theatre culture upheld. Although theatre prides itself on sharing stories about minorities, things are usually much different behind the scenes. Administrative professionals toy with equity, diversity, and inclusion, yet rarely listen to actual voices of color when it comes to tangible change. I participated in this privileged administrative culture, using my whiteness to my advantage while continuing to suppress my mixed background. The reality of these negative attributes was exhibited to me when I worked for Larissa FastHorse, a female indigenous Sicangu Lakota playwright. Larissa’s work, The Thanksgiving Play, focuses on the suppression of Native American voices by white theatre-makers due to various reasons such as not being able to afford, nor willing to find talented Native actors. These choices silenced and pushed Native voices into the background, therefore securing theatre as a white artform inaccessible to BIPOC artists. I had seen myself make similar decisions in the past. I wanted to be authentic to BIPOC artists but did not take their voices seriously. I couldn’t even take my voice seriously. My involvement in The Thanksgiving Play was life-altering. I was in denial about my identity and witnessed how destructive my behavior was to BIPOC artists. Because by choosing to stay silent, I upheld the problematic system set in place by the white theatre community. I denied my past, my ancestors, and the privilege that I had gained. This led me to lose my connection to humanity because I was concerned with my self-image. I wanted to participate in American theatre culture so badly that I echoed the voices of the oppressors and ignored the cries for help. While I was having an identity crisis during a show that is supposed to be a comedy, Larissa brought me into a conversation with other Native artists I was working with. They discussed the experiences of being mixed race, and how by using the small privileges you were given, you can fight for representation of those who are more burdened by systemic inequality. I had been discriminated against in the past within the performing arts, not only because I was poor, but because I was shown bias due to my appearance. I was not quite white enough for one role, or quite brown enough for another. Because I experienced both discrimination and privilege, I was able to choose the path of least resistance. For so long, I had been fixated on wanting to be whiter so I could fit in, but I realized in those moments that I could use the privilege I had gained and fought so hard to obtain to now represent others. During that conversation with Larissa and other indigenous artists, my career shifted from white-collar production to performing boots on the ground social justice. I discovered this was a far more difficult battle, but one that I felt born to fight in.

One of the most debilitating elements of mental illness is needing to hide it, leaving a consistent hum in the background of everyday life. I feel caught in a black smog that follows me everywhere, haunted by its icy cold presence on my shoulder or intrusive whispering in my ear. A personal accomplishment I have achieved in 2020 is overcoming my diagnosis of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. For the last few years, I spent many hours incapacitated by an unstoppable river of repetitive and unceasing negative thoughts. I, bearing complete victim to it, was pummeled, gasping for air as I slowly sank under the surface. I could look up and see the light but could not swim towards it. I accepted my sunken place. My partner was the one to reach in and pull me out of the darkness. Their worry for me was what finally cut through the cloudy current. Deciding to help myself was a more difficult task than I had imagined. I had always put others first, be they family, friends, and even strangers. I had used so much of my energy helping others that I had neglected and forgotten how to care for myself. Throughout 2020, I learned gradually that my mental illness is not my fault, but it is my responsibility. Admitting that I had a mental illness helped lift the heaviness from my shoulders. This led me to try the approach that I use to tackle difficult projects - but applied it to myself. The first step was to admit that I had a mental illness and trust that strangers both could and would help me like I had helped others, which I believe is a recurring theme of the year. The biggest hurdle in this journey was overcoming the stigmatization of talk therapy and medication. I didn’t think anything was that “wrong” with me enough to get that kind of help. The truth of it ultimately being that there is nothing “wrong” with anyone. Sometimes your brain chemicals might be out of balance, or you didn’t realize something about yourself until you talked it out with a professional, or in my case, both. The stigmatization of mental health needs to be addressed as not something to fear, or something that is a last resort but should rather be the first step. After my diagnosis, I was able to realize solutions and discovered I could use the same skills I learned in my years of community support and activism; plan and act - regardless of the outcome. Try something new even if it fails, be thankful, and celebrate the small successes. My plan was not as easy as I thought it would be. It took a better part of the year before I emerged out of the water and felt like my old self again. This takes more work than just therapy. My plans for the future include meditation techniques, journaling my thoughts, and find avenues to reverse the unhealthy habits that I had formed over many years of negative reinforcement. Not only can I now breathe, but I can finally see the banks where I stood before I fell into the river. Although I still struggle with mental illness, I feel as though I am lightyears beyond the sunken point of my life, thank to trust, responsibility, and gratitude.

One of the most debilitating elements of mental illness is needing to hide it, leaving a consistent hum in the background of everyday life. I feel caught in a black smog that follows me everywhere, haunted by its icy cold presence on my shoulder or intrusive whispering in my ear. A personal accomplishment I have achieved in 2020 is overcoming my diagnosis of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. For the last few years, I spent many hours incapacitated by an unstoppable river of repetitive and unceasing negative thoughts. I, bearing complete victim to it, was pummeled, gasping for air as I slowly sank under the surface. I could look up and see the light but could not swim towards it. I accepted my sunken place. My partner was the one to reach in and pull me out of the darkness. Their worry for me was what finally cut through the cloudy current. Deciding to help myself was a more difficult task than I had imagined. I had always put others first, be they family, friends, and even strangers. I had used so much of my energy helping others that I had neglected and forgotten how to care for myself. Throughout 2020, I learned gradually that my mental illness is not my fault, but it is my responsibility. Admitting that I had a mental illness helped lift the heaviness from my shoulders. This led me to try the approach that I use to tackle difficult projects - but applied it to myself. The first step was to admit that I had a mental illness and trust that strangers both could and would help me like I had helped others, which I believe is a recurring theme of the year. The biggest hurdle in this journey was overcoming the stigmatization of talk therapy and medication. I didn’t think anything was that “wrong” with me enough to get that kind of help. The truth of it ultimately being that there is nothing “wrong” with anyone. Sometimes your brain chemicals might be out of balance, or you didn’t realize something about yourself until you talked it out with a professional, or in my case, both. The stigmatization of mental health needs to be addressed as not something to fear, or something that is a last resort but should rather be the first step. After my diagnosis, I was able to realize solutions and discovered I could use the same skills I learned in my years of community support and activism; plan and act - regardless of the outcome. Try something new even if it fails, be thankful, and celebrate the small successes. My plan was not as easy as I thought it would be. It took a better part of the year before I emerged out of the water and felt like my old self again. This takes more work than just therapy. My plans for the future include meditation techniques, journaling my thoughts, and find avenues to reverse the unhealthy habits that I had formed over many years of negative reinforcement. Not only can I now breathe, but I can finally see the banks where I stood before I fell into the river. Although I still struggle with mental illness, I feel as though I am lightyears beyond the sunken point of my life, thank to trust, responsibility, and gratitude.

One of the most debilitating elements of mental illness is needing to hide it, leaving a consistent hum in the background of everyday life. I can feel caught in a black smog that follows me everywhere, haunted by its icy cold presence on my shoulder or intrusive whispering in my ear. A personal accomplishment I have achieved is overcoming my diagnosis of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. For the last few years, I spent many hours incapacitated by an unstoppable river of repetitive and unceasing negative thoughts. I, bearing complete victim to it, was pummeled, gasping for air as I slowly sank under the surface. I could look up and see the light but could not swim towards it. I accepted my sunken place. My partner was the one to reach in and pull me out of the darkness. Their worry for me was what finally cut through the cloudy current. Deciding to help myself was a more difficult task than I had imagined. I had always put others first, be they family, friends, and even strangers. I had used so much of my energy helping others that I had neglected and forgotten how to care for myself. I learned, gradually, that my mental illness is not my fault, but it is my responsibility. Admitting that I had a mental illness helped lift the heaviness from my shoulders. This led me to try the approach that I use to tackle difficult projects - but applied to myself. The first step was to admit that I had a mental illness and trust that strangers both could and would help me like I had helped others. The biggest hurdle in this journey was overcoming the stigmatization of talk therapy and medication. I didn’t think anything was that “wrong” with me enough to get that kind of help. The truth of it ultimately being that there is nothing “wrong” with anyone. Sometimes your brain chemicals might be out of balance, or you didn’t realize something about yourself until you talked it out with a professional, or in my case, both. The stigmatization of mental health needs to be addressed as not something to fear, or something that is a last resort, but should rather be the first step. After my diagnosis, I was able to realize solutions and discovered I could use the same skills I learned in my years of community support and activism; plan and act - regardless of the outcome. Try something new even if it fails, be thankful, and celebrate the small successes. My plan was not as easy as I thought-it would be the better part of a year before I emerged out of the water and felt like my old self again. It took more work than just therapy. I researched meditation techniques, journaled my thoughts and found avenues to reverse unhealthy habits that I had formed over many years of negative reinforcement. Not only could I breathe, but I could finally see the banks where I stood before I fell into the river. I still struggle with mental illness, but I feel as though I am lightyears beyond the sunken point of my life, thank to trust, responsibility, and gratitude.  

One of the most debilitating elements of mental illness is needing to hide it, leaving a consistent hum in the background of everyday life. I can feel caught in a black smog that follows me everywhere, haunted by its icy cold presence on my shoulder or intrusive whispering in my ear. A personal accomplishment I have achieved is overcoming my diagnosis of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. For the last few years, I spent many hours incapacitated by an unstoppable river of repetitive and unceasing negative thoughts. I, bearing complete victim to it, was pummeled, gasping for air as I slowly sank under the surface. I could look up and see the light but could not swim towards it. I accepted my sunken place. My partner was the one to reach in and pull me out of the darkness. Their worry for me was what finally cut through the cloudy current. Deciding to help myself was a more difficult task than I had imagined. I had always put others first, be they family, friends, and even strangers. I had used so much of my energy helping others that I had neglected and forgotten how to care for myself. I learned, gradually, that my mental illness is not my fault, but it is my responsibility. Admitting that I had a mental illness helped lift the heaviness from my shoulders. This led me to try the approach that I use to tackle difficult projects - but applied to myself. The first step was to admit that I had a mental illness and trust that strangers both could and would help me like I had helped others. The biggest hurdle in this journey was overcoming the stigmatization of talk therapy and medication. I didn’t think anything was that “wrong” with me enough to get that kind of help. The truth of it ultimately being that there is nothing “wrong” with anyone. Sometimes your brain chemicals might be out of balance, or you didn’t realize something about yourself until you talked it out with a professional, or in my case, both. The stigmatization of mental health needs to be addressed as not something to fear, or something that is a last resort but should rather be the first step. After my diagnosis, I was able to realize solutions and discovered I could use the same skills I learned in my years of community support and activism; plan and act - regardless of the outcome. Try something new even if it fails, be thankful, and celebrate the small successes. My plan was not as easy as I thought, it would be the better part of a year before I emerged out of the water and felt like my old self again. It took more work than just therapy. I researched meditation techniques, journaled my thoughts, and found avenues to reverse unhealthy habits that I had formed over many years of negative reinforcement. Not only could I breathe, but I could finally see the banks where I stood before I fell into the river. I still struggle with mental illness, but I feel as though I am lightyears beyond the sunken point of my life, thank to trust, responsibility, and gratitude.  

Whenever I see systemic injustices, I am always quick to act on them before I can think. One of the ways I have given back to my community is through disability activism. I, myself, do not have a disability, but through my years working in the arts, I have seen time and time again organizations failing to meet bare minimums for people with disabilities, such as wheelchair accessibility, audio description, captions, or sensory guides. When I see a pattern of failing on part of the community, I take it upon myself to fix the problem. My arts accessibility journey began when I was tasked to create an audio description program for the theatre I worked at. Audio description is providing audio commentary during a live performance describing the physical action happening. I researched methods, reached out to experts, and did everything I could to present my patrons with the best experience possible. I was incredibly nervous for my first “performance”. I kept wondering “will these patrons like me?” “am I going to mess up a line?” “will the new equipment work?”. I gave it my all during the show and met my patrons in the lobby post-performance. One patron, who had been attending my theatre for over a decade took my hand, gently patted it, and thanked me with tears in her eyes for finally allowing her to “see” the performance. Once I felt I had tackled Audio Description, I focused on ways I could improve the theatre in other ways to increase disability services and continue community support and outreach. I worked in developing plans for sensory-friendly children’s productions to better serve our school-age community members. During one memorable day of our 2019 production of Cinderella, I responded to a need for accessibility in real-time. The lobby was packed with 200 kids and their camp counselors and we realized that one young audience member was experiencing sensory overload due to the noise. As the show was about to begin, I ran around the building looking for a way to help them enjoy the performance. I finally found a pair of noise-canceling headphones in the scenic shop that would work for the time being, but it highlighted a gap in service that I was not going to let go unaddressed. Once the show was through, I immediately got to work building accessibility guidelines to assure that nobody else feels left behind. The change I would like to see in my community, my country, and even the world would be creating a person-first mentality for people with disabilities. I care about this work because I am a firm believer that we all rise by lifting others. It is hard not to care when audience members sincerely thank you with tears in their eyes for thinking about their needs. This is not work that is born out of pity, but of demands for equitable treatment for even the most vulnerable members of our society. Everyone needs to be treated with the same decency and their own unique set of tools to make life the best it can be.

Whenever I see systemic injustices, I am always quick to act on them before I can think. One of the ways I have given back to my community is through disability activism. I, myself, do not have a disability, but through my years working in the arts, I have seen time and time again organizations failing to meet bare minimums for people with disabilities, such as wheelchair accessibility, audio description, captions, or sensory guides. When I see a pattern of failing on part of the community, I take it upon myself to fix the problem. My arts accessibility journey began when I was tasked to create an audio description program for the theatre I worked at. Audio description is providing audio commentary during a live performance describing the physical action happening. I researched methods, reached out to experts, and did everything I could to present my patrons with the best experience possible. I was incredibly nervous for my first “performance”. I kept wondering “will these patrons like me?” “am I going to mess up a line?” “will the new equipment work?”. I gave it my all during the show and met my patrons in the lobby post-performance. One patron, who had been attending my theatre for over a decade took my hand, gently patted it, and thanked me with tears in her eyes for finally allowing her to “see” the performance. Once I felt I had tackled Audio Description, I focused on ways I could improve the theatre in other ways to increase disability services and continue community support and outreach. I worked in developing plans for sensory-friendly children’s productions to better serve our school-age community members. During one memorable day of our 2019 production of Cinderella, I responded to a need for accessibility in real-time. The lobby was packed with 200 kids and their camp counselors and we realized that one young audience member was experiencing sensory overload due to the noise. As the show was about to begin, I ran around the building looking for a way to help them enjoy the performance. I finally found a pair of noise-canceling headphones in the scenic shop that would work for the time being, but it highlighted a gap in service that I was not going to let go unaddressed. Once the show was through, I immediately got to work building accessibility guidelines to assure that nobody else feels left behind. The change I would like to see in my community, my country, and even the world would be creating a person-first mentality for people with disabilities. I care about this work because I am a firm believer that we all rise by lifting others. It is hard not to care when audience members sincerely thank you with tears in their eyes for thinking about their needs. This is not work that is born out of pity, but of demands for equitable treatment for even the most vulnerable members of our society. Everyone needs to be treated with the same decency and their own unique set of tools to make life the best it can be.

One of the most debilitating elements of mental illness is needing to hide it or stow it away, leaving illness to consistently hum in the background of your everyday life. You feel caught in a black smog. A smog that likes to follow you everywhere, leaving you evermore aware of its icy cold presence on your shoulder, or intrusive whispering voice in your ear. A personal accomplishment I have achieved is overcoming my diagnosis of Compulsive Anxiety Disorder. Compulsive Anxiety Disorder is an interesting painful mix between generalized anxiety disorder and obsessive-compulsive disorder. For the last few years, I spent far too many hours curled up on a floor or couch with endless, repetitive thoughts rushing through my brain like an unstoppable river, and me bearing complete victim to it. I was incapacitated by this fiend, leaving it to gain ahold of my life. I could not leave my bed, which left me to fester in the dark for days on end. My partner was the one to reach out their hand to pull me out of the darkness. Their worry for me was what finally cut through the cloudy malaise. Deciding to help myself was a more difficult task than I had imagined. I had used so much of my energy to help others that I had neglected to care for myself. Admitting that I had a mental illness was an action that helped lift the heaviness from my shoulders. I learned then and there that my mental illness is not my fault, but it is my responsibility. I was able to realize solutions and discovered I could use the same skills I learned in my years of community support and activism; make a plan, take action- regardless of the outcome, try something new even if it fails, and be thankful and celebrate the small successes. I still struggle with mental illness, but I feel as though I am lightyears beyond the low point of my life, thank to trust, responsibility, and gratitude.

One of the most debilitating elements of mental illness is needing to hide it or stow it away, leaving illness to consistently hum in the background of your everyday life. You feel caught in a black smog. A smog that likes to follow you everywhere, leaving you evermore aware of its icy cold presence on your shoulder, or intrusive whispering voice in your ear. A personal accomplishment I have achieved is overcoming my diagnosis of Compulsive Anxiety Disorder. Compulsive Anxiety Disorder is an interesting painful mix between generalized anxiety disorder and obsessive-compulsive disorder. For the last few years, I spent far too many hours curled up on a floor or couch with endless, repetitive thoughts rushing through my brain like an unstoppable river, and me bearing complete victim to it. I was incapacitated by this fiend, leaving it to gain ahold of my life. I could not leave my bed, which left me to fester in the dark for days on end. My partner was the one to reach out their hand to pull me out of the darkness. Their worry for me was what finally cut through the cloudy malaise. Deciding to help myself was a more difficult task than I had imagined. I had used so much of my energy helping others that I had neglected and forgotten how to care for myself. This leads me to try the approach that I use to tackle difficult projects but applied it to me. The first step was to admit that I had a mental illness and trust that strangers would help me like I had helped so many others. Admitting that I had a mental illness was an action that helped lift the heaviness from my shoulders almost immediately. I learned then and there that my mental illness is not my fault, but it is my responsibility. After my admissions and self-realizations, I was able to realize solutions, and discovered I could use the same skills I learned in my years of community support and activism; make a plan, take action- regardless of the outcome, try something new even if it fails, and be thankful and celebrate the small successes. I still struggle with mental illness, but I feel as though I am lightyears beyond the low point of my life, thank to trust, responsibility, and gratitude.

One of the most debilitating elements of mental illness is needing to hide it or stow it away, leaving illness to consistently hum in the background of your everyday life. You feel caught in a black smog. A smog that likes to follow you everywhere, leaving you evermore aware of its icy cold presence on your shoulder, or intrusive whispering voice in your ear. A personal accomplishment I have achieved is overcoming my diagnosis of Compulsive Anxiety Disorder. Compulsive Anxiety Disorder is an interesting painful mix between generalized anxiety disorder and obsessive-compulsive disorder. For the last few years, I spent far too many hours curled up on a floor or couch with endless, repetitive thoughts rushing through my brain like an unstoppable river, and me bearing complete victim to it. I was incapacitated by this fiend, leaving it to gain ahold of my life. I could not leave my bed, which left me to fester in the dark for days on end. My partner was the one to reach out their hand to pull me out of the darkness. Their worry for me was what finally cut through the cloudy malaise. Deciding to help myself was a more difficult task than I had imagined. I had used so much of my energy helping others that I had neglected and forgotten how to care for myself. This leads me to try the approach that I use to tackle difficult projects but applied it to me. The first step was to admit that I had a mental illness and trust that strangers would help me like I had helped so many others. Admitting that I had a mental illness was an action that helped lift the heaviness from my shoulders almost immediately. I learned then and there that my mental illness is not my fault, but it is my responsibility. After my admissions and self-realizations, I was able to realize solutions, and discovered I could use the same skills I learned in my years of community support and activism; make a plan, take action- regardless of the outcome, try something new even if it fails, and be thankful and celebrate the small successes. I still struggle with mental illness, but I feel as though I am lightyears beyond the low point of my life, thank to trust, responsibility, and gratitude.

I’ve spent the last 15 years working within the performing arts, but I am making a dramatic shift to law. Working in the arts, I was exposed to many different backgrounds and cultures showing and teaching me a vast array of stories. The ones that stuck out most to me were about social and economic inequality. Those stories steeped within my mind and soul, because I was raised in poverty by a single mother in rural Oregon and experienced the isolation of being mixed race and never meeting another person like myself. I only knew the microcosm of Central Oregon culture, a big-hearted community with close-minded ideals. My worldview was changed, shaped, and nurtured when I was exposed to theatre. As each story made an impact on me, I began working outside of the theatre and within my community little by doing volunteer work in order to make a change and ensure that marginalized communities had what they needed, such as food, shelter, and support, in order to live a more equitable life. My time in the theatre started waning, and my time within the Portland community started growing. However, I started to feel a plateau in progress I was making and like I had hit a wall, and from that wall I started to feel like I was moving backward, stuck in a perpetual motion of pushing a boulder up a hill. That boulder was law and legislation. I intend to use the skills and knowledge I have gained in the arts to pursue a different path, one that is perhaps more difficult, but one that I feel like I was born to fight in. What inspires me is seeing even the smallest amount of change in my own neighborhood, and I want to see that change on a state-wide level, and maybe some a day, a national one. Being a mixed-race person myself, I have knowledge of being an artist in the performing arts can be isolating and I want systemic change for underserved communities, not only in art but in society. Because art and society mirror each other, I am compelled to go straight to the source to attack and dismantle systemic injustice within Oregon communities. I intend to pursue a career in public interest and government law. Listening to the voices that need to be heard is the pathway to revolution. I want to be the megaphone for those voices, amplifying their words when no one else will.

"Lying in wait, for the Postman cometh." Instagram: @katrinalindc Pet's Name: Stanley