The eyes of a child. A beautiful blank slate. They are bright, seeking information from the world around them and picking out all that is good. When observing them, I am overwhelmed with a swift sense of optimism and wish to soak in it again: as I recall this perspective well from my childhood. I admire the simplicity and strength of children in this way and often wonder why optimism is now such a fleeting art. As the weight of life grows, optimism regresses. We must change this narrative. Fighting for optimism within yourself changes you as a human being. My journey continues and now fosters inspiring that change in others. I grew up with only my mother. As a child, I learned to help mommy find the WIC products in the grocery store and not push her for extras we could not afford. I never saw either of us as lesser than; It was just how we lived. My father is a habitual criminal, appearing in momentary, chaotic flashes throughout my life. His visits often included a strange trip to see his friends. Afterward, screaming would ensue between my mother and him—slamming doors, punching walls, red faces. Once done hiding behind my bed, I grabbed a coloring book and drew a picture of the house I would one day build with a garden and a big sun shining in the corner of the page. I would not put the pieces together until later in life. I would not understand that we skipped town so often to hide from my father, or because mom could not pay the bills; or that my father and his friends were using and pushing drugs in front of me. Even up to my freshman year, I did not accept that my father snorted cocaine with me in the car, thinking I was asleep. Because I felt limited by my parents' story and had developed extreme anxiety and trauma, I could no longer muster the enthusiasm to draw the house, the garden, or the sun. Through middle and early high school, I grappled with finding who I was because I did not know there was a person to find. My body succumbed to the stress, and my hair began to fall out; I developed Alopecia, triggered by the anxiety. I remember staring at walls aimlessly for months, feeling that my brain held no capacity for vibrance and craving to feel present in myself again. Intuitively, I knew I wanted so much more. I had always been fond of the arts, a haven to explore. When creating in the theatre, visual arts, or dance studios, I found glimpses of myself that had been hiding for so long. I ran with it. In a moment during my sophomore year, I dedicated myself to the arts and found the embodiment of love. I was not my anxiety, my trauma, or my depression. I was not my mother's shadow or my father's baggage; I was a person with limitless warmth and the ability to seek more. This pivotal moment introduced me to my adoration for dance and human connection, passions that revealed coping skills I never had known. I felt at home when I learned the joy of the creative process. Today I draw my picture once more. Today I dance. I remind myself and others what love, and raw human connection can bring you. Today I reap the benefits of optimism. I find endless joy in opening my mind. I meditate, I create, I love. I place no limits upon myself. I want to share the gift of the arts with lost people who might be staring at their walls. I want to help others understand that life can offer more possibilities. I am dedicated to pursuing Psychology, dance, and specifically, Expressive Arts Therapy. I dream of one day opening my own practice that offers a variety of artistic therapies that can heal all kinds of different people. The art of optimism is essential in my life and growth. I strive to nurture it, for it made me who I am today. I have rekindled my inner child's eyes and seek to pay it forward.