Music has been my constant, my purpose, and my way of connecting with the world. I joined my first band in eighth grade, unsure if I would know anyone. Before I could process where I was, a blonde kid with a huge smile ran up and hugged me like we had been friends forever. Halfway through rehearsal, I realized we had gone to the same elementary school and had even been in a play together. I’ll call him Goose Juice. He quickly became my first real friend in music. Goose Juice was fearless, chaotic, and completely alive in his performances. During our first song together, he started singing and rolled across the floor mid-performance. His energy was contagious. Because of him, performing stopped feeling terrifying and started feeling exciting. I learned then that music isn’t just about playing the right notes—it’s about connection, energy, and emotion. Over the years, we jammed together for hours, experimented with instruments, and even dreamed aloud about performing at the Grammy Awards. Goose Juice’s passion inspired me to chase music relentlessly. Even as we explored different projects, we remained connected through music. Tragically, I lost him suddenly to suicide, and that moment changed the way I see music forever. I realized that music wasn’t just a personal pursuit—it was a way to create impact, to bring hope and joy to others, and to honor the connections that inspire us. Since then, I have dedicated myself to using music to make a difference. I performed at a children’s festival benefiting Primary Children’s Hospital, opening for Post Malone, and volunteered my time to raise over $500,000 for Operation Smile at Sony Hall in New York. I have worked with the Sound Support Foundation to provide music education and performance opportunities for kids and performed at a Larry H. Miller Foundation event supporting over 3,000 people experiencing homelessness. Through these experiences, I’ve seen how music can reach people when words cannot—offering connection, healing, and hope. I am extremely passionate about music and songwriting. Music speaks to people in a way that nothing else does. I have seen the effects of music on people and want to keep that alive for many years to come. In the days of AI, I want to advocate for human creativity and human soul in writing, not the product of some machine. AI, while it can be used as a tool, should not and can not replace the soul. . Music is made to heal, influence, express, and to bring things to light. It’s a very powerful tool and I strive to keep genuine human writing alive for as long as I live.

Music has been my constant, my purpose, and my way of connecting with the world. I joined my first band in eighth grade. I walked into the room convinced I wouldn’t know a single person. Before I could even process where I was, a blonde kid with a huge smile ran up and hugged me like we had been friends forever. I didn’t recognize him at first, but halfway through rehearsal it clicked—we had gone to the same elementary school and had even been in a play together. I’ll call him Goose Juice. He quickly became my first real friend in the band. He had also recently come out as Gay. Goose Juice was chaos in the best possible way. During the first song we ever performed together, he started singing and then literally rolled across the floor in the middle of the performance. His energy was fearless and contagious. Being around him made music feel alive. Because of him, performing stopped feeling terrifying and started feeling exciting. He showed me that music wasn’t just about playing the right notes; it was about connection. Later that year our band traveled to Santa Monica, where our friendship grew even stronger. At one point we found ourselves waiting at a red carpet. He turned to me with complete seriousness and said, “You know what? We should do this at the Grammys someday. You and me.” That became our dream. Even after we started working on different projects, we stayed close. We both kept chasing music. The summer of our Senior year, he stopped by my performance before heading off to one of his own. That would be the last time I ever saw him in person. A few days later, he called me. I missed it because I was busy and assumed I would call him back later. I never got the chance. On the second day of school, an email was sent out explaining that Goose Juice had taken his life the night before. That moment changed the way I see music forever. I thought back to the red-carpet line and the promise we had made to meet again at the Grammys. I realized that chasing music wasn’t just about achieving success anymore. It was about carrying forward the connection and joy that Goose Juice brought into every room. Since then, I’ve tried to use music to make a difference. I performed at a children’s music festival benefiting Primary Children’s Hospital, opening for Post Malone with everyone volunteering their time. I sang at Sony Hall in New York in a concert that raised over $500,000 for Operation Smile. I’ve worked with the Sound Support Foundation to help provide music education and performance opportunities for kids, and I performed at an event for the Larry H. Miller Foundation that provided food and entertainment for more than 3,000 people experiencing homelessness. Through experiences like these, I’ve learned that music can reach people in ways words sometimes cannot. It can bring hope, connection, and healing. I pursue music not only to keep the promise I made with Goose Juice, but to use it to help others the way it helped us.