I was at a grape vineyard with a friend. We were both seven. Our parents were somewhere inside, swirling velvety red wine in a glass and commenting on the notes of blackcurrant and cedar. But we were free, outdoors in the summer air and running through magic tunnels of twisting trees and thorns. Somewhere along the sloping, grassy plane, we found a lake. And at its sandy shore, something unexpected and slimy sat idly in the sun. “Is that a frog?” she asked. “Yeah. I have a book about frogs. It has pictures.” I said. She picked up the frog. This worried me. He looked a bit upset. “Hey, put him down! He wants to be on the ground,” I said. “No, he likes it when I hold him! He loves my hugs,” she said. “No, he looks scared. In Judy Moody and she had a frog and the frog got scared and it peed in her hand,” I said. “Ew, ew, really?” she said, and flung the frog into the water. Not a perfect outcome—a gentle set-down would have been nicer—but better than squeezing poor Mr. Pond-Dweller to death. I don’t plan to major in frog-ology, but I still love frogs. I think everyone should have a little, silly thing that brings them joy for no particular reason. There are other things I love: the sound of footsteps in snow, the light that streams through the stained glass windows of my white-steepled church, the untaste of water. My mom’s laugh. Clean sheets, hot showers. And writing this. Life is a series of moments. It’s a lot of waiting and sitting and washing hands and microwaving and looking out the window. If you forget to love the moments, the little frogs of life, you miss the whole thing.

It’s warm and stuffy in the call center. I'm sitting in an office chair, coloring in a little page of our logo, Call2Talk. I look up at the posters covering the walls, some with Mr. Rogers quotes and others detailing how to assess for suicide risk. Suddenly, a noise rushes through my headphones—a caller is on the line from the National Suicide Prevention Helpline. "Call2Talk, we’re here to listen!" I answer. I’ve received all sorts of calls. Most are from older people, some are from younger people, and all are heart-wrenching. Still, the job has taught me that simply listening, and giving people your empathy and time, is the most valuable thing a person can do. When people are depressed, they feel isolated. If you give them your full attention, it makes them feel so much less alone. I’ve noticed the benefits of empathy outside of the office. When my friends cry or feel stressed, I stay with them and let them know that it's ok to cry, and that I'm there for them. It comforts them and helps them feel safe while in distress. Never say "Don't cry!" to someone who's upset, because it only tells them that it isn't acceptable for them to express emotion and be vulnerable. When you see people you care about hurting emotionally, it can feel like you’re powerless. But your power is the ability to be there for others, whenever they need you. The practical solution to mental health is one word: Listening. Listen with empathy. Don't give advice or lecture. Place yourself in the shoes of others and be a shoulder to cry on. Give your time, and your complete attention, and it will make people feel a bit better and a bit less alone.

A soft chime echoed through the store as I entered. The air smelled of dust and cotton, alongside the faint fumes of lavender from a candle burning from the cashier’s desk. Every item of clothing that crowded the floor and walls of the tiny thrift store was once owned and loved by someone. I walked along the tiny path through the metal racks, running my hands along the différant fabrics. a pink striped shirt, a pair of ripped jeans, a huge black leather jacket... but one item caught my eye. a scratchy cotton sweater, knitted with navy, white, and bright red in an icelandic lopapeysa pattern. shining silver buttons engraved with snowflakes dotted the front. beautiful- and only $5! A steal! I took my new friend to the front desk, exchanging pleasantries with the cashier. I left the store glowing with the happiness that only thrift shopping can bring me. It isn’t just the beautiful clothing that keeps me coming back to thrift stores. It’s also the knowledge that by buying used clothing, I can avoid putting more environmental strain on the earth. No need to manufacture a new shirt- what I need has already been made, and it’s sitting in the consignment boutique! My dollars also support a local small business, rather than a huge clothing corporation at the mall. Thrifting is a mundane act, but I know that it has a purpose, and is a small way of making a positive impact on my community.

Some say that eyes are a window to the soul, but I think a bookcase works just as well. I glance at my mahogany bookshelf filled with knick-knacks and novels. It was passed down to me from my grandmother and has been a constant presence in my bedroom since birth. Each shelf reminds me of a different step on my journey with mental health. On the first shelf, psychology abounds. Psych 101. Emotional Intelligence. Folded between the two books is a coloring page bearing the logo for Call2Talk, a suicide hotline. On a late-night shift at the stuffy office of the call center, my eyes fixed on the block letters as a girl’s voice, no older than twelve, whispered fearfully through the phone. Then, I heard a woman’s faint but terrible scream. “He’s doing it again! He’s hurting mom!” “Hang up and call 911,” I said. The girl had been hiding under her bed, afraid of her brother who had taken to lashing out at family members in anger. There are so many callers like that frightened girl who recount stories of childhood abuse and fear, whether a present reality or a grim past. In times of acute stress, I want to be a reassuring and uplifting voice at the other end of the phone. This desire draws me to become a therapist for trauma recovery who supports survivors and gives them a place to be heard. I take a leather-bound diary from the second shelf and thumb through it. An entry dated 2014 is scribbled with phrases that read like Jay Gatsby’s to-do list from his teen years. No lunch at school. Exercise 60 minutes every day. Today’s total: 600 calories. I keep this diary to remind myself of the anorexia I struggled with as a 10-year-old when my BMI was under 13. My head was crowded with an endless list of forbidden foods. At my annual checkup, the doctor gave a harsh-sounding diagnosis- anorexia. I thought I was healthy, but one day someone changed my mindset. Later that summer, I vividly recall a girl approaching me on the playground and asking if I had enough to eat- then, she offered me her snack. I’ll always remember the salt-butter taste of those goldfish and the feeling something bad was coming to an end. The kindness of a stranger was enough to make me question and eventually overcome my eating disorder. Her empathy compels me to be a physician in an eating disorder recovery facility. As a physician for the deadliest mental illness, I could attempt to bridge the gap between physical and mental treatment and ensure patients get the holistic care they need. My two shelves tell two different stories, but a common theme runs through them both: I want to help people who struggle with mental illness. Through college, I will pursue a profession focused on service, whether I become a psychiatrist or a physician. I will achieve my dream of providing compassion and assistance to others, just as that girl on the playground did for me so long ago.

Some say that eyes are a window to the soul, but I think a bookcase works just as well. I glance at my mahogany bookshelf filled with knick-knacks and novels. It was passed down to me from my grandmother and has been a constant presence in my bedroom since birth. Each shelf reminds me of a profession I’d like to pursue. On the first shelf, psychology abounds. Psych 101. Emotional Intelligence. Folded between the two books is a coloring page bearing the logo for Call2Talk, a suicide hotline. On a late-night shift at the stuffy office of the call center, my eyes fixed on the block letters as a girl’s voice, no older than twelve, whispered fearfully through the phone. Then, I heard a woman’s faint but terrible scream. “He’s doing it again! He’s hurting mom!” “Hang up and call 911,” I said. The girl had been hiding under her bed, afraid of her brother who had taken to lashing out at family members in anger. There are so many callers like that frightened girl who recount stories of childhood abuse and fear, whether a present reality or a grim past. In times of acute stress, I want to be a reassuring and uplifting voice at the other end of the phone. This desire draws me to become a therapist for trauma recovery who supports survivors and gives them a place to be heard. I take a leather-bound diary from the second shelf and thumb through it. An entry dated 2014 is scribbled with phrases that read like Jay Gatsby’s to-do list from his teen years. No lunch at school. Exercise 60 minutes every day. Today’s total: 600 calories. I keep this diary to remind myself of the anorexia I struggled with as a 10-year-old when my BMI was under 13. My head was crowded with an endless list of forbidden foods. At my annual checkup, the doctor gave a harsh-sounding diagnosis- anorexia. I thought I was healthy, but one day someone changed my mindset. Later that summer, I vividly recall a girl approaching me on the playground and asking if I had enough to eat- then, she offered me her snack. I’ll always remember the salt-butter taste of those goldfish and the feeling something bad was coming to an end. The kindness of a stranger was enough to make me question and eventually overcome my eating disorder. Her empathy compels me to be a physician in an eating disorder recovery facility. As a physician for the deadliest mental illness, I could attempt to bridge the gap between physical and mental treatment and ensure patients get the holistic care they need. My two shelves tell two different stories, but a common theme runs through them both: I want to help people who struggle with mental illness. Through college, I will pursue a profession focused on service, whether I become a psychiatrist or a physician. I will achieve my dream of providing compassion and assistance to others, just as that girl on the playground did for me so long ago.

It’s warm and stuffy in the call center. I'm sitting in an office chair, coloring in a little page of our logo, Call2Talk. I look up at the posters covering the walls, some with Mr. Rogers quotes and others detailing how to assess for suicide risk. Suddenly, a noise rushes through my headphones- a caller is on the line from the National Suicide Prevention Helpline. "Call2Talk, we’re here to listen!" I answer. I’ve received all sorts of calls. Most are from older people, some are from younger people, and all are heart-wrenching. Still, the job has taught me that simply listening, and giving people your empathy and time, is the most valuable thing a person can do. When people are depressed, they feel isolated. If you give them your full attention, it makes them feel so much less alone. I’ve noticed the benefits of empathy outside of the office. When my friends cry or feel stressed, I stay with them and let them know it's ok to cry, and that I'm there for them. It comforts them and lets them feel safe while they're in distress. Never say "Don't cry!" to someone who's upset, because it only tells them that it isn't acceptable for them to express emotion and be vulnerable. When you see people you care about hurting emotionally, it can feel like you’re powerless. But your power is the ability to be there for others, whenever they need you. The practical solution to mental health is one word: Listening. Listen with empathy. Don't give advice or lecture. Place yourself in the shoes of others and be a shoulder to cry on. Give your time, and your complete attention, and it will make people feel a bit better and a bit less alone.

If comedy is the subversion of expectations, then this fits the bill! Let's set the scene. It's late at night. You've installed safety cameras around your home, just in case something or someone frightening intends to break in. Suddenly, you get a notification- someone's at the door, but you haven't been expecting anyone... who- or what- could it be? Heart racing, you check the cameras and see... a wide-eyed little frog? That's it? And to think that you were scared! Just like that, your fear melts away into laughter, and you feel safe in the world. You watch the tiny frog hop away into the night, but the moment stays with you- a reminder that the world is often happier and more hopeful than it may seem.

Feet pounding on the leaf-strewn cement, I rush through the forest, my breath caught on the cold air and steep inclines. I stumble a bit on a stray rock, and for a moment I feel hopeless. But then, I see someone ahead- with a bit of extra work, I can pass them! I remember the training I've been doing for months, and with a burst of effort, I take the lead! Cross-country is a beautiful sport. It's hard work- the hill workouts on hot summer days, the distance runs on freezing winter nights, and the arduous treadmill runs when the weather is too harsh. But the reward of a perfect race is worth all the effort. I love the sport more than anything else because it's an outlet for stress and a great way to push my limits and achieve attainable goals. A runner's high is one of the most uplifting emotions I've ever experienced, and it melts all worries away. After a good race, I feel like I'm on top of the world. Through running, I can set straightforward goals for myself, like finishing a 5K race in under twenty-two minutes. When I achieve that goal, I feel accomplished and motivated to get even faster! Plus, it reinforces my self-worth and confidence by proving that I can achieve anything I set my mind to. Staying fit through cross-country is also a great way to make lifelong friends. When I go on long trail runs with teammates, we get to chat with each other and explore nature. The sport is practically made for making quality connections. The longer we run, the closer we get! Plus, teammates always support each other and build each other up, whether we've had a good race or a tough one. Positivity is how we succeed! Fitness has improved my mental and physical health by a staggering amount. It's given me confidence, a growth mindset, a supportive friend group, and a positive attitude unshaken in the face of struggle. I will use the lessons I have learned from cross-country throughout my life, from perseverance to determination, and will continue running long after I have graduated from school. Go Eagles!

no thoughts, head empty, only frogs 💕 #frogs #frogmemes #wholesome