As a person with many paths opened ahead of them, I have found this question to be confronting. I am currently a high school senior, about to make a decision on what school I go to, and hoping that I can continue studying music. Things might change though. I’m at multiple crossroads in terms of what type of major I should undergo, whether I should pursue a masters degree afterwards, or if my major will even change. With this in mind, I at least have an open understanding of what I want to do with my life. I want to advocate for people with physical disabilities. As a person with dwarfism, I have found my experience as an educated youth to be rife with struggles of discouragement and limited accessibility. This has made me want to provide opportunities and resources to those like me, hoping to diminish discouragements in the future. It doesn’t matter how, or in what way, but my goal is to make people achieve their own goals and feel represented regardless of their disability. This can be in literally anything I do. If I follow my path as a musician, but go to Georgia Tech, I can study music technology, and innovate various adaptable instruments for people unable to use the standard models of playing. I could make disability-friendly attachments and adjustable instrument sizes that could allow anyone to play the instruments they love. This stems from my experience as a musician, as I have found instruments like guitar and piano to be physically limiting. I found drums to be my passion due to its adaptable and variable standards of play, and I was allowed to progress without limiting my ability to play. This drive also comes from my drive to become an academic musician, blending music and engineering skills into any advocating outlet I explore. I want that same experience of open accessibility to be given to people like me. I could also use this advocacy towards my other passions. As an avid table tennis player, I have been constantly inspired by Mitch and Ian Seidenfeld in their Paralympic table tennis achievements. To go down the Paralympic track would allow me to become an inspiration like them. I would use visibility as a tool to create spaces and resources for those hoping to learn and progress in the sport, disabled or not. As a creative writer, I could create media portraying physical disabilities in a better light. This could be making comics containing characters with properly-portrayed physical disabilities, writing books about my experiences as a person with dwarfism, or documenting the various histories of progression in the light of discrimination within disabled communities. I could do one, or two, or hopefully all of these things. However, even if I go down a completely different path, my goal will always be to provide advocacy, because I needed advocacy when I was young. I didn’t have resources or voices to speak out on my behalf when it came to the things I enjoyed. I didn’t have people to look up to who looked like me, or characters to idolize that shared similar struggles, and I know for a fact that there are many who have gone through the same (or worse) situations as me. I could reach my own goals, and help others reach theirs. Doing whatever I can to provide advocacy would create a legacy of innovators and creators unbound by their disabilities, able to excel in anything they hope to achieve, whether it be specifically in music, or whatever else they find interest in.

Judith Heumann. She is someone that I have the most respect for in history, not only because of her work, but how that work has directly impacted my life. Ms. Heumann was a disability rights activist. Contracting polio in her youth, she used a wheelchair her entire life. This experience drastically influenced her education, as the discrimination and lack of systemic support for people with physical disabilities was deeply entrenched at that time. After attending a summer camp for disabled people, Camp Jenned, she was driven to fight for civil rights and equality for disabled people. Her most famous accomplishment was being the main organizer for the 504 Sit-In, a 28-day protest asking for the signing of Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act of 1973, which would grant civil and personal rights to those with disabilities. This was a successful protest, gaining supplies and support from the Black Panther Party, and eventually passing the bill. She would continue to work for disability rights all of her life, whether it be in media de-stigmatization, structural reform, or education. Judith Heumann’s work is what has allowed me to feel equal in the world. She has allowed me, through the 504 bill, to feel normal in school and everyday life, having ways to adapt environments for my disability. My school provides resources that make my learning experience equitable. I can reach things, something that is so unthought of in the perception of regular-height students, but a constant struggle in my life due to my disability. If not for her, things as small as getting into my desk seat, or as big as finding a home in my community would not be possible. She has made me feel human, rather than alienated by a world full of things literally out of my reach.

I have a physical disability called Dwarfism, something that has challenged me my entire life. When I was 4, my legs were surgically broken to straighten them. I had another surgery at 10. I had screws removed at 14. I’ve found a lack of support in communities I’ve joined, my self or work being perceived as childish or less-than. In common activities, I have felt belittled: stools and soft apologies were (and are) a constant part of my life. However, these struggles do not compare to when I was bullied in middle school. I had been bullied prior: I had matured quickly, ignoring stares, questions and taunts of people younger and older than me. However, these experiences didn't compare to this. Whenever I would encounter him, he would call me a “midget.” This word is a registered hate term, associated with a darker past of circuses and freak-shows, having dwarfs perceived as inhuman or less-than. These diminutive attacks were something I had never experienced before, and I was emotionally broken over these experiences. I feared this kid. But, like much of my entire life, I learned to adapt. I drowned his words out, listening to music or talking with a friend, focusing hard on work rather than on him. I tried to get him out of my mind any way I could. Soon enough, he stopped interacting with me. I was able to overcome my emotional weight from these interactions, enduring his taunts to find peace. Though he later moved away, my perseverance would continue. Though this situation brought me tremendous emotional strain, it helped me better understand the ignorance I would later encounter throughout my life. It also brought me methods of education and recognition, tools I still use to teach those uninformed of the gift I was given.

One talent I find pride in is table tennis. Because of my Dwarfism, I found inspiration at a young age from Mitch Seidenfeld, the first dwarf to win gold in Paralympic table tennis. His achievements made me hopeful, giving me a person with dwarfism to idolize. The accessibility of the sport also drew me, due to my inability to keep up in other height-demanding sports. Table tennis was an activity where short stature was an advantage, so I went all in. I commonly practice this skill through repetition. Table tennis is about muscle memory, coordination and reflex, all honed with continual enactment and analysis. Almost every day, I go to my garage and volley with myself, propping half of my table tennis table up to help the ball bounce back. This helps me practice quickly, improving reflexes in conditioning while providing an easy way to switch technique. Playing with others is a vital step towards improvement. I live close to a recreation center, and every Sunday they set up open play table tennis. This is a really fun experience, because not only am I able to play with different people and playing styles, but I am also able to be taught, absorbing as much information about how to play as I can. Finding an accepting learning environment is something I’ve been grateful for. Another way I improve my skill is by joining competitions. This brings a level of sportsmanship and focus unseen in other playing environments, which helps me to use all of my skills and observe top-tier players. The Dwarf Athletic Association of America is one group that I attend, and their tournaments are an amazing opportunity to play on a level playing field with other people with dwarfism. I have also earned medals in the World Dwarf Games.

Blackbird by The Beatles has been an anthem of support throughout my entire life. I first heard it after I was adopted from Boston. My mom and dad would sing it to me every night as a lullaby. It would be the song that would help me wind down, and would support me as I grew. When I started going to school, it was a song that lifted me up. I was bullied for my height, and whenever I felt bad about the way I looked, I listened to this song. Messages of taking what you have, no matter how broken or different, and learning to live with it in hopeful anticipation, was something I took to heart. It would inspire me to look past all the bullying and taunting, aiming for a place where I could fit in. It also inspired me to become a musician. This was the first song I heard from the Beatles, and I became obsessed in my early childhood. Ringo Starr was one of my favorites out of the group, so I asked for a drum-set for my 5th birthday, and got it. 13 years later, I’ve progressed to writing my own songs, playing in my own bands, and still listening to the Beatles for song inspiration. Now, it’s inspiring me to fulfill my goals. My hope is to provide advocacy and technical solutions for people with physical disabilities who might be discouraged from physical aspects of music creation. I know that feeling of being different, and not being able to do things just like everyone else does. However, as Paul McCartney tells me every time I listen to this song, you just have to “take your broken wings and learn to fly,” adapting and overcoming as many obstacles as you can.

My best skill has to be drumming. The adaptability of the instrument drew me in at a young age due to my physical disability (Dwarfism), and driven by a new opportunity, I went deep into practice. I've been playing for about 13 years now. From this work, I gained opportunities including performing onstage with Col. Bruce Hampton, taking lessons from legends like Jim Payne and Jeff Sipe, and being accepted into Berklee School of Music for Drum Set. I have improved this skill in multiple ways, one being joining ensembles. I recently reached a point where most of my drumming progress has been in group performance, gaining technique to help better understand how to complement other instrumentalists. I have found many of my personal skills to greatly improve when working amidst unique perspectives, so I love collaborating creatively with others. In high school, I tried to join as many band programs as possible, trying to find these perspectives, and it led me to attend every level of band at my school in four years (percussion class to wind ensemble and IB music theory). These groups gave me ways to adapt to any musical environment, improving my skills dramatically. I have also started revisiting the basics of my instrument. Though exploring very complex rhythms is fun and challenging, it is hard to do when a baseline of rudimentary skills aren’t well known. That is why it is common for me to practice a lot of easy rhythms and practice exercises on repeat with a metronome before getting into the more complicated stuff. This skill has allowed me to reach my highest potential, helping me to continue learning and finding new ideas for more than 13 years. It has also driven me to push past barriers, finding a home in music.

I have learned that I am adaptable. This is something I have known for a long time, but something that I have found little value in, until recently. I have Achondroplasia, a form of dwarfism, making me only four feet tall. With the life experiences that followed, I didn't find my disability as something to take pride in, but a burden. Constant teasing and bullying occurred in my education, and the ignorance of my condition in systems I found myself in made the expirience even more isolating. These systems were both social and physical, and in both, I learned to adapt. In social situations, I found myself amidst groups that had little knowledge towards my condition, and in response acted in ways that were emotionally harmful towards me. However, understanding their ignorance, and adapting to these situations, I would educate. I would teach them about my disability, the history of its ridicule and the shame that comes with it, the pride that many who have it gain in communities like the Little People of America (which I am a member of). This would help me in changing the viewpoint of people who knew almost nothing about me or what (let alone who) I was, and because of that, I began to find value. In physical situations, it was ironically the smallest concepts that made me struggle. High countertops, tall stools and average height activities were always tough to overcome. However, the adaptability of stools, chairs and modification helped me create new ways to live in a world not meant for people my size. Knowing that I could work around my environment, finding creative ways to support myself and my interests without reliance on the kindness of others (which I still use), was another way that I found pride and value.

I have a physical disability called Dwarfism, something that has challenged me my entire life. When I was 4, my legs were surgically broken to straighten them. I had another surgery at 10. I had screws removed at 14. I’ve found a lack of support in communities I’ve joined, my self or work being perceived as childish or less-than. In common activities, I have felt belittled: stools and soft apologies were (and are) a constant part of my life. These struggles do not compare to when I was bullied in middle school. I had been bullied prior: I had matured quickly, ignoring stares, questions and taunts of people younger and older than me. But these were mere pokes to my conscience, compared to the stabs that were this bully’s choice words. Whenever I would encounter him, he would call me a “midget”. This word is a registered hate term. It comes from its association to penny circuses and freak shows eras ago, having dwarfs perceived as inhuman or less-than. I feared this kid. But, like much of my entire life, I learned to adapt. I drowned him out, listening to music or talking with a friend, trying to focus on work rather than him. Soon enough, he stopped interacting with me. I was able to overcome my emotional weight towards our interactions, finding peace in ignoring his taunts. Though this situation brought me tremendous emotional strain, it helped me to better understand the ignorance I would later experience throughout my life. It brought me methods of education and recognition, tools I would use to teach those blind to the life I was given.

Hi, I’m Levi! I’ve been playing the drums for 13 years. Ever since my uncle gifted me a tiny Ludwig drum kit, my musical progression has expanded to levels I never thought I could achieve. And that progression has allowed me to see just how impactful music is. There were gaps in my musical development at first. I have Achondroplasia, a form of Dwarfism, so my progress slowed with the demanding leg surgeries I had to undertake. However, these hiatuses allowed me to find a sense of patience and anticipation in music that would benefit my progression in the long run. Later in my musical education, I found learning opportunities under Robert Boone (Count Basie's Orchestra) and Jim Payne (Maceo Parker, Fred Wesley, Pee Wee Ellis). These experiences allowed my technique, as well as my drive to explore other musical outlets, to grow. In high school, I worked in every ensemble provided, even taking International Baccalaureate level music theory courses. My expanding musical understanding led me towards experimenting with digital audio workstations, arranging personally influential pieces, composing original songs, and recording fully-produced tracks. All of this helped me join Georgia State University’s Rialto Jazz Youth Orchestra, and later be admitted into Berklee School of Music, Georgia Tech (a Music Technology major), University of Georgia, and Georgia State University. With these experiences behind me, I found a sense of enjoyment and respect for music, as well as its aspects that make it so vital towards the progression of society. Music is influential because anyone can create it. It sounds so simple, because it is: music is an art only limited by the drive of the artist. It's something that transcends and unites almost all forms of human variance. People halfway across the world can get together, never having met, not speaking the same language, and create something beautiful that they can both understand. Another is how it draws out memory. Music-elicited tears have been scientifically surveyed because of their prominence. People hold vivid images of influential moments in their life through the music playing at that time. I still remember hearing “Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa” by Vampire Weekend, screaming “IS YOUR BED MADE, IS YOUR SWEATER ON” with my family, driving to an Atlanta Thrashers hockey game. That song brings warmth to my chest no matter how cold the weather is. It holds a duality of emotion that nothing in the world could match. It soothes the soul, brings those in panic calm, and guides those who struggle to rest to sleep. But it can also bring an unparalleled slew of intense emotion, inciting the greatest physical and mental performances in any medium. It brings people together under a movement, solidifies messages across the world. “Come Together” by the Beatles is a song that I listen to to wind down and read, but it’s also the song that helped me win a world record in adaptive indoor rowing. That’s why I want to major in music. I want to provide a sense of unity despite differences, because that’s what I feel when performing music. Being a person with a physical disability, music helped me connect with my community despite struggles to find common ground. That's why with every opportunity gained from this scholarship, I hope to provide a sense of advocacy towards those who hope to explore and create music despite limitations. From adaptive music technologies, to using visibility to provide a voice towards groups not as present within the music industry, I will use all of this musical inspiration and tutelage to be that glue that unites and connects.

I have Dwarfism. I’m four feet tall. I was adopted from Boston when I was 7 months old, and was raised in Decatur, Georgia. When I was 4, I had to have my legs surgically broken to straighten them, and another double-leg surgery when I was 10. I had the screws removed when I was 14. I was bullied through all of middle school. I have PTSD whenever I see a red hoodie. I’ve been called a “midget'' so many times, I’ve been desensitized to the word. That scares me. I feel constantly diminished in my life. Whenever I have to ask help for the most minimal tasks, when I can’t walk fast enough for my friends, or when I avoid the stares of grown adults as they laugh about my condition. I was put on my high school’s basketball team out of pity, and had to leave because I couldn’t handle the taunts. I’ve been treated and dismissed like a child, picked up without my permission, shoved, and even thrown. I can’t drive without pedal extensions, can’t cook without stools, and can’t play sports without overexerting. I can’t walk down the street without someone giving me a look. I can’t even talk to someone without them looking down at me. It’s grueling. Listening to music helped me through this, but to an extent: I could drown out the laughing for only so long. So, hoping to get these belittled feelings out, I took up the drum kit. Drumming got me through high school. It didn’t restrict me like piano or guitar, instruments that needed big hands or long arms. It didn’t put me out front like a trophy of inclusion like choir. I felt like a cog in a well-oiled machine, contributing rather than being a hood ornament. It was a slow start. Even though I could adjust the drums to my height, though I didn’t need to be that good with my fingers, it was still physical. It took years of practice, of catching up (like I always did) with my friends, trying to get past the basics. But I loved this instrument. I felt strong, not diminished. I was the heartbeat to any band I joined, helping ideas and emotion stand strong. Clairo’s music resonated with me, but so did her past. About 4 years after she moved from Massachusetts to Georgia, I did the opposite—moving to Georgia from Boston. She performed covers at small venues, I busk in my Decatur’s town square. She felt like a distant cousin, related by music instead of blood. And whenever I hear a song of hers, I’m reminded of the memories that make me who I am. “Partridge” reminds me of Christmas, sitting in a wheelchair with red & black casts on my legs, getting gifted drumsticks. I was aching then, but I was happy too. That was one of my favorite holidays. “North” reminds me of going to Waffle House after a marching band show, all sweaty from performing, laughing way too loud with my friends in a back booth. I didn’t feel four feet tall. “Softly” reminds me of sitting on my parents’ bed, sobbing, my family hugging me from all sides. It was a stressful day, there was some test I failed, and I was hyper-focusing on the laughs and stares I got walking home from school. I just couldn’t deal with it anymore, couldn’t hold it in. The floodgates opened. And they were there, comforting me, helping me push past all of that anger and sorrow. I couldn’t feel more loved by my family then.

In the future, I am an old man, sitting at a piano, trying to write a new song. Many years have passed, and with them, memories and ideas. Friends. Family. Gigs. A Grammy or two sit a little dusty on top of the piano. I finally find something that I like the sound of, so I start recording. Around my room are little things that remind me of my life, what I’ve accomplished. A framed diploma hangs on the wall next to pictures of those I’ve adored. Musicians I’ve been able to meet, play with, or support. Music books pile on a bookshelf, worn and loved. All the music I've played, all I've learned: It feels like a life well-lived. A prototype of a small drum seat leans next to that bookcase, haphazardly built, falling apart. I have Dwarfism, and I remember that I had been using the same drum throne for the past 12 years. My back was starting to feel the wear and tear of a stiff seat. I needed something that fit my needs, as well as any other short drummer who couldn’t use the average drum throne, so I decided to make my own. I immediately felt the difference, and it sparked my journey towards adapting equipment towards those with physical disabilities. Prosthetic attachments for amputees to help make drumming feel more comfortable, more ergonomic keyboards and guitars for musicians who need wheelchairs, and even adaptable DAWs for those who rely on assistive technology for day-to-day functioning. I even made a scholarship for this kind of work, supporting students who want to explore their passion for music regardless of their physical, mental, or societal struggles. To be able to see students who really shine makes me feel better than any stage or any song.