I have a genetic lung disease called Cystic Fibrosis. There is no cure for this disease and it is essential I take care of myself. As everyone has experiences moving through COVID, I am no exception. As a teenager in the middle of high school, everything was ripped away with no warning. On top of the isolation aspect, I also had to concern myself with the health aspect. Specifically, my lungs that I have been taught to protect. I could tell stories about being sick in the hospital, missing out on fun things, coming to terms with my illness in the years I've been on this earth. But none of that was as difficult as the beginning of the pandemic when I was left with the reflection in the mirror. My story of perseverance is most likely like most kids my age: COVID came in, took everything away, and created depressed, isolated teenagers! It isn't unique. Actually, knowing it isn't unique is comforting. Because I had to be extra cautious because of having CF, I felt fear in a way I'd never felt before. If I got Covid, I could die. When that is combined with isolation and disappointment, it leaves you in a dark place. Persevering through darkness is a feat unlike any other. The depression wants to stay and linger, so we get help. The anxiety ants to take hold, so we relieve our burdens to God. The isolation wants us to remain alone, so we force ourselves to ask a friend to hang out. Slowly, I've come out of the darkness. And as I squint my eyes as I enter into the light, cautiously and unsure if the light will remain, I keep taking steps into that light whether I feel like it or not.

I recently gave my opinion on something on social media. It was met with a backlash of insults and accusations against my character. It was something I deeply believe in, and felt I had the right as much as anyone to a position on this topic. But I guess not. There is no longer any room for discourse. I certainly don't know if it is the biggest problem our world is facing right now, but I definitely believe it has a top spot in the list of big problems. If we can't listen to each other, seek to understand each other, and respect each other's viewpoints, I wonder how we will get anywhere in our society. Maybe we've forgotten how. Maybe we believe our beliefs are the only ones that matter. Maybe we stopped listening. I don't know, but I believe one way we could work on this problem is to begin with a different mind-set. A mind- set that says, "I believe strongly one way, but I see you have convictions every bit as strong as mine. I will agree to listen to what you have to say. Even if we disagree, I will not belittle you or cancel you. Instead, I will treat you as a human being who happens to strongly disagree with me." We are all humans trying to figure out life. It is massively important to never forget that.

I have a genetic lung disease called Cystic Fibrosis. I've always hated it about myself. I wished at times I just didn't have to worry about my lungs. I have wished many times that I didn't have to take pills each time I ate. I wished I didn't have to do chest PT each morning before school and each night before bed. I wished I didn't have those long doctor's visits every three months. I even wished I had the luxury of trying a cigarette, like my friends who have never given a second thought about the health of their lungs. But I can't wish I was someone else. I have learned that my CF is actually valuable. It is something almost to be treasured. Because unlike my peers, I have had to appreciate and value every healthy breath I take. I have become regimented and responsible with caring for my body. I am watchful and careful about my diet, my exercise, and my mental health. So while having CF is no fun, I also value it. It has taught me valuable life lessons that I would have never had if not for CF. It's also made me value who I am. I am not defined by it, but it is part of what makes me ME.

My great grandparents lived through the depression. Before she passed away, I would spend time with her in her garden. It wasn't just a hobby for her, it was how they put food on the table. Their lives revolved around the garden and the harvest. I jokingly said one summer day in the sweltering heat as we were weeding, "Hey granny. You know that you can buy all of this at the store, right? Then you wouldn't have to grow your own." She stood up with a handful of weeds and and tossed them into the bucket. Then she gave me the best piece of financial advice I've ever received. She said, "When you've been through days where you couldn't afford to buy anything from anywhere, you learn how to survive with your wits. Growing a garden for me is knowing that no matter how hard the winter days, we will always have food on the table because we've prepared for the long winter. Be prepared for the long winters, Lilly." The more I thought about that, the more I realized how important it was to be prepared for the rainy days. Not just with a garden, but with money. I always try to remember that when I am tempted to go to Taco Bell for the hundredth time in a week with my friends. If I don't save my paycheck, I will not be ready for the "winter".

I have a little brother who came into our family at four years old from an orphanage in Haiti. Five years ago, he was the tiniest boy I'd ever seen. We didn't speak the same language, he didn't know how dress himself, feed himself or anything. I am the oldest in our family, so at 13 years old I helped my mom and dad with my new little brother in any way that I could. It was fun at first because it was so new and his smile and laugh made me want to hug and kiss him all the time. But as time went on, I found out what real patience looked like. I watched my mom sleep by his bed so she could be there if he got scared. She learned how to make Haitian dishes that he was used to eating, learned how to speak to him in Creole, and took him to countless doctor's appointments. One day my mom asked my to get my little brother into his car seat. He was not used to being in a car seat because they don't use them in Haiti. He started screaming and crying and I was trying to convince him that it was ok. It was hot outside and I was sweating and irritated. My patience was out. Gone. I was over this. Later, my mom came up and talked to me about it. She helped me see that patience was so important because everything in his world was new. Nothing made sense to him here. I began to imagine what life looked like through his eyes. Yes, patience was one of the most important things. I have learned that often times, patience equals grace. Grace often equals love.

Decisions are really hard for me. Life seems to be coming at me at break-neck speed and I don't feel ready to make such huge decisions about my life when I can't even decided what shoes I want to wear to school. I get paralyzed with indecision, especially when it comes to big decisions. Every time I have a conversation with an adult who hears that I am a senior immediately asks, "Oh! Where are you going to college? What are you going to study? What are you going to be? Who are you going to marry and how many children are you having?" Ok, maybe not those last questions, but still. It may as well be because my head spins with the fear of actually making these choices when I simply don't know. But I had a heart to heart with my mom yesterday, and she told me something that helped me think about a growth mindset. If I make a mistake or a bad decision, I am growing. I am learning. I am gleaning knowledge about myself from past experience. If I stay in a state of indecision, I will not grow. I can only grow by moving forward. Sometimes, moving forward might mean the wrong decision, but that equals growth. My growth isn't dependent on making every right move or having my life mapped out perfectly. My growth, and the mindset of growth, is putting one for in front of the other knowing that I will grow into who I am.

I breathe in, I breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Repeat. I have heard these words with a cold stethoscope on my chest in my earliest of memories. Breathing. It's something most of us don't even acknowledge that we do. It's an automatic response in our bodies. But for someone like me living with a lung disease called Cystic Fibrosis, breathing becomes a word that life revolves around. I am aware of it to it's very depths. If I get sick, I worry about breathing. When I go to my Pulmonologist, we discuss my lung function and all things around my breathing. The treatments I do help me breathe, the exercise I do keeps my lungs healthy, the pills I take help my body function and it is all in the name of breathing. I live a bold life because I can't afford not to. Technically my life expectancy is 40 years old. But, not me. I tend on having 40 years after those first 40 years. But even if I only have 40 years, I will spend those years living, thankful for every single breath of air that fills my lungs with life. I run Varsity track. My track coach believes I can beat PR's that sometimes I don't know if I can reach because my lungs feel like they will burn out of my chest on that last straight-a-way in the 400 meter. But it happens. I look at the stopwatch and I see I beat another PR. It probably doesn't seem that bold to someone who has perfect lungs, but to me, it's bold. And I keep running.