I want to build the place I needed when I was fourteen. Growing up in Iowa, I loved music long before I understood how people actually built careers around it. I made beats on five-gallon buckets before I owned a drum set, wrote songs constantly, taught myself graphic design so I could make my own cover art, and later picked up photography. I had the curiosity and the drive, but there was no clear place where a kid like me could walk in and learn how recording, live production, audio engineering, concert photography, merchandise, or the business behind music actually worked. Most of the time, I had to figure it out myself. That experience shaped what I want to build in the future: a creative hub in Des Moines where young people can explore music and the industries around it without needing money, connections, or a polished resume just to get started. I picture a teenager recording their first song while another young person learns how to engineer the session. A local show could give one student stage experience, another the chance to photograph a concert, and someone else the opportunity to learn sound, lighting, or event production. The same space could offer screen-printing and merchandise workshops, mentorship from working professionals, and free or affordable studio access. The goal would not be to create one program for artists. It would be to build an ecosystem where young creatives help one another grow. My education is how I plan to make that vision sustainable. I am completing my associate degree with a 3.9 GPA and preparing to transfer to Columbia College Chicago to study music business. I have also worked in the industry throughout college, gaining experience in publicity, publishing, sync licensing, and A&R. I want to learn more about artist management, entrepreneurship, live events, licensing, budgeting, fundraising, and community partnerships so I understand not only how to start something meaningful, but how to keep it alive. Eventually, I also hope to build an ethical music company that develops artists without taking advantage of their lack of experience. My goal is for that company’s success to help fund opportunities back home. I know what it feels like to have ambition before you have access. I also know how much one studio session, one mentor, one show, or one person taking your creativity seriously can change your direction. I do not want the next creative kid in Iowa to have to build every opportunity alone. I want to build the place where they can begin.

At fourteen, I made myself a promise: I would write one song every day. I filled notebooks with lyrics, unfinished ideas, and whatever I was feeling but did not know how to say out loud. That habit eventually led me into photography, graphic design, music criticism, and the business side of music. Growing up in Iowa, I did not have many creative professionals around me who could explain how to build a life in the industry. Books became the mentors I could reach from anywhere. That mattered most when my creativity began to feel quieter. As college, internships, and career planning took over my schedule, I was no longer writing songs every day. I worried that becoming more responsible meant losing the part of myself that had always made me feel alive. Then I read The Book of Alchemy by Suleika Jaouad. Her writing about illness, art, and rebuilding felt almost uncomfortably familiar. I also spent much of my childhood in hospitals, undergoing six surgeries for cholesteatoma and permanently losing the hearing in my left ear. Music became the safest place I had to process what I was carrying. Jaouad’s prompts reminded me that writing did not need to become a finished song to matter. Journaling could still help me notice, process, and create. That book led me to The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron and then The Creative Act by Rick Rubin. Rubin gave language to something I had learned through years of trial and error: forcing an idea often weakens it, while paying closer attention makes creativity possible. I stopped treating photography, design, running, and free writing as distractions from music. They were ways of keeping the creative part of me active when songwriting needed room to breathe. This Is What It Sounds Like by Susan Rogers changed how I think about the people receiving art. Her explanation of listener profiles showed me why one song can feel life-changing to one person and ordinary to another. That lesson now shapes my goals in A&R and artist development. I do not want to flatten an artist’s identity so the work appeals to everyone. I want to help artists understand who their music is meant to reach and build sustainable careers without losing what made them distinct. I have also reread The Alchemist three times. Its idea of a personal legend reminds me not to judge my life only by how quickly I reach the next milestone. My path has included illness, early success as an independent artist, disappointment, returning to college, and beginning again from a wiser place. The detours have not separated me from my goal; they have prepared me for it. I plan to transfer to Columbia College Chicago, build an ethical artist-development company, and eventually create a creative hub for young people in Des Moines. The space would offer recording, photography, production, writing, and professional mentorship. It would also include a library of creative and music-industry books because I know what it means to find guidance on a page when that guidance does not exist around you. Books have taught me to protect my creativity, listen more carefully, and trust growth that does not happen in a straight line. They have also shown me why a librarian can change a life without ever knowing it: sometimes placing the right book within reach is the first step toward helping someone imagine a future they had never seen before.

At eighteen, I signed a distribution deal with Symphonic Distribution before I understood every part of the business behind it. That experience taught me the difference between having a dream and having a plan. My dream is to build an ethical artist-development company, then use its success to create a youth creative hub in Des Moines. My plan is divided into four stages: education, industry training, company development, and community reinvestment. Stage one is already underway. I will complete my associate degree at Des Moines Area Community College in December 2026 while maintaining my 3.9 GPA. In 2027, I plan to transfer to Columbia College Chicago for a bachelor’s degree in Music Business. Columbia’s current estimated cost for a full-time student living off campus without parents is about $63,060 per academic year. My funding order is deliberate: grants and institutional aid first, outside scholarships second, paid work and internships third, and federal loans only for the remaining gap. I will avoid private loans whenever possible. If downtown housing is not affordable, I will live with roommates farther from campus and commute. If the remaining gap is still unsustainable, I will defer one semester and continue saving and applying for aid rather than accept debt that could limit my future. At Columbia, I will focus on artist management, copyright, publishing, licensing, live entertainment, and entrepreneurship. By graduation, I plan to complete at least two additional paid internships, work on real artist campaigns, and build a portfolio containing budgets, release strategies, licensing research, and artist-development plans. I already have a foundation: more than 1.3 million lifetime Spotify streams as an independent artist, ten months in publicity with Biz 3, and experience in publishing, sync licensing, and A&R through Dividend Music Group. Stage two will last three to five years after graduation. I will work at an established label, agency, publisher, or management company where I can learn contracts, royalties, touring, budgeting, and team leadership from experienced professionals. I will save at least ten percent of my income in a separate business fund and build relationships with attorneys, accountants, producers, publicists, and distributors. I will launch my company carefully with one to three artists, clear written agreements, realistic campaign budgets, and no promises I cannot support. Stage three is growth. Revenue will come from management commissions, consulting, publishing or licensing services, and project-based campaigns. I will not expand the roster until each artist is receiving responsible attention and the company can maintain at least six months of operating expenses. Stage four is giving back. Rather than begin with an expensive building, I will pilot the Des Moines hub through partnerships with schools, venues, record stores, and community organizations. My first-year budget is $15,000: $5,000 for portable recording equipment, $3,000 for instructors and engineers, $2,000 for venue and showcase costs, $2,000 for screen-printing and merchandise supplies, $1,500 for insurance and administration, and $1,500 in reserve. Funding will combine company revenue, local arts grants, sponsors, donations, and in-kind space. My first-year targets are twenty-five participants, two youth showcases, and at least ten completed songs, portfolios, or merchandise projects. If a permanent facility is not immediately possible, the mobile partnership model will continue. If my first job is in publicity, publishing, A&R, management, or live events, I will use that path to gain the same essential knowledge. The route can adjust; the purpose will not. I know what I want to build, what it will cost, what I must learn, and what I will do when the first plan needs to change.

Before I knew what a recording studio was, I made music with what I had. I turned five-gallon buckets into a drum set and spent hours making beats on the floor of our home. My family relied on food stamps, so instruments and lessons were not always within reach, but music was everywhere I looked for it. I watched my brother burn CDs for his portable player, listened when his friends came over with guitars, and once made a mixtape for a friend’s mom to play in her van. Long before I understood the music industry, I understood that music could make people feel connected and less alone. That connection became even more personal after I developed cholesteatoma as a child. I underwent six surgeries at Mayo Clinic and permanently lost the hearing in my left ear. Appointments, surgeries, and recovery shaped much of my childhood, and music helped me heal through it. I sang in choir, played flute, learned to create my own songs, and kept finding new ways to participate. Losing part of my hearing did not take music away from me. It made me hold onto it more closely. Today, I am completing my associate degree at Des Moines Area Community College with a 3.9 GPA and preparing to transfer to Columbia College Chicago to study the music business. I have earned President’s List honors, joined Phi Theta Kappa, GRAMMY U, and the Honors Program, and gained professional experience in publicity, publishing, sync licensing, and A&R. These experiences have shown me that talent matters, but access, mentorship, and opportunity often determine whether that talent is ever given room to grow. I want to use my education to create the kind of space I needed as a child: a safe and accessible creative hub for young people in Des Moines. A teenager could record a song while another learns to engineer the session. A local show could give one student performance experience, another the chance to photograph a concert, and another an opportunity to learn sound, lighting, or event production. The space would also provide screen-printing and merchandise workshops, professional mentorship, and equipment that many young creatives cannot access at home. Studying the music business will teach me how to turn that vision into something sustainable. I want to learn more about artist development, live-event operations, licensing, entrepreneurship, fundraising, and community partnerships so the space can provide real opportunities for years rather than operate as a temporary project. My mother, who worked with students in special education, taught me that young people do not all begin with the same resources and that meaningful support must meet them where they are. My brother showed me how music could be shared through something as simple as a burned CD. Both shaped my belief that a small act of access can permanently change someone’s direction. This scholarship would help me afford tuition and housing in Chicago, a financial step my family cannot easily absorb. More importantly, it would move me closer to returning what I learn to my community. I had to create many of my first opportunities with buckets, borrowed inspiration, and persistence. I want the next creative child in Iowa to begin with a studio, a mentor, and the belief that they belong.

“Some things are in our control and others not. Things in our control are opinion, pursuit, desire, aversion, and, in a word, whatever are our own actions. Things not in our control are body, property, reputation, command, and, in one word, whatever are not our own actions.” - Epictetus, Enchiridion Epictetus’s real point in this passage is that a person’s peace, dignity, and direction in life can only come from what they choose, not from what happens to them. He is not just dividing life into two categories for the sake of philosophy. He is drawing a line between what can actually build a person and what can just as easily destroy them if they lean on it too heavily. His deeper meaning is that freedom begins the moment someone stops letting unstable things define them and starts taking full ownership of their own mind, actions, and character. What makes this paragraph so powerful is how direct it is. There is nothing decorative about it. Epictetus is not trying to comfort the reader with a pretty idea. He is telling the truth in the hardest possible terms: most of what people spend their lives obsessing over was never fully theirs to begin with. Reputation can change overnight. Money can disappear. Health can shift in a second. The body can fail you. Other people can misunderstand you, leave you, or never see your value the way you hoped they would. If someone builds their identity around those things, then their identity will always be fragile. It will always be one loss away from collapse. That is the trap Epictetus is exposing. His argument is not that those things do not matter. They do. Health matters. Stability matters. The body matters. The way people are treated in the world matters. But his point is that none of those things can be the foundation of a meaningful life because none of them are fully secure. If a person ties their worth to appearance, status, wealth, approval, or comfort, then they are handing control of themselves over to forces that shift constantly. They become dependent on what cannot be guaranteed. The result is fear, bitterness, insecurity, and a life spent chasing conditions that may never hold still long enough to save them. That is why the passage feels so much deeper than standard advice about attitude. Epictetus is really talking about authorship. He is asking what part of a life actually belongs to the person living it. His answer is severe but freeing: your judgment belongs to you, your will belongs to you, your response belongs to you, your choices belong to you. Everything else exists in a more uncertain space. The deeper meaning of the paragraph is that human beings suffer most when they confuse those two realms. They beg the external world to give them internal stability, and then feel shattered when it cannot. I think what makes Epictetus endure is that he understands something brutal about life: it does not ask permission before it changes. One day a person can feel secure in their body, their family, their direction, or their future, and the next day that certainty can be interrupted. That is why this paragraph does not read as abstract to me. It reads as a survival principle. It understands that if a person does not build themselves from the inside out, life will keep teaching them how little control they actually have. Some people learn that early. Some people learn it late. But everyone learns it eventually. What Epictetus offers is not passivity. That is important. A weaker reading of this paragraph would make it sound like he is telling people to detach from life and accept whatever comes. I do not think that is what he means at all. He is not arguing against ambition, desire, or struggle. He is arguing against dependence. He is saying a person can want a better life, build toward something meaningful, love deeply, create boldly, and still understand that their center cannot be built on outcomes. The work is still worth doing. The dream is still worth chasing. But a person has to know that their deepest self cannot be handed over to whether the world cooperates on schedule. There is also something deeply moral in the passage. Epictetus is refusing to let people hide from responsibility. If your own actions are yours, then your life cannot just be explained by circumstance. Circumstance matters, but it does not get the final word on your character. A person can go through pain and still choose honesty. They can go through hardship and still choose discipline. They can be wounded and still decide not to become destructive. That does not make life easy, and it does not erase what people survive. It just means that there is still a space where a person remains accountable for who they are becoming. That is one of the hardest truths in the passage, but also one of the most empowering. It means a person is never only the product of what happened to them. That is why I think the paragraph is ultimately about self-respect. Not the shallow kind based on image, but the deeper kind earned through self-command. Epictetus is saying that dignity is not something the world grants when it finally approves of you. It is something a person protects by how they carry themselves through instability. Someone can lose status, money, certainty, even parts of themselves they once thought were permanent, and still remain intact in the most important sense if they do not abandon their principles. That idea is what gives the paragraph its force. It relocates power away from appearance and outcome and puts it back into the inner life. There is a warning inside it too. If a person fails to understand what is and is not theirs, they will waste years trying to dominate what cannot be dominated. They will obsess over being seen correctly. They will panic when life refuses to unfold on their timeline. They will measure themselves against people, circumstances, and images that were never stable enough to hold the weight of identity. Eventually that turns into resentment. People become angry at life for being life. They become fragile because everything around them has the power to define them. Epictetus sees that as a kind of self-made prison. Not because suffering is imaginary, but because surrendering the inner self to unstable things only multiplies suffering. What makes the paragraph so enduring is that it offers something stronger than optimism. It offers structure. It tells the reader where to place their effort. It says, in effect, stop wasting your life fighting battles you cannot win and start strengthening the place where your real power lives. That is not glamorous advice. It does not flatter the ego. But it is durable. It can survive disappointment, grief, failure, and uncertainty because it was built with uncertainty in mind from the beginning. In the end, I think Epictetus is saying that the most important form of freedom is not external power, but internal steadiness. A meaningful life is not built by controlling every outcome or protecting every fragile thing around you. It is built by becoming someone who can meet changing conditions without losing their center. Circumstances may shape the terrain of a person’s life, but character shapes how they walk through it. That is the deeper meaning of the passage. It is not just about control. It is about becoming the kind of person who cannot be fully destroyed by what they cannot control.

I lost hearing in my left ear in the fourth grade after five surgeries for cholesteatoma. What started as a childhood battle with my health became one of the earliest experiences that shaped how I see the world. Music was the thing I loved most, so being forced to experience it differently changed me deeply. It made me more resilient, more observant, and more aware of the people who get overlooked. That perspective has become the foundation of the legacy I want to build. I do not just want a career in music. I want to build something lasting inside it. My goal is to create my own intellectual property and grow it into a label imprint focused on artist development, ownership, and real support. I want to use the relationships I have already started building through my work across music, media, publicity, and creative direction to help identify talent that major labels often miss early. Some of the most important artists are not the ones who fit neatly into a formula right away. They are the ones with original vision, distinct stories, and the power to move culture before the industry fully realizes what it is looking at. What I want to build goes beyond signing artists. I want to create a company that believes artists deserve to be treated like people first. For too long, the music industry has normalized exploitative deals and instability, especially for young creatives who are desperate for a chance. I want to create fairer contracts, more ethical opportunities, and a model that does not strip artists of their value the moment they finally get in the door. Health insurance, dental coverage, and basic protections should not feel unrealistic in a billion-dollar industry built on human creativity. If I ever have the power to offer that, I will. I also want to open my own recording studio, not just as a business, but as a creative hub. A few days a week, I want it to be open to underprivileged youth and teens who do not have the money or access to book professional studio time. There are so many kids with talent, ideas, and real artistic instincts who never get the chance to develop them because creativity is often gatekept by money. I want to create a space where they can record, experiment, and be taken seriously. Sometimes one room, one mentor, or one real opportunity is enough to change the course of a life. I want that space to help shape future voices before the world even knows their names. The way I shine my light is by trying to build what I know is missing. I know what it feels like to adapt, to create through limitation, and to keep believing in something anyway. Because of that, I do not just want success for myself. I want to leave behind access, fairness, and opportunity. I want my legacy to be proof that the people who are overlooked can still become the ones who change everything.