If you asked me who has shaped my life the most, I wouldn't even have to think about it. The answer has always been, and probably always will be, my mom. Growing up, she directed a preschool, so conversations about little kids and early childhood education were just... normal in our house. I remember her telling me that nearly 90% of brain development happens before the age of five. Even as a kid, I remember thinking, *If that's true, why don't we put more emphasis on those years?* That idea has stuck with me ever since. My mom has also spent most of my life battling multiple sclerosis. A few years ago, she was diagnosed with cancer too. Eventually, her health forced her to leave the preschool she loved. That was hard to watch, not just because she was sick, but because I knew how much she loved those kids. Even after she couldn't work anymore, she still talked about them. She never stopped caring about them. Watching that growing up made it pretty hard for me *not* to care about kids too. As the oldest of four siblings, I've naturally been the one who steps in when something needs to get done. Whether it was helping with my younger siblings, balancing school with work and softball, or just trying to make life a little easier for my family, I've learned that showing up for people isn't always convenient. You do it because they're your people. Looking back, it's actually kind of funny that every job I've loved has revolved around helping others. I've worked in a preschool, in childcare, and at the front desk and concessions of an indoor sports facility. Working in preschool meant the most to me. I loved watching the kids figure things out for the first time. Sometimes it was finally recognizing a letter they'd been struggling with for weeks. Sometimes it was learning how to share or making a new friend. Getting to celebrate those little victories made me realize I was exactly where I wanted to be. Outside of school, softball has been my biggest passion for over a decade. It's taught me discipline, leadership, and how to keep showing up even when things don't go your way. Being a captain taught me that leadership isn't about being the loudest person in the room. It's about being someone your teammates can count on. If I'm not on a softball field, there's a good chance I've fallen down some random ADHD rabbit hole. I've gone through phases where I was obsessed with woodworking, pottery, speed-solving Rubik's Cubes, and about a hundred other hobbies. My family loves to tease me about it, but I genuinely love learning. Once something sparks my curiosity, I want to know everything about it. That curiosity is a big part of why I want to become an elementary school teacher. Eventually, I'd love to become a school administrator, but my biggest goal is simple. I want to be the kind of teacher who makes kids excited to come to school and who believes in them before they believe in themselves. When I think about the kind of impact I want to have, I always come back to my mom. She showed me that making a difference usually isn't loud or flashy. It's showing up every day, caring deeply about people, and making them feel like they matter. That's the example she set for me, and it's the one I hope to spend the rest of my life following.

If you asked the people who know me to describe me in one word, more than a few would probably laugh and say, "annoying." Honestly, they're not entirely wrong. I've always been loud. I get excited easily, talk too much, interrupt without meaning to, and somehow manage to turn a 30-second story into a ten-minute one. I have ADHD, which means my brain is constantly jumping from one thought to the next. I hyperfixate on random topics, lose my keys, phone, or wallet at least five times a day, and have a lifelong habit of waiting until the last possible second to finish something. Growing up, my "awkward" thing was that I was simply *too much*. For a long time, I wished I could be quieter, calmer, and more put together. It felt like everyone else had figured out some social rulebook that I somehow missed. I thought that maybe, just maybe, if I talked less, got less excited over small things, or acted more like everyone else, people might like me more. And trust me, I tried. As I've gotten older, though, I've realized those same qualities I worked so hard to hide also happen to be some of my greatest strengths. The same curiosity that sends me down ADHD rabbit holes (whether it was woodworking, speed-solving Rubik's Cubes, pottery, or one of my hundred other hyperfixations) is the same curiosity that makes me love learning and asking questions. The excitement I've spent years trying to tame is contagious. The energy people tease me for is the same energy I bring to the softball field, my preschool classroom, and the people I care about. When I'm passionate about something, I give it everything I have. Working in a preschool completely changed the way I viewed myself. The kids didn't think I was "too much." They wanted to hear my stories, ask endless questions, dance around the classroom, and celebrate every tiny accomplishment. They reminded me that enthusiasm isn't something to be embarrassed about. It's something that inspires other people to learn, explore, and be excited too. Being a student-athlete reinforced that lesson. Some of my best moments as a captain weren't when I was calmly handling logistics. They were when my energy lifted my teammates after a tough inning or made practice a little more fun. I learned that leadership doesn't always look quiet and reserved. Sometimes it looks like showing up every day with a passion that other people can't help but feed off of. I'm still loud. I still get overexcited. I still talk too much sometimes. Those parts of me aren't going away, and honestly, I don't want them to anymore. For years, I thought standing out was something I needed to fix. Now I see it differently. The qualities I used to be embarrassed by are the same qualities that make me a better teammate and a better future teacher who can genuinely connect with children. I've learned that being "too much" isn't a flaw. Sometimes, it's exactly what the people around you need.

When I stepped on the softball field for the first time at 10 years old, wearing long baseball pants and a San Francisco Giants cap, I thought I was just joining a spring activity to stay active, make friends, and have some fun. What I didn’t expect was that my 2018 NVGSA 10U Champion Angry Birds team would kickstart a love for a game that has since become a constant source of joy and has completely changed my life. Softball has taught me how to lead, how to hold myself and others accountable, and how to understand people in ways that extend far beyond the field. As a multi-time varsity captain and starting shortstop, I quickly learned that being a leader is not about a title—it is about consistency. I didn’t focus on being the loudest voice on the team, though I often was. Instead, I focused on being reliable. I showed up early, stayed late, ran warmups when coaches were running late from work, made flashcards to help less experienced players build their softball IQ, and put in extra work regardless of who was watching. Over time, I realized that work ethic is contagious. When one player commits fully, it raises the standard for everyone else. I learned that leading by example often speaks louder than anything you can say. One of the more difficult lessons softball has taught me is how to be a better teammate. I have always been extremely competitive, and at times that competitiveness created distance between me and others. A mentor and travel ball coach of mine, Coach Temple, recognized this. I often felt like I cared more than others, which sometimes felt true, but Coach Temple helped me understand that I usually just cared differently. That shift in perspective took time. I had to learn that not everyone expresses passion in the same way, and that leadership means meeting people where they are rather than expecting them to match your intensity. Growing into that understanding transformed the way I interact with others both on and off the field. Instead of reacting with frustration when someone didn’t know something or didn’t share my urgency, I learned to encourage, guide, and hold people accountable in a way that made them feel valued and respected. I learned that being a good teammate and leader is about more than pushing people harder—it is about believing in others and helping them believe they are capable of more than they think. Softball taught me that leadership is rooted in relationships and trust. These lessons have shaped the direction of my future. I want to become an elementary school teacher because of the clear parallels between leading a team and leading a classroom. Both require patience, structure, encouragement, belief, and the ability to understand different abilities and needs. Just as coaches like Coach Temple helped me grow by challenging me while also believing in me, I want to create that same environment for my students. Every student and athlete is full of potential, and as a leader—whether on the field or in the classroom—my job is to help them realize it. Softball taught me that sometimes all a child needs is someone to believe in them when they do not yet believe in themselves. It taught me discipline through preparation, humility through mistakes, and leadership through service. Most importantly, it taught me that the strongest teams—and the strongest communities—are built when people choose to care about each other as much as they care about success.