I have a picture of my ten-year-old self standing in front of the abandoned, dilapidated barn in rural Indiana that is the last remnant of my grandfather’s family farm. It was a hot, muggy August day, typical for a midwestern summer, and it was one of the closest moments I had to the grandfather who passed before I was born. I grew up told that we were nearly identical. Some resemblances include our quiet demeanor, love of chocolate and popcorn, inability to be without a book, and love of Johnny Cash. However, we also carry a commitment to justice, equity, and inclusion. My grandfather’s passions led him to teach sociology focused on class inequality and privilege. I don’t know where my passions will lead, but these values are a part of me. I am a product of my genetics and cultural environment, yet it is up to me to discover my identity and unique contribution. A whisper can be just as loud as a shout, and I often find myself in the role of a quiet leader. With the recent uptick in attacks on transgender rights, I feel that highlighting their stories is more important than ever. A common misconception in today’s society is the notion that gender variance is a new phenomenon. However, the transgender community has a rich history that dates back centuries. Lifting these stories of triumph and hardship not only serves to celebrate the history of a marginalized group but also helps ease prejudice based on the perception of transgender identities as an unexplained, modern oddity. In the spring of my junior year, I had the opportunity to create a website as part of a final project for my AP U.S. History class. To achieve this goal, I created The Virtual Museum of Transgender History (www.transmuseum.wordpress.com), an online exhibition of buried transgender history. The website is an exhibit that sheds light on individuals exhibiting gender variance throughout history; many living before the term transgender even existed. In this exhibit, I offered a glimpse into the individuals’ lives and explored the greater significance of their experiences through the lens of transgender history and human rights activism. I am committed to advocating for the LGBTQ+ community and all marginalized communities as I continue my studies and activities in college and beyond. However, my role is valuable not just as a voice but as a listener. During the pandemic, when people felt more isolated than ever, I acted as a supporter and a friend in online LGBTQ+ support groups. The act of helping people at their lowest (and receiving help when I was at mine) gave me insight into my passion for psychology. My experience with people of diverse backgrounds and varying situations helped me realize a dedication to mental health assistance. To that end, I am committed to providing services to those in need for the rest of my life. I might not be always recognized as a bold leader, but I will continue to support and advocate for those without a voice through quiet leadership.

I have a picture of my ten-year-old self standing in front of the abandoned, dilapidated barn in rural Indiana that is the last remnant of my grandfather’s family farm. It was a hot, muggy August day, typical for a midwestern summer, and it was one of the closest moments I had to the grandfather who passed before I was born. I grew up told that we were nearly identical. Some resemblances include our quiet demeanor, love of chocolate and popcorn, inability to be without a book, and love of Johnny Cash. However, we also carry a commitment to justice, equity, and inclusion. My grandfather’s passions led him to teach sociology focused on class inequality and privilege. I don’t know where my passions will lead, but these values are a part of me. I am a product of my genetics and cultural environment, yet it is up to me to discover my identity and unique contribution. A whisper can be just as loud as a shout, and I often find myself in the role of a quiet leader. With the recent uptick in attacks on transgender rights, I feel that highlighting their stories is more important than ever. A common misconception in today’s society is the notion that gender variance is a new phenomenon. However, the transgender community has a rich history that dates back centuries. Lifting these stories of triumph and hardship not only serves to celebrate the history of a marginalized group but also helps ease prejudice based on the perception of transgender identities as an unexplained, modern oddity. In the spring of my junior year, I had the opportunity to create a website as part of a final project for my AP U.S. History class. To achieve this goal, I created The Virtual Museum of Transgender History (www.transmuseum.wordpress.com), an online exhibition of buried transgender history. The website is an exhibit that sheds light on individuals exhibiting gender variance throughout history; many living before the term transgender even existed. In this exhibit, I offered a glimpse into the individuals’ lives and explored the greater significance of their experiences through the lens of transgender history and human rights activism. I am committed to advocating for the LGBTQ+ community and all marginalized communities as I continue my studies and activities in college and beyond. However, my role is valuable not just as a voice but as a listener. During the pandemic, when people felt more isolated than ever, I acted as a supporter and a friend in online LGBTQ+ support groups. The act of helping people at their lowest (and receiving help when I was at mine) gave me insight into my passion for psychology. My experience with people of diverse backgrounds and varying situations helped me realize a dedication to mental health assistance. To that end, I am committed to providing services to those in need for the rest of my life. I might not be always recognized as a bold leader, but I will continue to support and advocate for those without a voice through quiet leadership.

I have a picture of my ten-year-old self standing in front of the abandoned, dilapidated barn in rural Indiana that is the last remnant of my grandfather’s family farm. It was a hot, muggy August day, typical for a midwestern summer, and it was one of the closest moments I had to the grandfather who passed before I was born. I grew up told that we were nearly identical. Some resemblances include our quiet demeanor, love of chocolate and popcorn, inability to be without a book, and love of Johnny Cash. However, we also carry a commitment to justice, equity, and inclusion. My grandfather’s passions led him to teach sociology focused on class inequality and privilege. I don’t know where my passions will lead, but these values are a part of me. I am a product of my genetics and cultural environment, yet it is up to me to discover my identity and unique contribution. A whisper can be just as loud as a shout, and I often find myself in the role of a quiet leader. With the recent uptick in attacks on transgender rights, I feel that highlighting their stories is more important than ever. A common misconception in today’s society is the notion that gender variance is a new phenomenon. However, the transgender community has a rich history that dates back centuries. Lifting these stories of triumph and hardship not only serves to celebrate the history of a marginalized group but also helps ease prejudice based on the perception of transgender identities as an unexplained, modern oddity. In the spring of my junior year, I had the opportunity to create a website as part of a final project for my AP U.S. History class. To achieve this goal, I created The Virtual Museum of Transgender History (www.transmuseum.wordpress.com), an online exhibition of buried transgender history. The website is an exhibit that sheds light on individuals exhibiting gender variance throughout history; many living before the term transgender even existed. In this exhibit, I offered a glimpse into the individuals’ lives and explored the greater significance of their experiences through the lens of transgender history and human rights activism. I am committed to advocating for the LGBTQ+ community and all marginalized communities as I continue my studies and activities in college and beyond. However, my role is valuable not just as a voice but as a listener. During the pandemic, when people felt more isolated than ever, I acted as a supporter and a friend in online LGBTQ+ support groups. The act of helping people at their lowest (and receiving help when I was at mine) gave me insight into my passion for psychology. My experience with people of diverse backgrounds and varying situations helped me realize a dedication to mental health assistance. To that end, I am committed to providing services to those in need for the rest of my life. I might not be always recognized as a bold leader, but I will continue to support and advocate for those without a voice through quiet leadership.

I have a picture of my ten-year-old self standing in front of the abandoned, dilapidated barn in rural Indiana that is the last remnant of my grandfather’s family farm. It was a hot, muggy August day, typical for a midwestern summer, and it was one of the closest moments I had to the grandfather who passed before I was born. I grew up told that we were nearly identical. Some resemblances include our quiet demeanor, love of chocolate and popcorn, inability to be without a book, and love of Johnny Cash. However, we also carry a commitment to justice, equity, and inclusion. My grandfather’s passions led him to teach sociology focused on class inequality and privilege. I don’t know where my passions will lead, but these values are a part of me. I am a product of my genetics and cultural environment, yet it is up to me to discover my identity and unique contribution. A whisper can be just as loud as a shout, and I often find myself in the role of a quiet leader. With the recent uptick in attacks on transgender rights, I feel that highlighting their stories is more important than ever. A common misconception in today’s society is the notion that gender variance is a new phenomenon. However, the transgender community has a rich history that dates back centuries. Lifting these stories of triumph and hardship not only serves to celebrate the history of a marginalized group but also helps ease prejudice based on the perception of transgender identities as an unexplained, modern oddity. In the spring of my junior year, I had the opportunity to create a website as part of a final project for my AP U.S. History class. To achieve this goal, I created The Virtual Museum of Transgender History (www.transmuseum.wordpress.com), an online exhibition of buried transgender history. The website is an exhibit that sheds light on individuals exhibiting gender variance throughout history; many living before the term transgender even existed. In this exhibit, I offered a glimpse into the individuals’ lives and explored the greater significance of their experiences through the lens of transgender history and human rights activism. I am committed to advocating for the LGBTQ+ community and all marginalized communities as I continue my studies and activities in college and beyond. However, my role is valuable not just as a voice but as a listener. During the pandemic, when people felt more isolated than ever, I acted as a supporter and a friend in online LGBTQ+ support groups. The act of helping people at their lowest (and receiving help when I was at mine) gave me insight into my passion for psychology. My experience with people of diverse backgrounds and varying situations helped me realize a dedication to mental health assistance. To that end, I am committed to providing services to those in need for the rest of my life. I might not be always recognized as a bold leader, but I will continue to support and advocate for those without a voice through quiet leadership.

My future is dedicated to helping people overcome personal and systemic challenges through my career in psychology while using music to fulfill my creative passions and fill the world with emotion.

At the top of Iron Mountain, there is an iconic Oregon viewpoint from which you can see the tops of Cone Peak, Echo Mountain, and the Three Sisters. This beautiful sight not only astounds the viewer with six mountain peaks but with a panoramic snapshot of over 300 species of wildflowers and trees. For the experienced hiker, the climb to this view is no great challenge, but for my mom and me, Iron Mountain was a formidable peak. The first portion of the hike lived up to our modest expectations: a natural Oregon walk through alpine trees, akin to the dozens of such trails I had hiked throughout my life. Through this relaxing trek, we were lulled into a sense of confidence that the path ahead was well within our capabilities. However, a half mile later, we were forced to a halt. Looming over us were 11 menacing switchbacks of red-orange rock, gravel, and dust, each frighteningly wedged between the towering mountain edge and a near-vertical drop to the base. Our confidence was shattered. We did our best to push onward by focusing straight ahead, not letting the prospect of a 50-foot plummet deter us. However, as the rocky trail grew thinner, so did our nerves. At a particularly steep switchback with rock crumbling beneath our steps, it became so difficult that we resorted to crawling on our knees, and I began to think of turning around. As my mom, taking the lead, began to crawl more and more slowly, I knew we had to stop and take stock of the situation. And so we paused, and I did my best to offer her some solace despite my heart racing. I told her that it was perfectly fine to turn back. I reasoned that we had already climbed well over 400 feet and passed through rainbow fields of native wildflowers; there was surely no shame in ending our journey there. However, I also told her that I knew our capabilities and that we could certainly make it to the peak of the mountain. The mental battle was relentless, but we were physically almost there. Without adding pressure to her already-overwhelming anxiety, I successfully coaxed my mom—and myself—into taking a few more steps. After making our way ahead with a haphazard mix of walking and crawling with gravel continually sliding under our feet, we eventually came to the top of the mountain. Just as promised, the sights were astonishing. The silence that came with the incredible view allowed me to reflect on our journey. In my attempt at providing comfort to my mom on the harrowing switchbacks of Iron Mountain, I came to a personal realization about my lifelong passions and pursuits. I have seen how support systems are critical to achieving one’s aspirations, and I realize that too many people live without them. Because of this, I am passionate about providing support to those who need it so that they can climb their mountains. It is easy to be a “cheerleader” and run alongside others, shouting words of encouragement. However, I recognize that emotional journeys are not so simple, and progress is rarely linear. I aim to help others in the same way I helped my mom on the mountain: by acknowledging the wonder of their accomplishments and easing anxieties about taking steps back, while also assuring them that they have what it takes to accomplish their goals. I broke from my reflection at the top of the mountain as my mom turned to me and said, “Thank you for supporting me every step of the way.”

Please allow me to illustrate an experience that has illuminated my passion for psychology and helping others overcome their challenges. At the top of Iron Mountain, there is an iconic Oregon viewpoint from which you can see the tops of Cone Peak, Echo Mountain, and the Three Sisters. This beautiful sight not only astounds the viewer with six mountain peaks but with a panoramic snapshot of hundreds of wildflowers and trees. For the experienced hiker, the climb to this view is no great challenge, but for my mom and me, Iron Mountain was a formidable peak. The first portion of the hike lived up to our modest expectations: a natural walk through alpine trees, akin to the dozens of such trails I had hiked throughout my life. Through this relaxing trek, we were lulled into a sense of confidence that the path ahead was well within our capabilities. However, a half mile later, we were forced to a halt. Looming over us were 11 menacing switchbacks of red-orange rock, gravel, and dust, each frighteningly wedged between the towering mountain edge and a near-vertical drop to the base. Our confidence was shattered. We did our best to push onward by focusing straight ahead, not letting the prospect of a 50-foot plummet deter us. However, as the rocky trail grew thinner, so did our nerves. At a particularly steep switchback with rock crumbling beneath our steps, it became so difficult that we resorted to crawling on our knees, and I began to think of turning around. As my mom, taking the lead, began to crawl more and more slowly, I knew we had to take stock of the situation. And so we paused, and I did my best to offer her some solace. I told her that it was perfectly fine to turn back. I reasoned that we had already climbed well over 400 feet and passed through rainbow fields of native wildflowers; there was surely no shame in ending our journey there. However, I also told her that I knew our capabilities and that we could certainly make it to the peak. The mental battle was relentless, but we were physically almost there. Without adding pressure to her already-overwhelming anxiety, I successfully coaxed my mom—and myself—into continuing on. After making our way ahead with a haphazard mix of walking and crawling with gravel continually sliding under our feet, we eventually came to the top of the mountain. Just as promised, the sights were astonishing. The silence that came with the incredible view allowed me to reflect. In my attempt at providing comfort to my mom on the harrowing switchbacks of Iron Mountain, I came to a personal realization about my lifelong passions and pursuits. I have seen how support systems are critical to achieving one’s aspirations, and I realize that too many people live without them. Because of this, I am passionate about providing support to those who need it so that they can climb their mountains. It is easy to be a “cheerleader” and run alongside others, shouting words of encouragement. However, I recognize that emotional journeys are not so simple, and progress is rarely linear. I aim to help others in the same way I helped my mom on the mountain: by acknowledging the wonder of their accomplishments and easing anxieties about taking steps back, while also assuring them that they have what it takes to accomplish their goals. I broke from my reflection at the top of the mountain as my mom turned to me and said, “Thank you for supporting me every step of the way.”

I intend to double major in Music and Psychology or Cognitive Science/Neuroscience, depending on the offerings of the college I attend. In applying to small liberal arts institutions, I will be in a position where I can conduct, not just participate in, research on the neural connections between music and brain activity. My life has been shaped by music, and I know that's not unique. However, music has such a strong influence on the human experience that I believe more research is needed. I hope to be at the forefront of that research, and this scholarship will help me to pursue that. Additionally, the brain as a whole is truly the final frontier. I wish to study human consciousness and its connections not only to music but to all of the world around us. Thank you for your consideration.

At the top of Iron Mountain, there is an iconic Oregon viewpoint from which you can see the tops of Cone Peak, Echo Mountain, and the Three Sisters. This beautiful sight not only astounds the viewer with six mountain peaks but with a panoramic snapshot of over 300 species of wildflowers and trees. For the experienced hiker, the climb to this view is no great challenge, but for my mom and me, Iron Mountain was a formidable peak. The first portion of the hike lived up to our modest expectations: a natural Oregon walk through alpine trees, akin to the dozens of such trails I had hiked throughout my life. Through this relaxing trek, we were lulled into a sense of confidence that the path ahead was well within our capabilities. However, a half mile later, we were forced to a halt. Looming over us were 11 menacing switchbacks of red-orange rock, gravel, and dust, each frighteningly wedged between the towering mountain edge and a near-vertical drop to the base. Our confidence was shattered. We did our best to push onward by focusing straight ahead, not letting the prospect of a 50-foot plummet deter us. However, as the rocky trail grew thinner, so did our nerves. At a particularly steep switchback with rock crumbling beneath our steps, it became so difficult that we resorted to crawling on our knees, and I began to think of turning around. As my mom, taking the lead, began to crawl more and more slowly, I knew we had to stop and take stock of the situation. And so we paused, and I did my best to offer her some solace despite my heart racing. I told her that it was perfectly fine to turn back. I reasoned that we had already climbed well over 400 feet and passed through rainbow fields of native wildflowers; there was surely no shame in ending our journey there. However, I also told her that I knew our capabilities and that we could certainly make it to the peak of the mountain. The mental battle was relentless, but we were physically almost there. Without adding pressure to her already-overwhelming anxiety, I successfully coaxed my mom—and myself—into taking a few more steps. After making our way ahead with a haphazard mix of walking and crawling with gravel continually sliding under our feet, we eventually came to the top of the mountain. Just as promised, the sights were astonishing. The silence that came with the incredible view allowed me to reflect on our journey. In my attempt at providing comfort to my mom on the harrowing switchbacks of Iron Mountain, I came to a personal realization about my lifelong passions and pursuits. I have seen how support systems are critical to achieving one’s aspirations, and I realize that too many people live without them. Because of this, I am passionate about providing support to those who need it so that they can climb their mountains. It is easy to be a “cheerleader” and run alongside others, shouting words of encouragement. However, I recognize that emotional journeys are not so simple, and progress is rarely linear. I aim to help others in the same way I helped my mom on the mountain: by acknowledging the wonder of their accomplishments and easing anxieties about taking steps back, while also assuring them that they have what it takes to accomplish their goals. I broke from my reflection at the top of the mountain as my mom turned to me and said, “Thank you for supporting me every step of the way.”

If awarded this scholarship, I plan to conduct research at a small liberal arts institution studying and exploring the connections between psychology and music. Music therapy is already a practicing field of psychology, but I believe that further research will demonstrate the true power of music on the mind and open up new, positive applications. Please allow me to illustrate an experience of mine that has provided insight into my passion for psychology and helping others overcome their challenges. At the top of Iron Mountain, there is an iconic Oregon viewpoint from which you can see the tops of Cone Peak, Echo Mountain, and the Three Sisters. This beautiful sight not only astounds the viewer with six mountain peaks but with a panoramic snapshot of over 300 species of wildflowers and trees. For the experienced hiker, the climb to this view is no great challenge, but for my mom and me, Iron Mountain was a formidable peak. The first portion of the hike lived up to our modest expectations: a natural Oregon walk through alpine trees, akin to the dozens of such trails I had hiked throughout my life. The crisp air, glimmering summer sun, and cool, damp earth captured all of my senses, and my tranquil footsteps brought me to the base of the climb. Through this relaxing trek, we were lulled into a sense of confidence that the path ahead was well within our capabilities. However, a half mile later, we were forced to a halt. Looming over us were 11 menacing switchbacks of red-orange rock, gravel, and dust, each frighteningly wedged between the towering mountain edge and a near-vertical drop to the base. Our confidence was shattered. We did our best to push onward by focusing straight ahead, not letting the prospect of a 50-foot plummet deter us. However, as the rocky trail grew thinner, so did our nerves. At a particularly steep switchback with rock crumbling beneath our steps, it became so difficult that we resorted to crawling on our knees, and I began to think of turning around. As my mom, taking the lead, began to crawl more and more slowly, I knew we had to stop and take stock of the situation. And so we paused, and I did my best to offer her some solace despite my heart racing. I told her that it was perfectly fine to turn back. I reasoned that we had already climbed well over 400 feet and passed through rainbow fields of native wildflowers; there was surely no shame in ending our journey there. However, I also told her that I knew our capabilities and that we could certainly make it to the peak of the mountain. The mental battle was relentless, but we were physically almost there. Without adding pressure to her already-overwhelming anxiety, I successfully coaxed my mom—and myself—into taking a few more steps. After making our way ahead with a haphazard mix of walking and crawling with gravel continually sliding under our feet, we eventually came to the top of the mountain. Just as promised, the sights were astonishing. The silence that came with the incredible view allowed me to reflect on our journey. In my attempt at providing comfort to my mom on the harrowing switchbacks of Iron Mountain, I came to a personal realization about my lifelong passions and pursuits. I have seen how support systems are critical to achieving one’s aspirations, and I realize that too many people live without them. Because of this, I am passionate about providing support to those who need it so that they can climb their mountains. It is easy to be a “cheerleader” and run alongside others, shouting words of encouragement. However, I recognize that emotional journeys are not so simple, and progress is rarely linear. I aim to help others in the same way I helped my mom on the mountain: by acknowledging the wonder of their accomplishments and easing anxieties about taking steps back, while also assuring them that they have what it takes to accomplish their goals. I broke from my reflection at the top of the mountain as my mom turned to me and said, “Thank you for supporting me every step of the way.” I earnestly thank you for your consideration.

With the recent uptick in attacks on transgender rights, I feel that highlighting their underrepresented stories is more important than ever. It is my aim to continue advocacy for transgender individuals n the future. A common misconception in today’s society is the notion that gender variance is a new phenomenon. However, the transgender community has a rich history that dates back centuries. Lifting these stories of triumph and hardship not only serves to celebrate the history of a marginalized group but also helps ease prejudice based on the perception of transgender identities as an unexplained, modern oddity. In the spring of my junior year, I had the opportunity to create a website as part of a final project for my AP U.S. History class. To achieve this goal, I created The Virtual Museum of Transgender History (www.transmuseum.wordpress.com), an online exhibition of buried transgender history. The website is an exhibit that sheds light on individuals exhibiting gender variance throughout history; many living before the term transgender even existed. In this exhibit, I offered a glimpse into the individuals’ lives and explored the greater significance of their experiences through the lens of transgender history and human rights activism. I am committed to advocating for transgender people and all marginalized communities as I continue with my studies and activities in college and beyond.

I am planning to attend a 4-year private college and double major in music and psychology. It is my hope to conduct research exploring the connection between the two fields in my college experience. In my personal life and in my college studies, I am going to further hone my piano skills and explore music composition and improvisation, especially jazz. This scholarship would help me to go to college when I may be otherwise unable to and focus on my academic pursuits rather than the exorbitant cost.

Please allow me to interpret the prompt not as overcoming my own hardships (although the experience was also rightfully challenging for me) but as helping someone else overcome theirs, and how I will continue this in the future. At the top of Iron Mountain, there is an iconic Oregon viewpoint from which you can see the tops of Cone Peak, Echo Mountain, and the Three Sisters. This beautiful sight not only astounds the viewer with six mountain peaks but with a panoramic snapshot of over 300 species of wildflowers and trees. For the experienced hiker, the climb to this view is no great challenge, but for my mom and me, Iron Mountain was a formidable peak. The first portion of the hike lived up to our modest expectations of beauty and serenity, but a half mile later, we were forced to a halt. Looming over us were 11 menacing switchbacks of red-orange rock, gravel, and dust, each frighteningly wedged between the towering mountain edge and a near-vertical drop to the base. Our confidence was shattered. We did our best to push onward by focusing straight ahead, not letting the prospect of a 50-foot plummet deter us. However, as the rocky trail grew thinner, so did our nerves. At a particularly steep switchback with rock crumbling beneath our steps, it became so difficult that we resorted to crawling on our knees, and I began to think of turning around. As my mom, taking the lead, began to crawl more and more slowly, I knew we had to stop and take stock of the situation. And so we paused, and I did my best to offer her some solace despite my heart racing. I told her that it was perfectly fine to turn back. I reasoned that we had already climbed well over 400 feet and passed through rainbow fields of native wildflowers; there was surely no shame in ending our journey there. However, I also told her that I knew our capabilities and that we could certainly make it to the peak of the mountain. The mental battle was relentless, but we were physically almost there. Without adding pressure to her already-overwhelming anxiety, I successfully coaxed my mom—and myself—into taking a few more steps. After making our way ahead with a haphazard mix of walking and crawling with gravel continually sliding under our feet, we eventually came to the top of the mountain. Just as promised, the sights were astonishing. The silence that came with the incredible view allowed me to reflect on our journey. In my attempt at providing comfort to my mom on the harrowing switchbacks of Iron Mountain, I came to a personal realization about my lifelong passions and pursuits. I have seen how support systems are critical to achieving one’s aspirations, and I realize that too many people live without them. Because of this, I am passionate about providing support to those who need it so that they can climb their mountains. It is easy to be a “cheerleader” and run alongside others, shouting words of encouragement. However, I recognize that emotional journeys are not so simple, and progress is rarely linear. I aim to help others in the same way I helped my mom on the mountain: by acknowledging the wonder of their accomplishments and easing anxieties about taking steps back, while also assuring them that they have what it takes to accomplish their goals. I broke from my reflection at the top of the mountain as my mom turned to me and said, “Thank you for supporting me every step of the way.”

With the recent uptick in attacks on transgender rights, highlighting their stories is more important than ever. A common misconception in today’s society is the notion that gender variance is a new phenomenon. However, the transgender community has a rich history that dates back centuries. Lifting these stories of triumph and hardship not only serves to celebrate the history of a marginalized group but also helps ease prejudice based on the perception of transgender identities as an unexplained, modern oddity. In the spring of my junior year, I had the opportunity to create a website as part of a final project for my AP U.S. History class. To achieve this goal, I created The Virtual Museum of Transgender History (www.transmuseum.wordpress.com), an online exhibition of buried transgender history. The website is an exhibit that sheds light on individuals exhibiting gender variance throughout history; many living before the term transgender even existed. In this exhibit, I offered a glimpse into the individuals’ lives and explored the greater significance of their experiences through the lens of transgender history and human rights activism. I am committed to advocating for transgender people and all marginalized communities as I continue with my studies and activities in college and beyond.