How can one individual possibly stop climate change? I turn off my lights at night. I recycle every single can and bottle I use at home. I participated in the "skip straws, save the turtles" movement. I cut up every plastic holder for every six-pack of cans that I buy--I do not want some poor animal to get stuck inside that plastic ring someday. I live in a 500-square-foot efficiency apartment. I let Google Maps choose the most fuel-efficient route for me, even if it takes me longer to get there as a result. I will walk places if I am able, but my city is set up with public transit that arrives every hour (if that), and with everything so spread apart that it is nearly impossible to get places without a car. I do not use the heat much, if at all, during the winter. My apartment is heated and cooled by a single window unit, without any central air or heat. I use the laundromat instead of buying a large washer and dryer. I am doing everything I can. I am comfortable enough. If I could live off the land and survive, I would choose it. That would certainly reduce my carbon footprint. Unfortunately, society does not have the proper systems in place to let me do this. I would be considered homeless, trying to find a bench to sleep on amidst the hostile architecture. Some of our nation's homeless have even been arrested for erecting tents on public property. I would be under constant threat of having my camp rousted. It is not safe to live this way in today's society. I have to keep engaging in capitalism, performing a constant cost-benefit analysis, trying to choose the path of least destruction. Sometimes I am so tired that I am forced to choose the path of least resistance instead. Every day, I wake up and I try. But we cannot stop climate change without holding corporations responsible. The corporations are happy letting individuals take the blame, letting us make the sacrifices, while continuing their operations as usual. It is not necessary to look far to find an example. Where are the targets for reduced greenhouse gas emissions? Where are we going to put all those fuel rods sitting in the bottom of nuclear reactors' coolant tanks? What are we going to do if we run out of fossil fuel for our cars? Electric cars finally exist, but they are flashy; impractical for middle- and lower-class people to attain. I do not have a garage. Where would I charge it? Where are the corporations that try?

To understand generational wealth, I first sought to understand the meaning of each word. I searched my mind for the meaning of a generation. A generation is usually defined as a group of people that were born within a certain timeframe, often thought to share several characteristics. Generational stereotypes abound; results range from complimentary to insulting, or even amusing. A quick Google search will net you such riveting articles as "Why are Millennials killing Applebees?" It leads a wise reader to wonder how useful generational descriptions really are. In its simplest form, a generation means a person's progeny; their offspring, their children. Perhaps I will stick with the most basic definition. I think it fits my perception better. Wealth, on the other hand, is commonly thought of as monetary and financial gain. Even the picture prompt for this essay shows hands holding piles of cash. I do not think the common perception of wealth is enough to demonstrate what it truly means to me. Wealth means a stockpile of value. Money is not the only thing with value in this world. Of course, monetary wealth is important. It is, or I would not be here, writing this essay so that I might better afford graduate school and ameliorate my debt. It is just that money is not all that I value. I would rather stay poor and gain wisdom. Maybe that is why I keep going back to college. I have some form of hope for the future. I need to make an impact. I do not need to be famous. I just want someone to remember me, someday. I have met many people, both millennial and generation Z, that scoff at the idea of retirement and social security. Attitudes are jaded. Your mileage may vary. Remember, generational stereotypes abound. I have gotten rather used to the idea that I might never retire, and might be fighting to make ends meet for all of my life. Even if that happens, I would be okay with that. I would rather have some wisdom to pass on to my children, and my children's children. It would be nice to leave them with a little nest egg, a home, a few lucrative shares in the stock market. I hope I can. If that were the case, though, what else does that leave for them? Generational wealth means that I have something to pass on to my descendants. I want to leave them more than money. I want to leave them with the impression that they can change the world. I want to be remembered for believing that I can do so.

I grew up with parents that believed mental illness was not a real illness. I was made to feel like my intelligence was all I had. I was labeled a "gifted kid." When I was seven years old, I came home crying because I was so bored with reading the same book over and over during free reading time. i was not interested in the book's subject matter. I was only interested in the Harry Potter books that year, but I could not talk about them with my classmates, because the subject material was deemed "inappropriate". I was miserable. Not being able to discuss my interests made it feel like I could not enjoy my life. Subsequently, my parents fought to get me placed in a higher-level English Language Arts class. I was told my talents were in English and reading, and nothing else. I was better at languages than mathematics, but I wanted so badly to practice skills in other areas. Nonetheless, I moved to the fourth-grade English class that year. My parents refused to allow me to fully skip a grade because they did not believe my skills in other subjects could match up. My social and communication deficits were ignored or chalked up to personal quirks, but the grade mismatch made them worse. A school psychologist evaluated me in my classroom. She wrote that I "avoided eye contact" and "acted shy." Her report does not show that she found anything strange about my behavior, even though I also did not think about blowing my nose until she handed me a tissue. Later that year, I discovered hand sanitizer. I loved to clean my hands over and over, remembering that I had been taught it would kill all of the germs. It was a repetitive behavior that I loved performing. I was not allowed to engage in my favorite repetitive behaviors, though. My mother told me "stop acting like that, or you're going to get put on a medication that makes you stupid." My father had depression when he was younger, he told me, but he "cured" it using mindfulness and meditation. I am skeptical about his explanation. Most people with mental illness deal with it for the rest of their life--unless they were misdiagnosed. I was told by various therapists and professionals over the years that I suffered from depression, dysthymia, anxiety, OCD tendencies, BPD tendencies, and yet none of them could label what was happening with me in a way that helped me function better in my life. At the age of 26, I was first diagnosed with ADHD and later level 1 autism. Properly speaking, I have two neurobiological disorders. They most likely masked one another during my upbringing. It has been about one year since then, and I am still trying to pick up the pieces. It is hard to tell who I am underneath the mask. I studied other people's behaviors to try and mimic them as closely as possible, but I always felt like there was something different with me. I became aware that my reading talents were due to hyperlexia. I avoided eye contact as a child because it was painful. I later trained myself to stare at the bridge of people's noses to simulate eye contact, and got a little too good at it. Now, I have to stop looking "into people's eyes" as much, or it makes them feel uncomfortable. During conversations, I am forever thinking about striking that balance, unless I am wearing sunglasses outdoors. I always wear sunglasses outdoors.

closed borders HELLO and welcome to the border-blockade new-cold-war-2022 fear-mongering gay-propaganda-machine! and I? I'll be your tour guide to our little corner of the world wide web. no media coverage today: my personal FBI agent cries tears of joy tears of laughter over Russian-American sanctioned love gone are the days of mail-order brides and besides, I'd asked for a husband. being gay won't get you killed outside Chechnya but it will ostracize you the border isn't closed, they say, but no plane will fly into dead airspace. the embassy is gone, that's closed. TRAVEL ADVISORY DO NOT TRAVEL AND LEAVE IMMEDIATELY. internet's censored, kid use your VPNs wisely and hop onto Telegram-- it's not shut down yet-- we wanted to watch a movie together it's blocked forget it his letter, it reached me! but USPS has probably thrown mine in the trash by now. even if it reaches my lover, it gets tossed away as part of the gay- propaganda-machine. so i send little comforts candy and sweets, perhaps carefully inspected electronics no message no words wheredidthewordsgo boy 1 can't speak English out loud where they can hear him. boy 2 can't speak Russian out loud or they will call him un-American. typed words live in the internet in our kingdom of two in today's new-cold-war-2022.

I have always felt called to the area where I could "do the most good." I initially wanted to become a physician, but I had to change my mind. During my undergraduate studies, I grew frustrated with the amount of time it would take before I could see patients. I took a break from four-year university and headed to community college, wishing that I had taken that path in the first place. After finishing my associate's degree, though, I resolved to return and finish my bachelor's degree. I found a way to attend school online while I worked full-time as a new graduate nurse. My commitment to education had not faded, but I found a way to see patients sooner. Somehow, though, I was not satisfied. I wanted to do more, to be more. I returned to obtain my master's degree in business administration while training and picking up shifts as a clinical coordinator and house supervisor. I wanted to try my hand at becoming a charge nurse, but that role did not exist at the hospital where I was working. What else was there to do but enter supervision at the ripe old age of twenty-five? One day, all that training and education led me back to the bedside. I found that I missed working with the patients and connecting with them. And yet--I did not want "less." One day, a former instructor covered a clinical group from my former school in my practice setting. She told me she was impressed by how much I had learned about nursing in the time since my graduation. I took her words at face value and accepted her invitation to teach at my former school. I re-enrolled in graduate school, focusing on nursing education. I chose to enter the field of nursing education because I still can see patients and participate in patient care. I can show student nurses what it means to advocate for their patients and become technical experts in skills. I am now a clinical instructor. Honestly, I could not be happier, except--I wish I could see them through the whole program. I am going to need to finish that second master's degree to be able to do it. I am motivated, true, but I can only work as a part-time instructor right now. Even though I am working for two programs--practical nursing and associate degree nursing--it is getting difficult to make ends meet. A scholarship would be truly a gift to help me continue finding my calling within nursing work.