Existing while Black is exhausting. Black people don't just face trauma today, we are dealing with hundreds of years of oppression and pain passed down from our ancestors. At the core of many of us, there are decades worth of racial trauma buried deep within and the only real way to help heal these wounds is through therapy. In a perfect world, there would not be a stigma attached to mental health treatment and Black people would have equal access to these resources. Equally important, there would be more Black therapists to help the communities of color. Black people typically face prejudice and discrimination in the healthcare system, and as such are less likely to seek help. During the pandemic I found a Black counselor to help me process my inherited traumas and she made all the difference for me. It is important to have someone to talk to who truly understands the stress a young person is under living in America while Black. I am a Black teenager in a town that is predominantly white. I find myself scared to go outside, and I know that this is a common feeling for other Black teens. This fear first grabbed ahold of me in 2020 watching the video of George Floyd’s murder. Every time I get in my car I imagine being pulled over and shot. The police don’t know me. That I am a musical prodigy. That I am a straight A honors student and give back to my community. Or that I am the Vice President of a non-profit organization, COBLA, whose main purpose is to uplift Black people in my community. All that I will be judged for is my brown skin. I am so much more than just what they see. This fear hit home on September 19, 2021. A young Black man by the name of Barry Washington Jr. was shot and killed in my hometown. Right in front of the Patagonia store in the middle of downtown Bend, on a street I had walked hundreds of times. Ten feet from where I played a concert to a joyful Summer Fest crowd just months earlier. Barry was a sweet, nerdy kid who loved Pokemon and Nintendo. And he was killed simply because he is living while Black. Sadly, I am not surprised; part of me feared it was only a matter of time. Growing up, my family was a big proponent of therapy and I am lucky that I was encouraged to seek help. In a time of stress I have someone that I can reach out to that will help me unpack all of my intense emotions. For a large percentage of people in communities of color, they do not have the ability to access such resources and won't get help. This lack of access then perpetuates the cycle of trauma and it goes on and on, passed down to the next generation. In my perfect world, mental health treatment is available for any Black person that needs it, and the doctors providing this care understand how the experience of being Black in America affects their patient. We deserve to understand where our racial trauma comes from and we deserve to heal.

I cannot imagine a world without music. It is a bridge between cultures, bringing light and hope even in the darkest of times. As a performer, music is the means through which I communicate best. It is my first language. To say that I was born with musical ability would make sense, but this passion that runs so deep within me is beyond a talent. It is the lifeblood of who I am. There is no question that the music courses through my genetic material. Even though I was completely disconnected from my African roots because of my absent biological father, my White family ensured that I explored my musical heritage. When waiting for the results for my DNA test, my mom joked that there could be something that shows up that they can’t quantify. Like the 14% “super mutt” our Mexican street dog Paco is made up of. It’s that planet Neblar she says my biological dad comes from. Carlos was an extraordinary Jazz trumpeter. I say “was” because the lack of nurture in his childhood took him down a path towards squandering his magic. He left when I was a baby but he comes up for air every now and then and reaches out. This otherworldly ability was passed down from him. What would my musical path have looked like without my first piano teacher Julie recommending I take Jazz lessons? Having ADD meant sitting through a traditional piano piece was next to impossible because my brain works too fast. Jazz enables my hands to do their thing without constraint. The ability to shape when I play at my will and to connect so directly to my emotions is complete liberation. Living with parents who looked nothing like me meant that even at home I couldn’t connect to my Black culture. I knew something was missing, but I didn't know where to find it. Jazz was the gateway into finding myself. I am 9 and sitting in my teacher’s garage. This is not your typical music school. Boxes are piled floor to ceiling. Jazz posters adorn the walls. Old mattresses are propped against the garage door to buffer the notes so the neighbors won’t complain. Georges insists that I focus on the piano even though I desperately want to play the old organ in the corner. One day he relents. As my fingers push the drawbars up and the vintage Leslie speaker hums I am gone. The ancestral connection to my Black family is undeniable. There was no organ in my Jewish upbringing and yet I have played it before. The feeling that envelops me when I am on stage and communicating through my keyboards is indescribable. It is the sensation of being more at home than anywhere else. Most people would like to leave this Earth having left an impression. To me, there is no more lasting legacy than music. The music of my Jazz counterparts continues to inspire me, and I hope to carry the torch for the next generation.