The thing that gives me hope for a better future is a former romantic relationship. As many young boys do in college, I met a girl. We started as friends. I remember many happy nights of us driving around campus, ordering takeout, and eating it together atop the highest parking garage. Over the greasy smell of bacon cheesy bread, I told her everything: my father's suicide, my nascent self-identity, and my struggle at the time in achieving emotional stability. Such challenges seem insurmountable to many eighteen-year-olds. That was certainly true for me, yet her presence made these mountainous obstacles seem innocuous. Her comforting words calmed the raging storms in my mind. Her signature phrase--which I found hilarious--was, "The world still turns, and the bear still [poops] in the woods." Meaning, no matter what tragedy life brings, the sun still rises and there are reasons to live. I fell in love with her on top of that parking garage. Unfortunately, things changed in romance. To my surprise, she became abusive. It started with cutting phrases that me feel dumb and insecure. These comments eventually transformed into criticism, and finally into degradation. One night, she told me, "Before I came along, you were a scared little boy. Without me, you'll go back to that." Although I was hurt by her words, I continued in our relationship because I was emotionally invested and I was scared to leave her. One day, I told her that I loved her and she hit me across the face. Although embarrassing for me to admit, I stayed. I began feeling immensely depressed. Thoughts of worthlessness pervaded my mind on a daily basis. Some nights, I cried for hours. I kept wondering if she would ever be the girl I knew before. I yearned desperately for that girl, but she never returned. After two years, a good friend of mine helped me leave her. I often question which was more difficult: watching my father fade further and further into death or walking away from her, the girl I loved with all of my heart. To this day, I do not know, but I was successful. It took years for me to trust again, for me to feel comfortable around someone of the opposite sex. Yet, I did it. Today, I am engaged to a wonderful woman who is the sweetest person I know. From this painful experience, I gained self-respect and hope for a better future. Finally leaving this person helped me establish personal confidence, which in turn helped me gain emotional and mental stability. I also learned there is always a reason to live, no matter how dire the circumstances. In addition, knowing that this mountain is behind me lets me know that I can persevere through any of life's challenges. It also lets me know that darkness must be followed by light, that the sun must rise, and that no matter what "the world still turns, and the bear still [poops] in the woods."

In my senior year of high school, I entered two creative writing contests. For both contests, I submitted a story about an eagle gliding across the sun soaked skies. I won one of these contests and, to my surprise, my high school published my short story in the school newspaper. Various students and teachers congratulated me and commented on how well the story was written. Although I had been writing creatively for quite some time, this series of events told me that I was talented. Since that time, I delved deep into my creative endeavors. I crafted an entire universe on paper complete with worlds of assorted creatures, diverse cultures, varying climates, and intricate languages. For each world, I developed different modes of telling time, measuring distances, and archiving history. I also created a cast of over 300 characters: warriors to pacifists, swashbuckling adventurists to careful bookkeepers, heroes of the ages to villains seeking universal destruction. The amount of time I have poured into this project is immense. I have continue even when fatigued because I hope my published stories will inspire, entertain, or even save a life. To practice this talent, I engage in numerous creative tasks. For example, my apartment is filled with storyboards attached to the walls, one scene leading to the next. Whenever a battle scene is needed, I choreograph each attack and defense in my living room, down to miniscule movements such as blocks and parries. I facilitate important dialogues out loud in each character's unique voice, practicing them over and over, making sure the lines sound right and are totally in character. Each of these actions allows me to hone in on my creative writing abilities. That way, my stories are truly the best that they can be when others finally read them.

When I was a child, my father and I often went for long drives in his top-down Jeep. The sweet smells of rural Tennessee would burst through the air as his car climbed and surveyed the local mountain ranges. Along the way, he would play songs by Bob Marley through the radio. Our favorite was "Three Little Birds," a song I soon memorized and sang to myself throughout my younger years. Those long drives stopped abruptly when I turned 13. That year, my father committed suicide and I felt as if my entire world had turned upside down. At times, I felt like I would never be happy again, as if a rusted chain had wrapped around my heart and would remain there for the rest of my days. One night, I curled into the driver's seat of the Jeep. I was trying to see if his scent was still in the seat fabric, just so I could smell him one last time. I couldn't. So instead, I turned on the radio and heard the lyrics of my favorite song: "This is my message to you...Don't worry 'bout a thing, 'Cause every little thing gonna be all right." Life was not all right for a very long time; however, I felt as if my father were speaking to me that night and, in doing so, was giving me the comfort that I desperately needed. Since that time, I remember the song whenever I experience life's trials. I use it as my inspiration for carrying on despite the weight life puts on my shoulders. I also believe that it is my father's way of encouraging me, his beloved son, to continue on and persevere, to "Rise up [each] mornin'" and "Smile with the risin' sun" no matter what challenges lie ahead.

As a graduate student studying neuropsychology, I learned quickly that simple pleasures would be the lifeblood of my educational experience. For me, a typical day involves either being cramped inside a 10'x6' school laboratory studying the neurocognitive effects of various neurological disorders or fast-paced, no-lunch-break clinical work at the University of Chicago hospital. Needless to say, I am consistently exhausted with barely enough time to plan a wedding with my fiancée. Yet all the work gets done because I rely on simple pleasures. For example, I distinctly remember this past Christmas Break as my most difficult time in graduate school. Not only was I suffering from hypersomnolence (i.e., an excessive need for sleep due to exhaustion, where sleep is often non-restorative), but some of the more judgmental and opinionated members of my family let me know that they disapproved of my engagement with my fiancée. Put plainly, my fiancée and I were no longer welcome at these family member's houses--including on holidays--not to mention that these family members might not be at my wedding. I remember this event made me extremely upset and frustrated. I was also still beyond exhausted, a mountain of work on my horizon. To cheer me up, my fiancée came home one day with a polar bear doll and said, "You are and have always been my polar bear. You keep going despite the winter storms. You never give up despite the icy weather." Since that time, she has hid pictures of polar bears around my apartment, sent me hundreds of texts of polar bears, and given me polar bear calendars to check off assignments. Some days, I now get by because of these simple messages of polar bears, each representing the love of my fiancée. I am somebody's polar bear, and that makes me happy.

As a neuropsychologist-in-training, I find that I am continually providing my patients with recommendations for maintaining their health. This is because research shows that maintaining one's health is fundamental for preserving one's cognition and living a long, healthy life. Below are some of the most common recommendations I provide to my patients. First, people usually benefit from receiving ongoing care from their medical providers, especially if they are older. Repeated follow-up with one's primary care physician (PCP) generally minimizes potential medical complications that could prolong sickness or contribute to changes in cognitive functioning. Next, it is imperative that people pay close attention to their diet and nutrition. Specifically, diets contrived of fruits, vegetables, and lean meats tend to be best for preserving health. Another name for this type of diet is the Mediterranean Diet, as individuals from that region of the world tend to follow this type of diet in their culture. Another recommendation is to have continued physical activity, usually two to three times per week (or as directed by a PCP). Consistent physical activity has been shown to improve mood and cognition, as well as overall functioning and lifespan. Finally, having an active lifestyle filled with hobbies and social relationships not only increases quality of life, but also increases longevity of lifespan. Current research shows that older adults tend to live longer when they consistently have activities and social events on their calendar. Therefore, it is important for all individuals to remain engaged in their surrounding community. Of course, each person needs to find out what works best for them. That subjective strategy for each person is ultimately the "best" way to live a long, healthy life. Nonetheless, incorporating each of the above recommendations will most certainly help each person in their endeavor toward long and healthy living.

I always believed that losing someone you love is the greatest tragedy someone can experience. It is impossible to plan for such tragedy and, despite devastating heartache, the world still turns. Thus, time often abandons the dejected, leaving them to wallow in a state of despair. I, however, refused to be left behind after experiencing the most frightening tragedy of my life. October 13, 2009 was the day my family's world turned upside down. There was not a cloud in the sky, the sun shone brightly overhead, and the gentle breezes whistled through the autumn leaves. Yet on that day my father, an army veteran suffering from PTSD, took his own life. It felt as if I had been ripped from the strands of fate, trapped between this world and another I did not understand. Although I was lost and confused, I knew I needed to be strong for my mother. Somehow, I was graced with a mysterious strength and became her beacon in this darkness. Of course, my father’s death greatly wounded me, but I also carried on in my own life with a powerful vigor. Instead of surrendering to tragedy, I chose to dedicate myself to my studies and eventually apply for college. Instead of allowing the anguish and pain to rule my heart, I developed an insatiable hunger for aiding others and became involved in philanthropy during graduate school. Whilst combating spirit-crushing heartache, I found the power to transform the pain from my life into ecstatic, awe-inspiring passion toward becoming a board-certified neuropsychologist. In this career path, I plan to dedicate myself in assisting others through their tragedies, traumas, and injuries from the neurological level. This way, I can be a beacon of hope for others like how I was for my mother all those years ago.

Passionate writers are called to create for many reasons. They engage in imaginative activities to enter a more whimsical and fanciful world, take on the personas of fantastic characters, or escape from reality. My life’s journey has not been easy. Rather, it has been filled with numerous chasms and mountaintops which have inspired me to become passionate about creative writing. I wrote my first story after my father’s passing. It was not written well, but I discovered how heartache was the source of my writer’s passion. Although it seemed insurmountable, I was able to temporarily release the immense weight from my shoulders when my fingers met the keys. Within my stories, I conquered peaks more precipitous than Everest, soared higher than the farthest reaches of the stratosphere, sailed further than the boundaries of the Pacific, and existed within extraordinary dreams complete with an abundant world of spectacular characters. All my characters share pieces of my soul. They are each me in some way or fashion—either through experience, emotion, or physicality. At some point, each is faced with a challenge that tests them on emotional and psychological levels. They are beleaguered, battered, and led to the edge of their capacity, yet when they succeed I know I can do the same. I am proud to have written six novels, each at least three hundred pages in length. I also drafted a codex for all my books complete with maps of my universe and a lexicon to the languages I have written. I am currently seeking publication and I hope to be accepted within the next couple years. My writing is both a passion and a mode of survival, a way I can grow as a valiant adventurer ready to take on the challenges of the world despite the heartaches of life.

Growing up in the Church, I used to see generosity as a completely monetary construct. I saw wealthy individuals donate large sums of money to local soup kitchens. Sometimes, my elementary school provided a nearby homeless shelter with enough finances to cover the cost of clothes for one hundred people. Although these acts of kindness were generous, it became apparent to me in college that generosity is available in modalities other than money. In college, I had two generous friends. Every other Saturday night, they would drive around campus to ask people if they needed a ride home, especially if they had been drinking. I remember thinking, "What if these girls get hurt?" They never did. Instead, they returned with interesting stories about the people they met. Sometimes, they asked people to tell their life story and would offer empathy or a listening ear for those who needed it. Once, they needed to clean out their car of vomit, but to them it was worth it because they were helping someone else. Through their continual kindness, my friends taught me that generosity is freely offering your resources to others even when you don't own much. It is inconveniencing yourself for the sake of providing a convenience to other people. It is sacrificing your time and your plans to contribute to another's good fortune. It is offering empathy for those in pain and comfort to those who mourn. At times, it is even temporarily forgoing your safety to ensure that others are safe. I held onto what they taught me about generosity. Today, I apply it into my clinical work and I consistently find that even a little generosity from a clinician (i.e., in the form of empathy or time) often means the world to a patient in their treatment.