I wake up to the soft glow of the Manhattan skyline streaming through my window. The space is modern and open; minimalist, yet full of intention. Every piece of furniture reflects not just taste, but purpose. From the sleek workspace where I manage my automated business to the signed TBAB vinyl on my bedstand, my space is both sanctuary and catalyst. I’m a financial analyst on the rise, with sights set on executive leadership. But I’m not here just to climb the ladder; I’m here to change who’s allowed to climb it. At the end of it all, when my office is packed, my last deal closed, my title etched in company history, I want to be remembered; not for skyscrapers bearing my company’s name or the billions managed beneath my fingertips, but for the boardrooms I transformed, where power wears every shade of skin, and leadership is rooted in compassion. I see myself, years from now, standing at the head of a long conference table, a table that reflects the world outside the window; minorities, immigrants, first-gens, Black and brown professionals, voices once pushed to the margins, now fulfilling visions. This dream all began at a potluck. The event buzzed with excitement as our Black Student Union moved between stations. The scent of jollof rice and barbecue filled the air, blending with laughter and conversations from those across the district. Teachers, students, and families engaged in conversations about Juneteenth’s significance, sharing meals and stories. By the end, we raised a record amount while uniting a community often fractured by misunderstanding and apathy. Back then, I was the one setting up chairs, the last to leave, the first to speak up when no one else would. I was a Black boy from Seattle, raised in Black churches, molded by immigrant parents and protests. Before, I was told to keep my head down; now, I choose instead to look up and pull others with me. Early on, I often felt like a black sore thumb in a sea of white fingers. But over time, I realized that what made me “stick out” was exactly what gave me power. I didn’t need to shrink to fit in; I needed to expand the frame. Finance soon became my language of impact. I dream of a world where Black people aren't forced to conform to the prejudiced standards of society, a world where natural Black hair is not deemed as “unprofessional”, a world where a young Black kid doesn’t look at Wall Street and wonder if they belong, but knows they do. Because they’ve seen someone like them not just walk through the door, but hold it open. I plan to major in Finance and Economics, with the plan of using my business background to change the status quo. I’ll continue community work by connecting with Black students and professors at Emory, as well as partnering with the Morehouse network. Hard work is getting a seat at the table; bravery is building a table big enough for everyone, and pulling up more chairs. My life’s work will be that table: Sturdy. Expansive. Full. When it’s all said and done, I want people to say I shifted what leadership looked like; that I succeeded for the sake of others. That’s my goal: where diverse executive rooms are a given rather than a goal.