“Get busy living, or get busy dying.” I was fifteen years old when I first heard the classic quote from the immensely impactful film: The Shawshank Redemption. At first, I was hesitant and found it somewhat counterintuitive that my Christian summer camp would willingly recommend that I watch the 1994 R-rated film. However, I quickly grew to love the well-known title and the lessons that it discreetly delivers to its diverse audience. At first glance, The Shawshank Redemption may look like a somewhat boring, or even confusing, movie. In fact, the film was quite unsuccessful upon its release in 1994, as there was a general unpopularity amongst prison films, and the title was minorly perplexing. Despite this, the Stephen King novella-based movie gained enough traction to eventually hold the number one spot on IMDb’s “Top 250 Movies List”. Though the film's journey to popularity is an inspiration in and of itself, there is an immense amount of perspective and artistry in the film’s very meaning. Hope is a complex and subjective term, often overused in daily conversation and misunderstood in many works of art. Contrary to mainstream culture, The Shawshank Redemption showcases the power of hope in a genuine and awe-inspiring manner. The film follows Andy Dufresne, a once successful executive of a major bank, who is wrongfully convicted of murder and is sentenced to two consecutive life terms in Shawshank Prison. He begins his journey in prison as an angry, resentful, and hopeless man, as Dufresne is outcasted by his fellow prisoners. I found the opening of the movie particularly impactful because it showed how the life of an average man could be changed in an instant, all because of a false conviction. The nearly unimaginable situation brought me to a humble place of grief and affliction towards the young man’s life. Despite this, Dufresne’s unfortunate situation enlightened me to the belief that in all things, there is hope. Ultimately, Dufresne manages to escape Shawshank Prison. He reunites with Red, a close friend from prison, and they embrace one another on a small beach in Mexico; the recurring theme of hope resounds as Red states the film’s final words: “I hope to see my friend and shake his hand. I hope the Pacific is as blue as it has been in my dreams. I hope.” The sheer determination and persistence in Red’s voice sends chills up my spine. The fact that someone can experience such an extreme amount of shame, guilt, and hate for a crime that they did not commit, forgive those who wrongly convicted them, and continue to proclaim their hope in the darkness, is one of the greatest attests to one’s character. Although my life experience is tremendously different from that of Andy Dufresne, this is just one of the myriad of lessons that I have procured from The Shawshank Redemption.

Though I could never see the standing ovations from my stakeout backstage, the overwhelming surge of applause after each show made the endless hours of hard work and dedication worth it. Just months before, however, the sound of loud cheers was replaced with the monotonous tone of a heart rate monitor. Little did I know, recovering from surgery would be one of the most challenging and humbling events that I have experienced. During September of sophomore year, the Flower Mound High School Theatre Department produced Mamma Mia!. I practiced the audition cuts and dances every day, hoping to be in the ensemble of the musical. After months of practicing for the initial audition, I stepped into the judge’s room and performed. The results were released just weeks later. As I scanned the cast list, I realized that I would not be performing onstage in the show, so I had submitted a last-minute application to be involved in the set crew. I had never participated in technical theatre, so I signed up in hopes of making new friends, all while picking up a few new skills that could be useful to me in the future. Fortunately, I soon found my name on the extensive list of Set Crew students. The following months were spent building wooden platforms, designing furniture, and painting sets with my new friends. This all changed, however, when a hyperextended grand jeté in contemporary dance class tore my meniscus. Not only was I benched from dance, but I could no longer climb ladders or stand long enough to help build the sets. In late November, I had knee surgery. Though the injury itself was devastating, recovery from surgery took a greater toll on my mentality, as I was forcefully taken from a sport and an art form that fulfilled my creative, competitive, and compassionate personality. The recovery process was long and difficult, as I juggled school, rehearsal, and physical therapy sessions with my other numerous daily tasks; however, it taught me to have patience, believe in myself, and to let go of the circumstances that I cannot control. Through recovery, I learned to give myself grace, even when I wasn’t recovering as fast or as strong as I wanted to. The injury inspired me to become more flexible and tolerant to unexpected change and to value every opportunity to experience something new. Rather than give up my role in the musical, I spoke with the Technical Director, who let me transfer to the props crew instead. It was on this crew that I learned what true leadership looked like. Though there were only four of us, we managed to research, locate, and create all of the props for the show. We worked together at all hours of the day- sometimes, we got to school two hours early to search for a particular prop. Others, we worked after sundown on bejeweling microphones. As time went on, my interest in technical theatre grew. I began to spend all of my free time at work calls: I helped sew costumes, learned how to set up stage lights, painted props, and completed microphone checks. Before I knew it, opening night had arrived. As I stood in the dimly lit backstage, surrounded by elaborately dressed actors and overwhelmingly large set pieces, I realized the impact that the production had on me. My unforeseen experience in technical theatre brought forth a newfound sense of patience, both towards myself and others, in addition to expanding my theatrical curiosity. Though my involvement in the musical definitely did not go as planned, my experience in the props crew ultimately left me with a strengthened sense of flexibility, enhanced communication skills, confidence, and the ability to spot an old, tarnished typewriter in a closet full of ill-assorted props.

As a result of the pandemic, my in-person volunteer opportunities were temporarily halted, so I turned to the SPCA of Texas in hope of continuing my involvement with my local community. I was soon paired with my first foster dog: a four month old Border Collie puppy named Mulan. Through fostering dogs, I have gained a unique perspective and truly seen how small acts of community service can have an immense impact on one’s life. My bold decision to foster with SPCA of Texas has ultimately motivated and inspired me to create a greater positive impact on my community.

I am four years old. I am beyond nervous, but extremely excited. I am in Abilene, Texas, sitting on the ground of the living room in my grandparent’s house. My parents received a painstakingly long goodbye from me at dawn, since they had to go sign paperwork together. I am sitting by Granddad, who is in the midst of filming me for his next documentary-style montage of my childhood. I know my life is about to change, but I’m not prepared for the lasting impact this will have on me. I managed to be patient enough for my grandparents to get a few pictures of me in my brand new “big sister” shirt. Then, it was off to the adoption center, the one that my Granddad had worked at decades ago, the one that would give me the single greatest gift I’ve ever received. I remember the first time I held my baby sister. As her eyes met mine, I knew we would be best friends. We already were best friends. And I couldn’t wait for the years of upcoming adventures we would have. I stared at her from above, knowing that I would always have someone to love, trust, and spend time with. I am nine years old. It is the eve of my tenth birthday. I am scared, and not for the reasons you may think. I am not afraid of growing up. I don’t fear the loss of my younger self. I fear the deep voices of multiple men that I am convinced are standing on the other side of my door. My parents are asleep, my grandparents are in the living room watching “It’s a Wonderful Life”, and my sister’s heavy breathing signals that she is fast asleep in my room. I should be sleeping, but something tells me that everything’s not alright. I peek outside my door, just enough to see the outline of an incredibly tall man. I’m almost ten. Shouldn’t I have the courage to confront the monster outside my door? I retreat. Almost ten year olds don’t need to fight monsters. Not yet. I awoke in the morning, what should have been one of the happiest mornings of the year. My parents sang “Happy Birthday” to me, my grandma gave me a gift, and my sister presented me with her annual homemade card. But Granddad wasn’t there. Instead, he was rushed to the hospital by a group of EMTs. No birthday is the same without a superhero to sing to you, to drop you off at school, and to remind you that you’re growing older. No birthday is the same when you’re Granddad has an aortic aneurysm the day before. I visited him in the hospital that day. It wasn’t the first time I had seen him so pale and weak, but it was then that I realized how little time we have to experience life on this earth. I am thirteen years old. I have spent the last week in the familiarity of my grandparents' house. It’s eleven o’clock on a Thursday morning, which means it’s time for Granddad to leave for Kiwanis Club, a volunteer organization that meets weekly to discuss community service and outreach. This time, however, I’m going with him. What made that day memorable wasn’t actually attending the meeting, nor was it eating lunch with some of his closest friends. It was the conversation we had in his old, beat up, red pickup truck beforehand. He told me that no matter who I turned out to be, he would always love me. He told me he was proud to call me his granddaughter, and that I was one of the kindest people he had ever met. He told me that it was okay that I didn’t talk a lot; I was introspective and an exceptional listener. These were compliments I quickly took to heart and still recall to this day. I am sixteen years old. It is a particularly dreary day, almost as if the sky knew to mourn with us. I am sitting in a row of chairs with my ten year old cousin to my left, and my sister to my right. In front of me is my mom, aunts, and grandmother, all of whom are crying. There are about thirty of us total, but there would be over three hundred later this afternoon. Together, we cry as we share stories: the joyful, the humorous, and the melancholic, all of which Granddad is at the center of. Though the funeral wasn’t lighthearted or high-spirited, I found hope in the lasting legacy he left. His constant positivity and determination brought joy to so many, and that’s how I will always remember him. He made everyone feel like they had a superhero: someone to talk to, someone to listen, and someone to always brighten their day. He inspired so many people, including me, to live life to the fullest. I was two years old. Although I wasn’t aware of it at the time, my Granddad’s life was changed forever. He had finally received an answer. Doctors call it Marfan’s syndrome, a rare genetic disorder that affects the body’s connective tissue, more specifically, the heart. The race had begun, and nobody was sure when it would stop. He lived on borrowed time, the way we should all feel like we’re living. His multitude of hospital visits taught me to believe in myself, be kind to others, and persevere through whatever life may give you. It’s people like him who have inspired me to appreciate life, and to not let anyone or anything stop you from doing so.

Though I could never see the standing ovations from my stakeout backstage, the overwhelming surge of applause after each show made the endless hours of hard work and dedication worth it. Just months before, however, the sound of loud cheers was replaced with the monotonous tone of a heart rate monitor. Little did I know, recovering from surgery would be one of the most challenging and humbling events that I have experienced. During September of sophomore year, the Jaguar Theatre Department produced Mamma Mia!. I practiced the audition cuts and dances every day, hoping to be in the ensemble of the musical. After months of practicing for the initial audition, I stepped into the judge’s room and performed. The results were released just weeks later. As I scanned the cast list, I realized that I would not be performing onstage in the show, so I had submitted a last-minute application to be involved in the set crew. I had never participated in technical theatre, so I signed up in hopes of making new friends, all while picking up a few new skills that could be useful to me in the future. Fortunately, I soon found my name on the extensive list of Set Crew students. The following months were spent building wooden platforms, designing furniture, and painting sets with my new friends. This all changed, however, when a hyperextended grand jeté in contemporary dance class tore my meniscus. Not only was I benched from dance, but I could no longer climb ladders or stand long enough to help build the sets. In late November, I had knee surgery. Though the injury itself was devastating, recovery from surgery took a greater toll on my mentality, as I was forcefully taken from a sport and an art form that fulfilled my creative, competitive, and compassionate personality. The recovery process was long and difficult, as I juggled school, rehearsal, and physical therapy sessions with my other numerous daily tasks; however, it taught me to have patience, believe in myself, and to let go of the circumstances that I cannot control. Through recovery, I learned to give myself grace, even when I wasn’t recovering as fast or as strong as I wanted to. The injury inspired me to become more flexible and tolerant to unexpected change and to value every opportunity to experience something new. Rather than give up my role in the musical, I spoke with the Technical Director, who let me transfer to the props crew instead. It was on this crew that I learned what true leadership looked like. Though there were only four of us, we managed to research, locate, and create all of the props for the show. We worked together at all hours of the day- sometimes, we got to school two hours early to search for a particular prop. Others, we worked after sundown on bejeweling microphones. As time went on, my interest in technical theatre grew. I began to spend all of my free time at work calls: I helped sew costumes, learned how to set up stage lights, painted props, and completed microphone checks. Before I knew it, opening night had arrived. As I stood in the dimly lit backstage, surrounded by elaborately dressed actors and overwhelmingly large set pieces, I realized the impact that the production had on me. My unforeseen experience in technical theatre brought forth a newfound sense of patience, both towards myself and others, in addition to expanding my theatrical curiosity. Though my involvement in the musical definitely did not go as planned, my experience in the props crew ultimately left me with a strengthened sense of flexibility, enhanced communication skills, confidence, and the ability to spot an old, tarnished typewriter in a closet full of ill-assorted props.