My name is Reed Wilder, and I am a full-time student at Clackamas Community College working toward my associate’s degree before transferring to study politics and social thought. I returned to school after a head injury and job loss forced me to rethink everything about my future. What once felt like an ending has become the foundation for something new: a career in public service, grounded in equity, accountability, and care. I grew up in Louisiana and rural Illinois, where resources were limited and opportunities were even harder to find. I am transgender, and for most of my life, I did not see a future where someone like me could live openly, let alone thrive. I spent years working in customer service and management, helping others navigate complicated systems and advocating for marginalized voices wherever I could. I built training programs, supported colleagues in career growth, and worked with diversity teams to make workplaces safer for queer and trans people. I am proud of that work, but I knew I wanted to do more than help one person at a time. I wanted to help change the systems themselves. Education is what makes that possible. For the first time in my life, I am able to focus fully on school, and I am committed to making the most of that opportunity. I plan to use my degree to work in local government or nonprofit advocacy, helping underserved communities gain better access to housing, public services, and mental health care. My dream is to build programs that actually reflect the needs of the people they serve. Especially, for people like me who have spent too long feeling invisible in the process. This scholarship would not only ease the financial burden of continuing my education, it would also be a reminder that my goals are valid and worth fighting for. Like Mark Green and LaTonya Green, I believe in the power of education to shift entire lives. I know what it feels like to start from behind, and I know how much it matters to have someone believe in you. If selected, I will carry this opportunity forward with purpose. I will keep showing up for my community, for my classmates, and for those who are still waiting for their chance to be seen. I want to build a future that honors everyone who made it possible for me to get here, and I want to help others do the same.

I want to build a life that feels like mine. For a long time, survival came first. I moved through jobs, homes, and systems that were not made for someone like me, trying to make things work anyway. I got good at adapting and helping others through the same struggles, but I never really had the chance to build something lasting for myself. Now that I do, I plan to take that seriously. At the center of what I want to build is education. Not just degrees or credentials, but real learning. The kind that changes how I understand the world and gives me the tools to make a difference. I am working on finishing my associate’s degree right now and will be transferring to earn a bachelor’s in politics and social thought. That step represents more than a new chapter. It is the foundation for the future I want to create. I want to build a career in public service that focuses on access, transparency, and equity. I know what it feels like to fall through the cracks. I have seen what happens when systems are designed without care for the people they are supposed to serve. I want to change that. Whether I am working on housing policy, mental health access, or community support, I want to create solutions that center people who have been ignored or excluded. At the same time, I want to build a life rooted in safety and belonging. As a transgender man, I have spent years trying to find a place where I can live fully and openly without fear. That is still a work in progress, but every step I take toward that future through learning, advocacy, and connection feels like building something real beneath me. What I am building is not just for myself. I want to create space for others to build too. When people see that it is possible to start over, to imagine something better, and to move toward it with purpose, that is when real change becomes possible. I want to be part of that, and I want the life I build to make that path a little easier for the next person who needs it.

I did not grow up thinking I would end up in public service. I just knew I wanted things to be different. I wanted to feel safe. I wanted to see people like me represented. I wanted systems that actually worked for the people they claimed to serve. Over time, I realized those wants were not abstract. They were connected to policy, to funding, to leadership. They were about power and who had access to it. That realization lit a fire in me. My path has not been traditional. I worked for years in customer service and management, helping people navigate systems that were often confusing and unfair. I got good at finding the real issue under the surface, and I became the person others came to when they felt stuck. I found purpose in that. But I also found limits. I could help one person at a time, maybe a team or a department, but I could not change the system itself. That has always been what I wanted. Public service gives me the chance to use everything I have learned so far and apply it to something bigger than myself. I want to work in policy and local government, focusing on equity, access, and community-centered solutions. My lived experience gives me a perspective that is often missing in the rooms where decisions are made. I know what it feels like to need help and not know where to turn. I know what it is like to feel invisible in the systems that are supposed to serve you. I want to make sure other people do not have to go through that. Education is a key part of that plan. Through my coursework, I want to gain a stronger foundation in economics, social policy, and political theory. I want to understand how local systems work so I can figure out how to make them better. But I also want to build relationships with people who are just as committed to change as I am. Collaboration matters. Community matters. I want to take what I learn and bring it back to the places that shaped me. My goal is not to fix everything. That would be impossible. But I do believe in practical, meaningful change. I want to work on housing policy that takes the actual needs of tenants into account. I want to advocate for clearer access to mental health support. I want to create programs that help people navigate the bureaucratic maze without losing their dignity. These are not abstract goals. They are rooted in real experiences and real needs. Public service is not just a career choice for me. It is a commitment to the kind of world I want to live in. I am not looking for prestige or power. I am looking for impact. I want to do good work with my name attached, and I want that work to matter.

I didn’t used to think much about mental health. It always felt like something for people with time and money, not something I was allowed to prioritize. I grew up surviving, trying to stay safe, trying to stay invisible, trying to figure things out on my own. But over time, that kind of constant pressure takes a toll, even if you don’t want to admit it. I’ve had to start over a few times. After a head injury last year, I lost my job and had to completely reimagine what my life was going to look like. That kind of loss hits hard--not just financially, but emotionally. I didn’t know what I could still do, or if I’d ever get back to feeling like myself. School became a lifeline, not because it was easy, but because it gave me structure, something to work toward, and a way to believe in a future again. As a student, I’ve learned that mental health isn’t separate from academics, it’s deeply connected. If I’m overwhelmed, grieving, anxious, or burned out, it affects everything: how I focus, how I participate, how I connect with people. So I try to be honest about it. With myself, first and foremost. But also with classmates, professors, and the people in my life. I advocate for mental health by showing up as I am. I don’t pretend to have it all together. I ask for extensions when I need them, and I encourage others to do the same without guilt. I’ve had conversations with classmates about burnout and stress, about the pressure to always be “on,” and about how hard it can be to even get through the day sometimes. Just naming those things out loud can be powerful. It reminds people they’re not alone. When I can, I share resources; whether that’s info about on-campus counseling, tips for managing executive dysfunction, or even just how I’ve dealt with a rough patch. I also listen. Sometimes what people need most is someone to hear them without judgment or trying to fix it. Mental health is something I have to work at every day. I’m still figuring out what I need and how to ask for it. But I believe that students deserve to feel supported. Not just for their grades, but as whole people, and if I can make things even a little bit easier for someone else, then it’s worth speaking up.

Being a first-generation college student shapes almost everything about how I see education and my future. I wasn’t raised to expect this path. For most of my life, survival was the goal, not opportunity. I didn’t grow up hearing about college admissions or what a degree could open up. I had to figure that out on my own. I learned how to enroll, how to balance school and work, and how to stay motivated when no one around me really understood what I was doing or why. That kind of experience changes how you move through the world. It also makes you pay attention to who gets left out and why. I know how hard it is to find your footing in systems that were not built with people like me in mind. That is part of why I want to work in public service. I don’t just want to study policy. I want to make it better. I want to help build systems that are easier to navigate, more compassionate, and more focused on the people who are doing everything they can but still keep falling through the cracks. For me, being first-gen is not just a personal detail. It is a huge part of why I care so deeply about access, representation, and fairness. I have seen what it looks like to work hard and still not know if you are going to make it. That is why I want to be someone who not only holds the door open for others but also helps change the structure so more people can walk through it in the first place.

When I was a kid growing up in Louisiana, I used to read encyclopedias just to pass the time. I didn’t always understand what I was reading, but I kept coming back to the same feeling. If I could understand how the world came to be the way it is, maybe I could find a place in it. I’m a transgender man who has spent most of his life in places where I didn’t really feel safe, and for a long time, I thought survival was all I could aim for. But I’ve always been someone who wants to understand the bigger picture. What shapes a society? Who gets left out, and why? What can we learn from how people before us tried to build something better? Right now I’m finishing my associate’s degree at Clackamas Community College. This fall, I’ll be starting a Politics and Society program at Anglo-American University in Prague. It’s been a long road to get here. In 2023, I had a head injury that forced me to slow down and re-learn how to manage my energy and focus. In 2024, I lost my job, and I wasn’t sure what would come next. But even when things felt unstable, I never stopped learning. I kept thinking about how systems fail people, and how different things might look if we truly understood where those systems came from in the first place. I want to work in public service, especially in social policy and human rights. I’ve watched the ground shift under people like me, especially over the past few years, and I know how quickly things can change. But I’ve also seen how powerful it is when people understand history and how it connects to the present. That kind of awareness can shape better decisions, not just at the policy level but in how we treat each other every day. Studying political science and history in Prague gives me the chance to see these ideas in action. The city itself has lived through revolution, empire, and democracy. That kind of environment opens up new ways to think about what makes a society strong or fragile. I want to take those lessons and use them to help create policies that are rooted in context and care. My goal is to make sure that the people who are usually left out of the conversation are finally being heard. This scholarship would help me keep pushing forward. I don’t just want to study these subjects. I want to use what I learn to help build something better. The past holds answers we still haven’t fully listened to, and I want to be someone who helps connect those dots.

I never expected a head injury to change the course of my life, but in July 2023, everything shifted. One day, I was working, managing teams, solving problems, and pushing for change in my workplace. The next, I was struggling to remember basic tasks, losing my train of thought mid-sentence, and feeling like a stranger in my own mind. I had built my entire identity around what I could do, how I could help others, how I could make systems better. Suddenly, I could not even trust my own brain. At first, I was consumed by frustration. I had spent years moving up in my career, mentoring people, and creating policies that actually made a difference. I had worked hard to get where I was, only to have it all slip away in an instant. When I lost my job, I lost my sense of purpose. But in that emptiness, I started asking myself a question I had never allowed before. What do I actually want? For years, I had been drawn to politics and social policy. I had spent my career fixing inefficiencies in companies, but I had always wanted to do more, to fix things that mattered on a larger scale. The problem was, I never thought it was possible. Going back to school felt out of reach, something for other people, not someone like me. But after losing everything I had worked for, I realized the only way forward was to rebuild from the ground up. I started small, enrolling in a renewable energy training program. It was a way to push myself, to prove I could still learn. The more I studied, the more I felt that hunger for knowledge return. I was not just capable, I was thriving. For the first time, I allowed myself to believe I could pursue what I truly cared about. That injury, as devastating as it was, forced me to stop settling. It made me realize I did not want to just make companies more efficient. I wanted to understand how policies shape lives, how systems fail people, and how I could be part of the solution. Now, I am ready to fully dedicate myself to that pursuit. Losing my old path gave me the chance to carve out a new one, one that feels more like me than anything I have done before.

For most of my life, I didn’t see a future for myself. I grew up in Louisiana, a place that never felt like home, where I was expected to be someone I wasn’t. I knew I was different, but I didn’t have the words for it. What I did have was a deep, unshakable feeling that I didn’t belong. I spent years trying to disappear, keeping my head down, blending in. It wasn’t until I left that I started to understand who I was and what I wanted from life. At eighteen, I found myself in the middle of nowhere Illinois, stuck in a dead-end town with no prospects and no way out. I was working retail jobs, barely making ends meet, and the idea of a future felt impossible. But I refused to accept that this was all there was. I saved up what I could and moved across the country to Oregon. It was the first time I had ever chosen myself. Oregon gave me space to breathe, to explore, to become. It is where I transitioned, where I started building a life that was my own. I worked full time while taking community college classes, squeezing in coursework between shifts, exhaustion pressing down on me. But I loved learning. Even when I had to put school on the back burner, it stayed with me, this hunger to know more, to understand the world and my place in it. For years, I built a career in customer service, moving from front-line roles to leadership positions. I took pride in developing people, helping them see their own potential when they couldn’t. I created training programs, mentored teams, and pushed for change in my workplaces. The higher I climbed though, the more I felt the weight of expectation, to prioritize profits over people. I wanted more than that, I wanted work that meant something. Then, everything fell apart. In July 2023, I suffered a head injury. I lost my job, my sense of identity, my independence. I had always defined myself by what I could do, and suddenly, I couldn’t do anything. I spent months struggling through brain fog, memory issues, and a crushing sense of failure. I had to learn patience with myself, to accept that healing wasn’t linear. It was one of the hardest things I have ever done. Somewhere in that darkness, I found clarity. I realized that I didn’t want to keep chasing jobs just to survive. I wanted to dedicate myself to something bigger, to go back to school, to finally put my education first. I joined a training program in renewable energy, dipping my toes back into learning, and it reignited something in me. I started believing I could have a future Now, I am ready to take the leap. I want to study politics and social policy, to understand how systems shape people’s lives and how we can make them better. My dream is to work in public service, to use everything I have learned about resilience, about change, about people, to make an impact. More than anything, I want to build a life where I can be safe. I know what it is like to exist in places that were never meant for me, to always look over my shoulder, to feel like I have to fight just to be seen as worthy of dignity. For the first time, I am not just surviving. I am fighting for the life I want—one where I don’t have to justify my existence, where I can build something lasting, where I can finally feel safe.

I have always been passionate about learning, but for most of my life, education had to take a backseat to work and survival. I attended community college while working full time, fitting in classes whenever I could, but I never had the opportunity to fully dedicate myself to my studies. After experiencing a head injury in 2023 and being laid off in 2024, I found myself at a crossroads. Instead of viewing it as a setback, I saw it as a chance to finally prioritize my education, something I have dreamed of doing for years. This scholarship would help me continue on that path. I am currently enrolled in the RENEW-IT training program at Clackamas Community College, where I am learning about green energy and renewable technologies. This program has given me hands-on experience and a sense of direction, showing me how I can contribute to a field that is both stable and impactful. However, my aspirations go beyond job training. I want to pursue higher education in politics, economics, and social thought to better understand how policy shapes industries, influences communities, and determines who gets access to opportunities. I have spent much of my career working in customer service, management, and quality assurance, and I have seen firsthand how financial systems and regulations affect everyday people. Studying these subjects will allow me to take that understanding further, shifting from frontline experience to a more active role in creating policies that improve people’s lives. For years, I put my education on hold because I felt like it was impossible to balance school with financial stability. Even when I took classes, they had to fit around my work schedule, which meant I was never able to focus fully on learning. This scholarship would provide crucial financial support, allowing me to finally prioritize my studies instead of treating them as something I squeeze into the margins of my life. More than that, it would be a validation of my decision to invest in myself and my future. I have always been someone who believes in helping others succeed, whether through coaching my employees, advocating for more inclusive workplace policies, or developing training programs that set people up for growth. Now, I am finally allowing myself the same opportunity to grow. Education is not just about career advancement for me. It is about regaining a sense of self after years of putting other responsibilities first. It is about proving to myself that I can be more than I ever thought possible. This scholarship would be a stepping stone in that journey, giving me the opportunity to continue learning, develop new skills, and create a future that reflects my values and aspirations.

I plan to turn my dreams into reality by taking deliberate steps to build the knowledge, skills, and experiences necessary to achieve my goals. I have always believed that ambition alone is not enough. Success comes from action, persistence, and a willingness to adapt when challenges arise. Rather than waiting for opportunities to come to me, I am actively creating a path forward. Education is the foundation of my plan. For years, I balanced full-time work with part-time classes, but I never had the chance to fully commit to my studies. After being laid off in 2024, I recognized that I could no longer afford to put my education on hold. Enrolling in the RENEW-IT program at Clackamas Community College was my first step toward building practical skills in the green energy field while preparing to transfer to a four-year institution. I see this as more than just a degree. It is a chance to gain the knowledge I need to create real change in the world. Beyond academics, I am focused on gaining hands-on experience that aligns with my career aspirations. I know that making an impact requires more than just theoretical understanding. It requires direct engagement with the systems I want to improve. Whether through internships, research opportunities, or community projects, I am committed to applying what I learn in ways that prepare me for the work I want to do. I am particularly interested in policy and social change, and I plan to seek out opportunities that allow me to contribute to meaningful discussions about equity, accessibility, and sustainable development. Networking and mentorship are also key to my strategy. I have always valued learning from others, whether through formal mentorship or simply observing and listening to those who have experience in my areas of interest. I plan to connect with professors, professionals, and advocates who share my passion for social change. Building these relationships will not only help me refine my goals but also provide insight into the practical steps I need to take to make them a reality. Persistence will be essential in this process. I know that setbacks are inevitable, but I am not someone who gives up easily. My experiences with disability, job loss, and personal challenges have taught me resilience. Each obstacle I have faced has only reinforced my commitment to finding solutions and moving forward. I see every challenge as an opportunity to learn, grow, and refine my approach. Ultimately, my dream is not just about personal success. I want to use what I learn to contribute to a better world. Whether through policy work, advocacy, or direct community engagement, I want to help create systems that are more just, sustainable, and inclusive. My path will not be easy, but I am committed to putting in the work, making strategic decisions, and staying focused on the impact I want to make. By taking each step with intention and purpose, I am turning my dreams into reality, one step at a time.

I plan to make a positive impact on the world by using my experiences, skills, and education to create meaningful change in the communities I serve. Throughout my career, I have been dedicated to making systems more equitable and effective, whether that meant advocating for better policies, mentoring others, or streamlining processes to ensure fairness. Now, as I pursue my education, I want to expand that impact beyond the workplace and into broader social and political change. One of the most important ways I plan to make a difference is through policy and advocacy work. I have seen firsthand how bureaucracy and outdated systems create unnecessary barriers for marginalized communities, especially transgender people. While working at Airbnb, I helped improve the name change process for transgender customers, ensuring that people like me would not have to jump through endless hoops just to have their identities recognized. That experience reinforced my belief that change is possible, even in large institutions, when the right people push for it. Beyond that, I have always been passionate about mentorship and workforce development. At Cash App, I helped my team build the skills they needed to move into higher roles, ensuring that they had the knowledge and confidence to succeed. I believe that true impact comes from lifting others up, not just advancing on my own. I want to continue that work by helping people from underserved backgrounds access education, career opportunities, and the support they need to thrive. Pursuing a degree in politics and social thought will give me the tools to take my advocacy further. I want to understand the systems that shape our world, analyze the policies that create inequality, and develop solutions that lead to lasting change. Whether I work in government, nonprofit organizations, or policy research, my goal is to ensure that the people most affected by decisions have a voice in shaping them. Education is the foundation of that impact. By investing in my own learning, I will be better equipped to challenge injustices, propose effective solutions, and advocate for policies that create a fairer world. I want to use my knowledge and lived experience to help bridge the gap between policy and real-life impact, ensuring that changes made on paper translate to tangible benefits for those who need them most. Ultimately, making a positive impact means being an active participant in change rather than waiting for someone else to fix the problems I see. It means pushing back against systems that exclude people like me, advocating for a more just society, and ensuring that future generations do not have to face the same struggles. I am committed to doing that work, and I know that my education will be a key part of making it happen.

Anxiety has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember, shaping the way I approach challenges, relationships, and even my sense of self. It has made me hyper-aware of my surroundings, constantly analyzing situations and preparing for worst-case scenarios. At times, that has been exhausting, making even simple tasks feel overwhelming. But over the years, I have also learned how to manage it, how to recognize when my thoughts are spiraling, and how to ground myself in what is real rather than what my anxiety tells me might happen. One of the biggest ways anxiety has affected me is in how I approach change. I have always been the kind of person who wants to have a plan, to know what comes next, and to feel like I am in control of my path. Losing my job in 2024 and struggling with the aftermath of a head injury forced me to confront that need for stability in a way I never had before. I had to sit with the uncertainty, not knowing what my next step would be, and figure out how to move forward despite it. That experience reinforced why pursuing a college degree is so important to me. For years, I put my education on hold, choosing work over school because it felt like the more stable and responsible choice. I told myself that I would go back eventually, but there was always another obligation, another reason to wait. When I lost my job, I realized that waiting had only kept me in a cycle where I was always prioritizing survival over growth. Going back to school is my way of breaking that cycle. It is a chance to invest in myself fully for the first time, to learn without constantly feeling like I have to juggle everything at once. Education has always been something I valued, but I never allowed myself to fully commit to it. Now, I see it as the key to building the future I want. Anxiety still plays a role in this process. I worry about whether I am making the right choices, whether I will be able to balance everything, whether I am good enough to succeed. But I also know that I have pushed through difficult situations before and come out stronger. I know that I am capable of more than I often give myself credit for. Earning a college degree is not just about career opportunities or financial stability, though those are important. It is about proving to myself that I can do this, that I am not limited by the circumstances I have faced. It is about taking control of my future in a way I never have before. This time, I am not letting anxiety dictate my decisions. I am choosing to move forward, to learn, and to create a life that reflects my ambitions rather than my fears.

Mental health has shaped so much of my life, from how I see the world to how I approach relationships and what I want to do with my career. It has affected me directly, but it has also shaped the lives of people I care about. Seeing how mental health struggles impact individuals and entire families has made me more empathetic, more aware of how systems fail people, and more determined to be part of something that actually makes a difference. For me, mental health has never been something separate from everything else. It is not just about individual choices or effort. It is about access to healthcare, financial stability, safe environments, and having people who actually care. I have struggled at different points in my life, and I have seen how much harder it is when resources are unavailable or when stigma keeps people from reaching out. I have also watched people I love go through their own struggles, sometimes feeling trapped by circumstances beyond their control. Whether it is untreated mental health conditions due to lack of access or the stress of constantly having to push forward without support, I have seen how these struggles ripple through families and communities. One of the biggest lessons I have learned is how isolating mental health struggles can be. It can feel like something you have to carry alone, whether because of stigma or because you do not want to be a burden to others. I have had moments where I felt like I had to handle everything by myself, and I have seen people I care about do the same. But I have also seen how much of a difference it makes when you do have support. Having even one person who listens, who understands, who reminds you that you are not alone can change everything. That is why I try to be that kind of person for others. I know what it feels like to struggle, and if I can help someone else carry that weight, even just a little, I want to. These experiences have shaped my career goals as well. I have spent years in customer service, workforce development, and quality assurance, and in every role, I have seen how much workplace policies and larger systems impact mental health. I have worked to create fairer evaluation processes, improve training programs, and ensure that employees feel supported rather than punished when they struggle. Those experiences reinforced my belief that systemic change is necessary and that even small shifts in policies and structures can make a huge difference in people’s lives. That is why I want to move into public service. I want to push for fairness, help people who have been overlooked, and challenge systems that make life harder than it needs to be. Mental health is directly tied to access to opportunities, support, and the ability to live life without unnecessary barriers. I want to be part of breaking those barriers down.

My Experience in the LGBTQ+ Community and My Career Goals Being part of the LGBTQ+ community has shaped who I am in ways that go beyond identity. It has influenced my values, my resilience, and my determination to make things better for the people who come after me. Growing up in Louisiana, I often felt like an outsider for wanting to be myself. Later, when I moved to Illinois, I was stuck in a place that offered few opportunities to find community or even imagine a future where I could live authentically. It was not until I moved to Oregon that I finally felt a sense of belonging, and even then, navigating the world as a transgender person has never been simple. One of the most impactful experiences I have had as a trans person was working at Airbnb and advocating for changes that made life easier for transgender employees and customers. I was HR’s test case for the internal name change process and worked closely with the company’s queer employee resource group to push for better policies. I also led a town hall where I shared my experiences transitioning, hoping to foster understanding and make things easier for those who came after me. One of the most frustrating moments of my transition was trying to change my name and pronouns as a customer on the platform. I had to go through multiple call center agents, none of whom knew how to help, and it became clear that there was no established process. Instead of accepting that as just another frustrating experience, I worked with Airbnb’s diversity and inclusion team to create a streamlined, confidential way for trans customers to update their information. It was never about making things easier just for me—I wanted to ensure that future trans users would not have to fight the same battles. That same mindset carries over into my career aspirations. I have spent years in customer service, quality assurance, and workforce development, and my biggest takeaway has been that systems and policies shape people’s experiences far more than individual effort alone. That is why I want to move into public service, where I can work on policies that make life better for marginalized communities. Whether it is through advocacy, policy work, or workforce development, I want to be in a position where I can break down barriers, challenge outdated systems, and create opportunities for people who have been overlooked. My experiences in the LGBTQ+ community have made it clear to me that meaningful change is possible, but only if people are willing to push for it. I want to be one of those people.

My experience with mental health has shaped just about every part of my life. It has changed how I see the world, how I approach relationships, and what I want to do with my career. I have had to navigate my own struggles while also supporting others, which has made me more empathetic, more aware of how much systems impact people, and more determined to be part of something that actually makes a difference. I do not see mental health as something separate from everything else. It is not just about individual effort or mindset. It is about access to healthcare, financial stability, safe environments, and having people who actually care. I have seen how hard it can be for people to get the support they need, whether because of stigma, lack of resources, or policies that do not take mental health seriously. That has made me passionate about public service and about making sure mental health is treated as a real priority instead of something people are just expected to deal with on their own. My relationships have been shaped by this too. I have learned how important it is to surround myself with people who are supportive and understanding, and I have gotten better at setting boundaries when I need to. At the same time, I try to be the kind of person others can rely on, especially when they are struggling. I know what it is like to feel like you are carrying everything by yourself, and I do not want anyone I care about to feel that way if I can help it. In my career, my experiences with mental health have made me gravitate toward roles where I can advocate for fairness and make things better for other people. I have spent years in customer service, workforce development, and quality assurance, and all of that has given me a real understanding of how policies and structures impact people. I want to be in a position where I can push for fairness, help people who have been overlooked, and challenge systems that make life harder than it needs to be. My passion for public service comes from knowing that mental health is not something separate from everything else—it is directly tied to whether people have access to opportunities, support, and the ability to live their lives without unnecessary barriers. I want to be part of breaking those barriers down.

LGBTQIA+ experiences have shaped nearly every aspect of my life, influencing not only my personal identity but also my career, education, and sense of purpose. Growing up in Louisiana, I often felt like an outsider, not just because of my interests but because I didn’t see anyone like me reflected in the world around me. I knew I was different, but I didn’t have the language or the support to understand what that meant. It wasn’t until I moved to Oregon that I was able to begin living authentically as a transgender person. Even then, the road was far from easy. My transition—both socially and legally—was a constant battle against bureaucracy, confusion, and bias. Updating my name and gender marker felt like an impossible task. At every turn, there were roadblocks: call center agents who didn’t understand the process, government offices that required documents I didn’t yet have, and systems that refused to acknowledge nonbinary identities. It was exhausting to advocate for myself repeatedly, to explain why this process mattered, why it wasn’t just paperwork but something that defined my ability to move through the world safely. When I worked at Airbnb, I saw firsthand how these barriers extended beyond government systems and into private companies. Customers and employees alike struggled to update their names and pronouns in Airbnb’s system, often encountering the same confusion I had faced. I decided to take action. I became the test case for the company’s HR department, helping them figure out how to update employee records in a way that respected trans employees’ privacy. I later helped streamline the process for customers as well, ensuring that no one else had to endure the same frustration I did. Through this work, I saw the direct impact that thoughtful, inclusive policies could have on people’s lives. But the challenges of being transgender go beyond bureaucratic hurdles. There is the ever-present reality of being visibly trans in a world that doesn’t always welcome that. I have been misgendered, dismissed, and underestimated in professional settings. I have had to work twice as hard to prove myself in workplaces that weren’t always designed with people like me in mind. At the same time, I have found incredible strength and resilience in my community. I’ve connected with other trans people who have faced similar struggles, and together, we have supported each other in navigating a world that often feels stacked against us. These experiences have fueled my passion for public service. I know what it’s like to be up against a system that wasn’t built for you. I know how it feels to be left out of the conversation, to have to fight for basic recognition and respect. That is why I want to dedicate my career to changing these systems, making them more inclusive and accessible for everyone. Whether through policy, advocacy, or direct service, I want to ensure that the barriers I faced don’t exist for the next generation. More than anything, my LGBTQIA+ experiences have taught me the power of visibility. When I was younger, I didn’t see people like me in leadership positions, in government, or even just living openly and happily. Now, I understand that simply existing as my authentic self is an act of resistance and hope. I want to use my experiences to uplift others, to advocate for policies that protect and empower marginalized communities, and to ensure that no one else has to fight as hard just to be seen.

My story is not about grand ambitions or chasing after something extraordinary. It is about survival, resilience, and the desire to carve out a space in the world where I can simply exist without fear. I do not dream of wealth or power. My dreams are small, but they are deeply meaningful. I want to live in a world that takes care of people. I want to go to a job I love, come home, and not have to brace myself for whatever comes next. I want to take all the energy I have spent on anxiety and stress and pour it into love and creation. More than anything, I just want to breathe. For much of my life, I have fought against systems that were not built for people like me. As a transgender person, I have seen how policies fail the people they are meant to serve. I have had to advocate for myself in workplaces, healthcare settings, and everyday life just to have my identity recognized. I have also watched others struggle, falling through the cracks because the structures around them were not designed with them in mind. That is why I have spent my career working to make things better, whether by mentoring my team, advocating for more inclusive workplace policies, or helping improve processes that made life easier for someone else. But in 2023, everything changed. I suffered a head injury, and the world as I knew it suddenly felt unfamiliar. Tasks that once felt effortless became overwhelming. My sense of self, built on my ability to push forward no matter what, began to unravel. Then in 2024, I lost my job. After years of helping others navigate difficult situations, I found myself lost in a system that had no clear answers for me. I had to fight for support, push through endless obstacles, and constantly prove I was still worth investing in. It was exhausting. It still is. Yet, through all of this, my dreams have remained the same. I do not want to be defined by struggle, but I also do not want to forget what it has taught me. I know what it feels like to be left behind, to be scared, to feel like there is no safety net waiting to catch you. That is why I want to work in a field where I can make even the smallest difference in someone’s life. Whether through policy, advocacy, community work, or simply being someone who listens and helps, I want to spend my days making sure that fewer people feel the way I have felt. I used to think that dreams had to be big to matter, that I had to change the world in some dramatic way for my goals to be meaningful. But now I understand that change happens in small moments. It happens when someone feels safe for the first time in a long time. It happens when a system finally works the way it is supposed to. It happens when someone gets the support they need without having to beg for it. Those are the moments I want to create. More than anything, I want to live a life where I am not constantly afraid. I want to come home at the end of the day and feel at peace. I want to take all the fear and uncertainty I have carried for so long and turn it into something good. I do not need a perfect life. I just need one where I can keep showing up, keep helping, and finally, finally, be able to breathe.

My name is Reed Wilder, and my life has been shaped by the gaps in support systems. I have always been passionate about helping people navigate structures that were not designed for them, but that passion became deeply personal after I suffered a head injury in 2023 and was laid off in 2024. For the first time, I found myself on the other side, struggling to find the resources I needed. I had spent years helping others access support, whether through career development, policy advocacy, or workplace improvements, but when I needed help, I realized how difficult it was to get answers. The experience solidified my commitment to ensuring that no one is left behind simply because they do not fit neatly into a system’s predefined categories. Throughout my career, I have worked to bridge these gaps. As a leader and workforce development advocate, I helped my team members find career opportunities they did not think were possible. I revised hiring processes, coached employees through promotions, and advocated for better policies that made advancement more accessible. At Airbnb, I helped improve the name change process for transgender customers, making it easier for people to have their identities recognized without unnecessary stress. These experiences taught me that policies only work if they are designed with the people they serve in mind. Too often, well-intended support structures fail because they do not account for real-life obstacles. When I lost my job, I encountered many of these obstacles myself. I struggled to navigate unemployment benefits, found little guidance on workforce retraining programs, and had to advocate for myself at every turn. These challenges pushed me to enroll in the RENEW-IT program at Clackamas Community College, where I have been developing new skills in renewable energy. More than anything, though, the experience reinforced my belief that access to resources should not depend on privilege, prior knowledge, or sheer persistence. Communities should be designed to support people in times of need, not leave them to figure things out alone. As I move forward in my career, I want to focus on creating better policies, improving communication between institutions and individuals, and ensuring that no one is left out simply because they do not fit into a rigid framework. Whether through workforce development, public policy, or community advocacy, my goal is to make sure that people are not just told support exists, but that they can actually access it when they need it most. True progress happens when we design communities with people in mind, and that is the work I am committed to doing.

Empathy and understanding are built through action, not just intention. Throughout my career in leadership, workforce development, and advocacy, I have worked to ensure that people, especially those who are often overlooked, feel seen, supported, and valued. Whether it was helping my team members advance in their careers, advocating for fairer policies, or ensuring that a struggling employee had access to essential resources, I have always approached my work with a deep sense of responsibility toward others. One of the most important lessons I have learned is that systems are only as effective as their ability to reach the people they are meant to serve. A policy can exist, but if it is unclear, inaccessible, or difficult to navigate, it fails those who need it most. I experienced this firsthand when I worked with Airbnb’s internal teams to improve the name change process for transgender customers. What should have been a simple change required multiple calls, repeated explanations, and unnecessary stress. By collaborating with our diversity and inclusion group and refining internal processes, I helped create a more efficient and respectful experience. This taught me how much impact clear communication and thoughtful policy changes can have on people’s lives. Building a more empathetic and understanding global community requires addressing the structural gaps that allow people to fall through the cracks. Transportation, for example, is an area where inequity is often overlooked. Too many communities lack reliable, safe, and affordable ways to get around, especially outside major transportation hubs. Access to mobility is directly tied to economic opportunity, environmental impact, and quality of life, yet our infrastructure often fails to meet the needs of those who need it most. I believe that intentional urban planning, expanded public transit, and sustainable transportation solutions are necessary to create a more just and accessible world. I want to use my skills in policy analysis, communication, and advocacy to help bridge these gaps. My experience in workforce development has shown me that the right opportunities can change lives, but only if people can access them. Whether working to improve public transit, advocating for more inclusive infrastructure, or ensuring that policies are clearly communicated to the people they impact, I want to be part of the movement that makes systems work for everyone. True empathy is not just about understanding someone’s struggles. It is about taking action to remove barriers and create meaningful change. That is the work I have dedicated myself to, and that is the work I will continue to do to build a more inclusive, empathetic, and accessible world.

Books have always been about the story for me. I do not have a particularly visual mind, so when I read, I focus on the plot, characters, and dialogue rather than picturing scenes in my head. Because of this, film adaptations offer me something that books alone cannot. They help bridge the gap between my understanding of a story’s depth and its visual elements. No adaptation has done this more successfully for me than Pride and Prejudice. Every year, I revisit Pride and Prejudice in some form, either by rereading the book or rewatching one of its film adaptations. No matter how many times I return to it, I always find something new, whether it is an overlooked detail in the book’s dialogue or an unspoken exchange in the film that adds another layer to the characters. The 2005 film adaptation, in particular, holds a special place for me because it helps me experience the novel in ways that I could never fully grasp through text alone. One of the biggest challenges for me as a reader is understanding the subtleties of visual storytelling. Symbolism, costume design, and even the body language of characters often go unnoticed when I read. In the book, I know that Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy’s interactions are charged with tension, but I cannot always see the way they look at each other, the hesitation in their movements, or the weight of a single touch. The film makes all of this clear. I finally understand the full impact of a moment like Darcy’s hand flexing after helping Elizabeth into the carriage, an entirely wordless gesture that speaks volumes about his emotions. Likewise, the film brings to life details that I might skim over in the book. I read about Elizabeth’s muddy hem or the grandeur of Pemberley, but I do not picture them in my head. The film fills in those gaps. I see how Elizabeth’s world contrasts with Darcy’s and how these differences shape their relationship. The visuals make the social divide between them more tangible, reinforcing the novel’s themes in a way that stays with me long after the credits roll. However, what makes Pride and Prejudice truly special is that the book and film each enhance my appreciation for the other. The book allows for deeper character exploration, letting me sit with Elizabeth’s thoughts and understand her perspective more fully. Meanwhile, the film captures the emotions, the longing, and the weight of unspoken words that I might not pick up on in the text. Together, they create a fuller experience for me, one that I return to year after year, always discovering something new. For many, a film adaptation is a way to revisit a favorite story. For me, it is a way to see that story in a way I never could otherwise. Pride and Prejudice is not just a book or a movie. It is a story that continually reveals itself to me, no matter how many times I experience it.

I have always been drawn to work that allows me to help others, whether through leadership, mentorship, or structural improvements that make systems more effective. My career in customer service, quality assurance, and workforce development has given me firsthand experience in problem-solving, advocating for others, and ensuring fairness in decision-making. However, after years of working within corporate structures, I realized that I wanted to do more than improve internal processes. I wanted to contribute to broader systemic change. That realization led me to pursue a field focused on public service, policy, and social change. My interest in politics and policy comes from both professional experience and personal lived realities. As a transgender person in America, I have seen how policies, whether good or bad, directly affect people’s ability to live freely and with dignity. During my time at Airbnb, I worked to make the name change process more accessible for transgender users. This experience showed me how even a single policy change can have a meaningful impact on a marginalized group. I want to continue this kind of work but on a larger scale, ensuring that laws and policies support equity and inclusion rather than create unnecessary barriers. I also have a deep passion for workforce development and economic policy, largely influenced by my own career journey. Throughout my years in leadership, I prioritized helping others advance their careers by coaching, training, and mentoring. Seeing people thrive when given the right support reinforced my belief that systems should work for people, not against them. I want to advocate for policies that create real opportunities for individuals to build stable and fulfilling careers, especially for those who, like me, have faced setbacks and had to rebuild. My recent experiences have only strengthened my resolve to pursue this path. After suffering a head injury in 2023 and later losing my job, I struggled to regain my sense of direction. Enrolling in the RENEW-IT training program at Clackamas Community College helped me not only develop new skills but also reaffirm my commitment to lifelong learning. It reminded me that access to education, retraining, and career pathways is essential for economic mobility, something I hope to improve through policy work. Ultimately, my goal is to bridge the gap between policy and lived experience. Too often, decisions are made without considering the people most affected by them. With my background in problem-solving, training, and advocacy, I want to work in spaces where I can push for policies that are practical, equitable, and genuinely improve people’s lives. Whether through government, nonprofit work, or policy research, I aim to use my skills and experiences to contribute to a fairer and more just society. This is more than just a career shift for me. It is a personal commitment to making meaningful change. I know the power of opportunity, and I want to spend my life creating it for others.