One of my most defining moments happened one a relatively normal night fishing on a dock with my grandma. It was completely dark, the kind of quiet where the only sounds are the wind and water. I had been fishing for four hours with nothing to show for it. I was tired, frustrated, and ready to pack it in, but I decided to make one last cast. That’s when a fish hit my line hard. I couldn’t see a thing, just felt the weight of it fighting under the surface. When I pulled it out and put it in the light, I realized it was the biggest bass I had ever caught. My personal best (true story not a fisherman's tale). As I reached into its mouth to get my hook out, I saw another hook lodged deeper in there. It was mine, the one I had lost the day before. Suddenly it clicked. After leaving the lake angry and disappointed the night before, I was now standing there holding the exact one that had broken me off. I had come back, tried again, and on the very last attempt, I got a second chance at the fish I thought I’d lost. That moment stuck with me in a way I didn’t expect. It wasn’t just about the fish. It was about realizing that sometimes life hands you another shot, but only if you show up again even when you’re frustrated, disappointed, or embarrassed by the day before. This taught me that perseverance doesn’t have to be loud or dramatic. Sometimes it’s just quietly returning after a failure, putting your line back in the water, and trusting that effort matters even when it feels pointless. My grandma was standing right next to me when it happened. She didn’t say much, but just being there with her made the moment feel bigger. She has always been one of the kindest people in my life, someone who believes in showing up for others even when there’s nothing to gain from it. That night, the way she reacted, with this calm, patient happiness, reminded me what compassion looks like in real life. Sometimes you just stand with them in the dark and let them figure themselves out while knowing they aren’t alone. She stood there with me for 4 hours, all because she knew it made me happy, because she wanted to support me. I don’t pretend I have all the answers, but I try to be someone who listens and makes others feel seen in the way my grandma did. In group projects, labs, and day-to-day life, I try to be the person who helps others understand something instead of making them feel small for not knowing it. I’ve been lucky to have people who gave me patience when I didn’t deserve it, and I try to pay that forward. Kindness doesn’t cost anything, but the impact sticks around in ways grades or awards never will. A lot of people say perseverance is about pushing through huge obstacles, but for me it’s been a steady kind of persistence. I commonly tell people that I work harder, not smarter. Of course this isn't fully accurate, but truly I've never been a naturally efficient worker. I’ve had plenty of times where school felt out of reach or when I doubted whether I belonged in the field I chose. I know what it feels like to fail, to get angry, to feel simply stuck. But I have never, ever given up. Stubbornly, I come back the next day, pouring in a fresh set of hours to a topic, because I'd rather sacrifice a little time and energy than not understand. In my education, that mindset shows up in how I approach challenges. Environmental engineering isn’t an easy field, and it has knocked me down more times than I want to admit. But I keep reminding myself of that fish, of coming back after a frustrating day and giving myself one more chance to get it right. I’ve had semesters where I felt overwhelmed, where classes didn’t click, where I questioned whether I belonged here. But each time, I kept going. Not because I felt confident, but because I believe growth comes from trying again when you don’t feel ready. This belief pushed me toward my current job serving as an Aquatic Invasive Species Monitor for my local community in Northwest Connecticut. Sitting at the boat launch, I talk with people of all backgrounds to educate them on the spread of invasive plants between waterbodies. Both there, and in my role as a volunteer for my local Church's soup kitchen, I've learned the importance of meeting people where they're at, of trying to listen and respect that we never know what's going on behind the curtain. I’ve learned to recognize the value in staying patient with myself and others. And I’ve learned that the best things in my life have come from showing up for myself and others one more time than I felt like I could. Looking forward, that’s the mindset I plan to bring into my career and the communities I’m part of. I want to be someone who works hard, treats people with respect, and believes that second chances matter. That’s what I admire about the qualities described in Andrea’s life. It’s not about perfection or checking off the expected milestones. It’s about heart, perseverance, and choosing to lift others up even when life isn’t easy. If there’s anything my story shows, it’s that I’m not afraid to keep trying. I’m not afraid of the dark moments or the long nights when nothing seems to go right. I’ll always make that one last cast. And when the chance comes to help someone else do the same, I won’t hesitate.

Natural systems are interconnected in ways that people often don’t see until it’s too late. Fishing was the gateway for me into understanding this. Out on the water, sometimes in the rain and sometimes under the scorching sun, I started realizing that the fish weren’t just isolated creatures. They were part of something bigger: an ecosystem. The way weeds grew in the water, the movement of streams, and how nutrients traveled from the mountains into the mouths of hungry fish all showed me that even small disruptions can lead to much larger consequences. When invasive species like hydrilla or milfoil take hold, entire food chains collapse, water quality drops, and communities lose the places that once brought them together. Moments like discovering hydrilla in one of my favorite fishing ponds reminded me that we are amid an invasive species pandemic, and the effects of human travel and a warming climate are becoming harder and harder to ignore. Environmental and energy systems don’t exist in isolation either. What happens to our lakes, rivers, and freshwater bodies eventually reaches our drinking water, our farms, our infrastructure, and our ability to build sustainable energy solutions. Seeing this in real time through my limnology work with Connecticut’s DEEP and GZA made me realize that sustainability isn’t a buzzword. It’s a question of whether these ecosystems survive long enough for future generations to experience them the way I did. This is why I’m pursuing chemical and environmental engineering. Being an engineering major in a program that exposes me to environmental fluid mechanics, hydrology, hydraulics, and the recycling of energy and materials allows me to explore systems that generate energy from renewable sources and address environmental damage. The chance to tailor my classes toward sustainable energy and its development, while doing hands-on field work in places like the Finger Lakes and the Adirondacks, gives me a real understanding of how natural and engineered environments interact. Sustainability isn’t just a specialty. It’s the lens through which every project and every idea needs to be evaluated. My goal is to take what I learn and use it to make real change. I hope to conduct individual research for a lab or mentor group on renewable technology and water purity. I want to explore water bodies and collect real-time data through internships and work-study programs that can be used in innovations that bring efficiency to processes like industrial waste disposal. I’ve already seen in my invasive species monitoring work how important it is to communicate the “why” behind environmental protection. Not everyone wants to hear a kid tell them their boat needs to be checked, but connecting with community members and explaining why our water matters has shown me that science only works when people understand and believe in the solutions. In the long term, I hope to use my engineering background and experience in research to found a company focused on the development of renewable energy systems. I want to create technology that minimizes human impact while keeping natural resources accessible and safe. Whether it’s improving water treatment systems, designing more efficient renewable energy storage, or finding ways to limit pollutants before they reach our rivers and lakes, I want my work to support sustainable practices and protect freshwater ecosystems across the country. The natural world is what pulled me into this field in the first place. Every time I cast a line into the water, I’m reminded of what’s at stake. Sustainability must be a priority because the places that shape us don’t protect themselves. People do. And I want to be one of those people.

Growing up, a lot of who I am was shaped on the water. Up at a quiet lake in Northwest Connecticut, where I spent countless days fishing in the rain or under the scorching sun, I learned pretty quickly that you don’t always get rewarded just because you want something. Some days, I came home victorious with a picture to show off. Other days, I came home drenched, grumbling about how unlucky I was. But I always went back out. That back-and-forth taught me patience, resilience, and the idea that a real work ethic comes from showing up even when the conditions aren’t great. Fishing wasn’t just a hobby—it pushed me to test things out for myself, dig into questions, work through failures, and learn to problem-solve when everything from weeds to weather tried to get in the way. That same mindset carries over when I’m actually on the water with other people. As president of my school’s fishing club, I’ve worked to help over 120 members appreciate water bodies without interfering in the natural order. Part of sportsmanship in anything outdoors is respecting the ecosystem you’re in and respecting the people around you who share it. I’ve tried to set that standard by leading meetings on the importance of cleanliness when fishing and posting articles about helpful tips and reminders I’ve learned from my own time on the lake. I’ve always believed that access builds appreciation, and appreciation drives protection, so I try to make sure everyone in our club understands why taking care of the environment matters. My work ethic and character show up in the community too. This is my fourth summer working as an Aquatic Invasive Species Monitor at a freshwater lake in Connecticut. I first got involved because of my interest in fishing and wanting to preserve an ecosystem that supports native fish and plant species. But over the years, it became more than a job. By screening boats for invasive species, talking with boaters, and explaining the “why” behind keeping the lake clean, I’ve learned how to work with people who don’t always want to hear what a kid has to say. It forced me to develop ways to connect with individuals so I could still get my job done. I think that shows character—holding your ground, being respectful, and finding ways to help people understand something that doesn’t just benefit them, but everyone. I also try to lead by example. Whether it’s rebuilding a trench ecosystem in my yard every summer, even after rainstorms wipe it out, collecting water quality data through limnology tests, or volunteering with Connecticut’s DEEP, I’ve learned that even small acts of restoring nature can spark life. I want to help protect the water we have now and for future generations, so I talk with new boaters about the importance of boat cleanliness, help monitor fish populations and the health of water systems, and look for research opportunities where I can study how pollutants are filtered and removed. In everything I do, on the water or in my community, I try to bring the same sense of responsibility. Lakes and rivers have always taught me to be patient, to problem solve, to respect the world around me, and to understand that my actions affect more than just me. Whether I’m working with others, leading a club, or managing a boat launch, those lessons show up every day. That’s how I try to exemplify character, sportsmanship, and work ethic—by showing up, caring deeply, and doing my part to protect the places and people that have shaped me.