I was more than two hours in, sweat beads forming on my face, but I knew the finish line was close. The complex components of a derivative equation were staring back at me when it finally clicked. Elated to have solved the problem, I furiously wrote until a solution stood circled on the lined paper. When it comes to math in the classroom, I’ve always loved it; not because it’s easy for me, but because it’s challenging. I’ve fallen in love with approaching a problem that seems near impossible and testing my own abilities. It’s led me to take AP Calculus and even AP Physics because I love the challenge. Though I relish learning new things in my math classes, my classmates have always hated it. Whether we were learning long division or finding the derivative of a point on the unit circle, I always noticed “the dread”. As sophomore year sprung into action, I decided to do something about the aversion to math that I observed. Before school, after school, and in between classes, I began using my time tutoring anyone that would let me. Even classmates I barely knew agreed to work with me. I led people to have epiphanies about the mathematical concepts that were difficult to them by verbalizing my thought process, and witnessing those epiphanies was invigorating. It even continued to my dance studio. Lighting me up at the prospect of helping one of the middle schoolers with their math homework. This passion for math developed into something I cherished even more; teaching. I loved tutoring my friends and helping them discover an appreciation for math similar to mine. It wasn’t long before I realized that this is what I want to do: teach kids to lean into challenges in math and in school, without giving up. The world deserves to see more passionate, brilliant mathematicians, and that begins in the classroom. I want to give kids the opportunity to love math the way I do and feel supported. This is the future I will work towards it as I begin my college education.

As the bright blue door finally shut and the sound of tiny tap shoes began to fade away, Samantha’s eyebrows furrowed in anticipation of her question. “She just won’t listen to me,” she said, “What should I do?” I searched deep into all areas of my brain for the perfect piece of advice, but what came out was my most authentic response: “I don't know.” It was my first year as a dance teacher, the job I longed for ever since I took my first dance class at eight years old, and I was accountable for planning classes, teaching dance skills, and nurturing creativity. What I hadn’t anticipated, though, was the responsibility of training and mentoring assistants, preparing them to be teachers themselves. After all, I’d been an assistant myself for years before I began teaching. But on this day, when I racked my brain and came up with nothing; a long exhale withdrew from my lungs. I felt like a failure. I didn’t know exactly what I was going to do, but I knew I couldn’t give up. Upon arriving home, I dove into my computer. My tabs were rapidly filled with classroom management videos, staff meeting notes, and messages with other dance teachers. Though exhausted, I combed through everything I could find until I gathered a few substantial ideas that would assist Samantha. When I saw her again, I was practically overflowing with ideas and suggestions. I spent the following weeks watching her take my advice and reach success with the challenging student. Though I wanted to be a wise, all-knowing teacher, I learned something vital about leadership that day; a true leader does have all the answers. A true leader has the humility to admit when they need help and is committed to finding that help. The importance of humility has transformed how I approach the world. After all, I’ll always have more to learn and discover. My experience of getting to teach and mentor became something I want to devote all of my time to. I will spend my life becoming increasingly selfless, determined, and resilient, not by myself, but alongside others. With that in mind, I have begun my education towards a teaching degree, so that I may keep influencing the great minds of tomorrow. A good leader makes others better people than they are themselves, and I think that is a teacher's job as well.

I was more than two hours in, sweat beads forming on my face, but I knew the finish line was close. The complex components of a derivative equation were staring back at me when it finally clicked. Elated to have solved the problem, I furiously wrote until a solution stood circled on the lined paper. When it comes to math in the classroom, I’ve always loved it; not because it’s easy for me, but because it’s challenging. I’ve fallen in love with approaching a problem that seems near impossible and testing my own abilities. It’s led me to take AP Calculus and even AP Physics because I love the challenge. Though I relish learning new things in my math classes, my classmates have always hated it. Whether we were learning long division or finding the derivative of a point on the unit circle, I always noticed “the dread”. As sophomore year sprung into action, I decided to do something about the aversion to math that I observed. Before school, after school, and in between classes, I began using my time tutoring anyone that would let me. Even classmates I barely knew agreed to work with me. I led people to have epiphanies about the mathematical concepts that were difficult to them by verbalizing my thought process, and witnessing those epiphanies was invigorating. It even continued to my dance studio. Lighting me up at the prospect of helping one of the middle schoolers with their math homework. This passion for math developed into something I cherished even more; teaching. I loved tutoring my friends and helping them discover an appreciation for math similar to mine. It wasn’t long before I realized that this is what I want to do: teach kids to lean into challenges in math and in school, without giving up. The world deserves to see more passionate, brilliant mathematicians, and that begins in the classroom. I want to give kids the opportunity to love math the way I do and feel supported. This is the future I will work towards it as I begin my college education.

“5, 6, 7, 8! Pivot turn, pivot turn, jazz box, and slide!” Dance is a language all its own, just as intricate and complex as any other, if not more. Every focus of the eyes, flexion of the foot, and facial expression has the power to drastically alter the story of the dance. After all, that’s what dance is, it’s communicating with an audience; it’s storytelling. And it’s the language I am most fluent in. Each passing year presents new opportunities to let choreography flow from my veins and onto the stage. The most rewarding, and consequently challenging opportunity, is creating a routine that will open my annual Spring Dance Recital. This past year, I worked together with my fellow competition team captains, to create a unique dance that cohesively combined all of our visions into one routine. Choreographing a large-scale dance requires considerable puzzle-solving skills. With my immense knowledge of the dancers’ skills (strengths and areas of growth), I was able to create choreography that was well-suited for each individual. Hours went into analyzing the music and thinking up staging that would stir excitement in the audience. But not only does choreography need to look effortless and pleasing to the eye, but it must also purposely weave dancers together, getting them where they need to go without any collisions or chaos. Lucky enough to experience the complexity of dance choreography, I successfully created an exciting, and meaningful routine. Once the puzzle was complete, I reached my favorite part of the process: watching my teammates breathe life into the movement they have been given, and seeing the story unfold in front of my eyes. Despite the challenges, choreographing a routine and teaching it to others is incredibly fulfilling and teaches me new lessons every year. I’ve learned to be gentle and empathetic with dancers that are struggling to learn the movement, and I’ve practiced working through exhaustion when people are counting on me. Looking into my future, I’m ecstatic to see how my creativity will serve me in college and beyond.

As the bright blue door finally shut and the sound of tiny tap shoes began to fade away, Samantha’s eyebrows furrowed in anticipation of her question. “She just won’t listen to me,” she said, “What should I do?” I searched deep into all areas of my brain for the perfect piece of advice, but what came out was my most authentic response: “I don't know.” It was my first year as a dance teacher, the job I longed for ever since I took my first dance class at eight years old, and I was accountable for planning classes, teaching dance skills, and nurturing creativity. What I hadn’t anticipated, though, was the responsibility of training and mentoring assistants, preparing them to be teachers themselves. After all, I’d been an assistant myself for years before I began teaching. But on this day, when I racked my brain and came up with nothing; a long exhale withdrew from my lungs. I felt like a failure. I didn’t know exactly what I was going to do, but I knew I couldn’t give up. Upon arriving home, I dove into my computer. My tabs were rapidly filled with classroom management videos, staff meeting notes, and messages with other dance teachers. Though exhausted, I combed through everything I could find until I gathered a few substantial ideas that would assist Samantha. When I saw her again, I was practically overflowing with ideas and suggestions. I spent the following weeks watching her take my advice and reach success with the challenging student. Though I wanted to be a wise, all-knowing teacher, I learned something vital about leadership that day; a true leader does have all the answers. A true leader has the humility to admit when they need help and is committed to finding that help. The importance of humility has transformed how I approach the world and will make me an exceptional student at a UC school. I will pursue my major eagerly while staying receptive to the advice and knowledge of others. After all, I’ll always have more to learn and discover.

Dance is a language all its own, just as intricate and complex as any other, if not more. Every focus of the eyes, flexion of the foot, and facial expression has the power to drastically alter the story of the dance. After all, that’s what dance is, it’s communicating with an audience; it’s storytelling. And it’s the language I am most fluent in. Each passing year presents new opportunities to let choreography flow from my veins and onto the stage. The most rewarding, and consequently challenging opportunity, is creating a routine that will open my annual Spring Dance Recital. am constantly challenging myself to make an engaging routine. Choreographing a large-scale dance requires considerable puzzle-solving skills. With my immense knowledge of the dancers’ skills (strengths and areas of growth), I've been able to create choreography that is well-suited for each individual. Hours go into analyzing the music and thinking up staging that will stir excitement in the audience. But not only does choreography need to look effortless and pleasing to the eye, but it must also purposely weave dancers together, getting them where they need to go without any collisions or chaos. Once the puzzle is complete, I reach my favorite part of the process: watching my teammates breathe life into the movement they have been given, and seeing the story unfold in front of my eyes. Despite the challenges, choreographing a routine and teaching it to others is incredibly fulfilling and teaches me new lessons every year.

Dance is a language all its own, just as intricate and complex as any other, if not more. Every focus of the eyes, flexion of the foot, and facial expression has the power to drastically alter the story of the dance. After all, that’s what dance is, it’s communicating with an audience; it’s storytelling. And it’s the language I am most fluent in. Each passing year presents new opportunities to let choreography flow from my veins and onto the stage. The most rewarding, and consequently challenging opportunity, is creating a routine that will open my annual Spring Dance Recital. This past year, I worked together with my fellow competition team captains, to create a unique dance that cohesively combined all of our visions into one routine. Choreographing a large-scale dance requires considerable puzzle-solving skills. With my immense knowledge of the dancers’ skills (strengths and areas of growth), I was able to create choreography that was well-suited for each individual. Hours went into analyzing the music and thinking up staging that would stir excitement in the audience. But not only does choreography need to look effortless and pleasing to the eye, but it must also purposely weave dancers together, getting them where they need to go without any collisions or chaos. Lucky enough to experience the complexity of dance choreography, I successfully created an exciting routine. Once the puzzle was complete, I reached my favorite part of the process: watching my teammates breathe life into the movement they have been given, and seeing the story unfold in front of my eyes. Despite the challenges, choreographing a routine and teaching it to others is incredibly fulfilling and teaches me new lessons every year.

Dance is a language all its own, just as intricate and complex as any other, if not more. Every focus of the eyes, flexion of the foot, and facial expression has the power to drastically alter the story of the dance. After all, that’s what dance is, it’s communicating with an audience; it’s storytelling. And it’s the language I am most fluent in. Each passing year presents new opportunities to let choreography flow from my veins and onto the stage. The most rewarding, and consequently challenging opportunity, is creating a routine that will open my annual Spring Dance Recital. This past year, I worked together with my fellow competition team captains, to create a unique dance that cohesively combined all of our visions into one routine. Choreographing a large-scale dance requires considerable puzzle-solving skills. With my immense knowledge of the dancers’ skills (strengths and areas of growth), I was able to create choreography that was well-suited for each individual. Hours went into analyzing the music and thinking up staging that would stir excitement in the audience. But not only does choreography need to look effortless and pleasing to the eye, but it must also purposely weave dancers together, getting them where they need to go without any collisions or chaos. Lucky enough to experience the complexity of dance choreography, I successfully created an exciting routine. Once the puzzle was complete, I reached my favorite part of the process: watching my teammates breathe life into the movement they have been given, and seeing the story unfold in front of my eyes. Despite the challenges, choreographing a routine and teaching it to others is incredibly fulfilling and teaches me new lessons every year.

Covid-19 virtually left no corner of the world untouched, but it broke my heart to witness the way it affected my community. Without a live end-of-year dance recital, my dance studio lacked its usual funding for Darby’s Dancers, a program that provides dance classes, costumes, and performances, to children with special needs all for free. When I thought of Darby’s Dancers, I thought of the students it was changing the lives of. I thought of Carson, who loved dancing with the colorful maracas, and Madison, who lived to see her friends in class. This program was a chance to find community and feel accepted and safe. I decided then that I wasn’t going to let this program fall if I could do anything about it. As the president of my studio’s National Honor Society of Dance Arts, I made it our top priority to save this program. At our next meeting, we decided to hold a recycling drive to raise money. Beginning swiftly, I dealt with the logistics, but I also found it essential to remind us all of the importance of our recycling project. Throughout the course of the project, I saw NHSDA members all around me spring into action to achieve our goal, and we were more united and passionate than we’d ever been. After three weeks, our dance studio informed us that they now had enough money to continue running the program with its two separate age groups. We had succeeded. Madison and Carson would be able to walk into dance class once again and experience the joy that comes from belonging. Though many other large issues cannot be solved this simply, I am proud of the way I was able to work together with my peers in this instance to create meaningful change.

Dance is a language all its own, just as intricate and complex as any other, if not more. Every focus of the eyes, flexion of the foot, and facial expression has the power to drastically alter the story of the dance. After all, that’s what dance is, it’s communicating with an audience; it’s storytelling. And it’s the language I am most fluent in. Each passing year presents new opportunities to let choreography flow from my veins and onto the stage. The most rewarding, and consequently challenging opportunity, is creating a routine that will open my annual Spring Dance Recital. This past year, I worked together with my fellow competition team captains, to create a unique dance that cohesively combined all of our visions into one routine. Choreographing a large-scale dance requires considerable puzzle-solving skills. With my immense knowledge of the dancers’ skills (strengths and areas of growth), I was able to create choreography that was well-suited for each individual. Hours went into analyzing the music and thinking up staging that would stir excitement in the audience. But not only does choreography need to look effortless and pleasing to the eye, but it must also purposely weave dancers together, getting them where they need to go without any collisions or chaos. Lucky enough to experience the complexity of dance choreography, I successfully created an exciting routine. Once the puzzle was complete, I reached my favorite part of the process: watching my teammates breathe life into the movement they have been given, and seeing the story unfold in front of my eyes. Despite the challenges, choreographing a routine and teaching it to others is incredibly fulfilling and teaches me new lessons every year.

Covid-19 virtually left no corner of the world untouched, but it broke my heart to witness the way it affected my community. Without a live end-of-year dance recital, my dance studio lacked its usual funding for Darby’s Dancers, a program that provides dance classes, costumes, and performances, to children with special needs all for free. When I thought of Darby’s Dancers, I thought of the students it was changing the lives of. I thought of Carson, who loved dancing with the colorful maracas, and Madison, who lived to see her friends in class. This program was a chance to find community and feel accepted and safe. I decided then that I wasn’t going to let this program fall if I could do anything about it. As the president of my studio’s National Honor Society of Dance Arts, I made it our top priority to save this program. At our next meeting, we decided to hold a recycling drive to raise money, and I oversaw the project. Although I dealt with the logistics, I also found it essential to remind us all of the importance of our recycling project. Throughout the course of the project, I saw NHSDA members all around me spring into action to achieve our goal, and we were more united and passionate than we’d ever been. After three weeks, our dance studio informed us that they now had enough money to continue running the program with its two separate age groups. We had succeeded. Madison and Carson would be able to walk into dance class once again and experience the joy that comes from belonging. Though many other large issues cannot be solved this simply, I am proud of the way I was able to work together with my peers in this instance to create meaningful change.

My favorite hobby? It must be the one where my creativity soars. Dance is a language all its own, just as intricate and complex as any other, if not more. Every focus of the eyes, flexion of the foot, and facial expression has the power to drastically alter the story of the dance. After all, that’s what dance is, it’s communicating with an audience; it’s storytelling. And it’s the language I am most fluent in. Each passing year presents new opportunities to let choreography flow from my veins and onto the stage. The most rewarding, and consequently challenging opportunity, is creating a routine that will open my annual Spring Dance Recital. This past year, I worked together with my fellow competition team captains, to create a unique dance that cohesively combined all of our visions into one routine. Choreographing a large-scale dance requires considerable puzzle-solving skills. With my immense knowledge of the dancers’ skills (strengths and areas of growth), I was able to create choreography that was well-suited for each individual. Hours went into analyzing the music and thinking up staging that would stir excitement in the audience. But not only does choreography need to look effortless and pleasing to the eye, but it must also purposely weave dancers together, getting them where they need to go without any collisions or chaos. Lucky enough to experience the complexity of dance choreography, I successfully created an exciting, and meaningful routine. Once the puzzle was complete, I reached my favorite part of the process: watching my teammates breathe life into the movement they have been given, and seeing the story unfold in front of my eyes. Despite the challenges, choreographing a routine and teaching it to others is incredibly fulfilling and teaches me new lessons every year.

As the blue door finally shut and the sound of tap shoes began to fade away, Samantha’s posed a question. “She just won’t listen to me,” she said, “What should I do?” I searched deep into all areas of my brain for the perfect piece of advice, but what came out was my most authentic response: “I don't know.” It was my first year as a dance teacher, the job I longed for ever since I was eight years old, and I was accountable for planning classes, teaching dance skills, and nurturing creativity. What I hadn’t anticipated, though, was the responsibility of training and mentoring assistants. After all, I’d been an assistant myself for years before I began teaching. But when I racked my brain and came up with nothing; a long exhale withdrew from my lungs. I felt like a failure. I didn’t know exactly what I was going to do, but I knew I couldn’t give up. Upon arriving home, I dove into my computer. My tabs were rapidly filled with classroom management videos, staff meeting notes, and messages with other dance teachers. Though exhausted, I combed through everything I could find until I gathered a few substantial ideas that would assist Samantha. When I saw her again, I was practically overflowing with ideas and suggestions. I spent the following weeks watching her take my advice and reach success with the challenging student. Though I wanted to be a wise, all-knowing teacher, I learned something vital about leadership that day; a true leader does have all the answers. They instead have the humility to admit when they need help and is committed to finding that help. The importance of humility has transformed how I approach the world. After all, I’ll always have more to learn and discover.