Faith has been a guiding force in shaping my leadership style, deeply influencing how I approach challenges, interact with others, and inspire those around me. My faith teaches me the importance of service, integrity, and empathy, which are foundational to the way I lead. Throughout my time as a student-athlete and coach, I have strived to integrate these values into my leadership practices, empowering others while maintaining a commitment to personal and collective growth. One of the most significant experiences where I led others through my faith occurred during my time on the Varsity Swim and Dive Team at the University of Indianapolis. Our team faced many challenges, especially during the intense training periods leading up to competitions. While many athletes struggle with balancing academics, athletics, and personal lives, I leaned on my faith to guide me in how I could motivate and inspire my teammates. I believed that, as a leader, I could offer more than just athletic guidance—I could be a source of encouragement and support, providing hope and strength when things felt difficult. A specific instance that stands out is when our team was preparing for the GLVC Conference Championships. The pressure was immense, and some teammates started to lose confidence in their abilities. They doubted whether they could meet their personal goals or contribute to the team’s success. Seeing this, I took it upon myself to remind them of their worth, not just as athletes but as individuals. Drawing from the lessons of resilience and hope that my faith provides, I shared a verse from Philippians 4:13: "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." This scripture served as a reminder to the team that challenges are an inevitable part of life, but they are not insurmountable when faced with faith and determination. I spent extra time talking to my teammates individually, listening to their concerns, and offering guidance on how to refocus. This faith-based encouragement helped us shift our mindset, and we ended up having a successful championship meet, with many of us surpassing our personal bests. More importantly, the sense of unity within the team grew stronger, and I witnessed firsthand how faith in each other and in a higher purpose could drive people to accomplish things they once thought impossible. This experience taught me the power of leadership grounded in faith. I realized that leading others isn’t just about giving instructions or achieving success in measurable ways; it’s also about uplifting those around you, guiding them with compassion, and helping them see their potential. In the future, I aim to continue leading with this same approach, whether in my personal, academic, or professional life. As I progress in my career in business and continue to coach and mentor others, I will strive to maintain a leadership style rooted in service, empathy, and faith. I believe that these values are not only essential for motivating and guiding others but also for creating inclusive, supportive environments where everyone feels valued and empowered to reach their full potential. Faith has shaped my vision for the future by teaching me that leadership is an ongoing process of growth, support, and shared purpose. My leadership style, influenced by the teachings of my faith, is about serving others, providing encouragement in times of doubt, and always striving to lead with integrity and love. I am committed to embodying these values in every aspect of my life, and I hope to inspire others to do the same, showing them that with faith, we can overcome any challenge and achieve our goals.

“Couple’s Court: Love on Trial” – A New Love Island Challenge Love Island is built on romance, flirtation, and a little bit of drama—all the ingredients needed for a truly unforgettable challenge. That’s why the latest idea, “Couple’s Court: Love on Trial,” is designed to bring out every Islander’s personality, test their relationships, and stir up just enough chaos to keep viewers glued to their screens. Equal parts comedy and conflict, this courtroom-style game turns every couple into either the accused or the accuser, offering a hilarious yet revealing way to explore the dynamics between Islanders. Set in a colorful makeshift courtroom, complete with pink velvet judges’ robes, flamingo-shaped gavels, and oversized heart-shaped jury paddles, “Couple’s Court” transforms the villa into a stage of drama and cheeky judgment. Each participating couple is assigned roles: one Islander becomes the “Plaintiff,” accusing their partner of a fictional relationship-related offense, while the other becomes the “Defendant,” tasked with defending themselves in front of the villa. The rest of the Islanders act as the jury, voting to decide who made the better case. The accusations are lighthearted but highly entertaining. A Plaintiff might accuse their partner of “emotional abandonment for falling asleep before the nightly cuddle,” or “reckless texting behavior for using too many emojis in flirtatious chats.” These complaints, while clearly exaggerated, often reflect deeper quirks and truths about each relationship. They open the door for Islanders to express themselves in a way that’s playful but meaningful. After both sides present their case—complete with rebuttals, jokes, and the occasional dramatic monologue—they can each call one witness to the stand. This twist adds to the unpredictability. A friend might support a defense with a glowing character testimony or completely sabotage a case with a cheeky anecdote. The “judge,” typically the most neutral or hilarious Islander, keeps order with a gavel, comedic commentary, and witty judgments. Following the trial, the jury of Islanders casts anonymous votes to determine the winner of each round. The couple with the most victories earns a romantic reward, like a private dinner or an exclusive night in the hideaway. To spice things up further, they also get to assign “community service” to another couple—who must complete villa chores for a day in orange jumpsuits marked “Love Law Breaker.” What makes “Couple’s Court” so effective as a Love Island challenge is its multidimensional appeal. It’s inherently entertaining, with Islanders encouraged to embrace their dramatic flair and comedic timing. But beneath the laughter, the challenge also allows for a surprising level of emotional honesty. It brings real relationship dynamics into the open and gives contestants an opportunity to reflect on their habits, communication styles, and emotional needs in a way that’s safe and funny. Furthermore, the challenge strengthens the bond between couples by testing their ability to defend each other—or to laugh at themselves. It encourages vulnerability wrapped in humor, and in doing so, helps viewers and fellow Islanders see who is truly compatible and who might be headed for trouble. It also stirs up just enough friendly competition and lighthearted tension to keep the villa buzzing long after the gavel drops. “Couple’s Court: Love on Trial” is a Love Island original—bold, hilarious, and brimming with potential for drama, connection, and good old-fashioned fun. In a villa where love is always on the line, sometimes it takes a courtroom, a costume, and a couple of cheeky accusations to truly uncover who’s in it for the long haul.

From Struggle to Strength: Using My PTSD Journey to Uplift Others Living with service-related PTSD has changed nearly every aspect of my life. It reshaped the way I see the world, deepened my understanding of myself, and ultimately gave me a new sense of purpose: to help other veterans who are walking the same path. While the road to healing has been anything but easy, it has taught me powerful lessons about vulnerability, resilience, and the importance of community. When I first returned home from service, I felt like I had left a part of myself behind. Everything around me was familiar, yet I felt like a stranger in my own life. Sounds, smells, and crowded places would trigger flashbacks or panic attacks. I became hyper-aware of my surroundings and emotionally distant from loved ones. I tried to push through the symptoms, believing that if I ignored them long enough, they would fade away. They didn’t. Instead, the silence fed the shame. It wasn’t until I hit a breaking point—when I could no longer sleep, connect with family, or feel joy—that I reached out for help. I learned I was suffering from PTSD, and that it was not a sign of weakness but a natural response to the trauma I had experienced. That realization alone changed everything. I began therapy and slowly started to unpack the weight I had carried for so long. I learned how to name my emotions instead of bury them. I learned that healing doesn’t mean forgetting—it means finding a way to carry the memories without letting them define me. One of the most powerful things I’ve learned is that I am not alone. Too many veterans suffer in silence, believing that no one could possibly understand what they’re going through. That isolation can be just as painful as the trauma itself. But the more I opened up—first in therapy, then with other veterans—the more I discovered the strength in shared experience. There is something incredibly healing about looking someone in the eye and knowing they’ve been where you’ve been. Because of my own journey, I now feel a deep responsibility to give back. I’ve started volunteering with a local veterans’ organization, helping facilitate support groups for those coping with PTSD. I’ve shared my story in community outreach events and participated in peer mentorship programs. My goal is to be the kind of person I wish I had in my corner when I was at my lowest—someone who listens without judgment, who offers hope, and who reminds others that they are not broken. In the future, I hope to pursue a degree in psychology or social work, focusing specifically on trauma and veteran mental health. I want to work in VA hospitals or nonprofits that serve veterans, helping to build programs that emphasize early intervention, accessible care, and holistic healing. I believe that those who have lived through something are uniquely equipped to help others navigate it. My experience with PTSD doesn’t disqualify me—it qualifies me to do meaningful work that could truly change lives. What I’ve learned through this journey is that pain can be a teacher, and healing is possible, even if it’s slow. I’ve learned that being vulnerable is one of the bravest things a person can do. Most of all, I’ve learned that we don’t heal in isolation—we heal in community. My hope is to build and be part of that community, one where every veteran knows they are valued, understood, and never alone.

Shaped by the Struggle: How Mental Health Has Redefined My Path Mental health is often treated like a footnote in conversations about personal growth, success, and relationships—but for me, it has been the headline. My experience with mental health has been messy, uncomfortable, and deeply humbling, yet it has been the most formative part of who I’ve become. It has reshaped my goals, redefined the way I approach relationships, and given me a clearer, more compassionate understanding of the world around me. For most of my life, I thought strength meant staying silent. I was raised in a family where emotional expression was quiet at best and avoided at worst. Like many people, I learned to equate productivity with worth and pushing through pain with perseverance. It wasn’t until I found myself in the middle of a mental health crisis during my late teens that I realized silence was not strength—it was isolation. I was anxious all the time, exhausted by social interactions, and increasingly disconnected from the things that used to bring me joy. I didn’t know what was happening, but I knew I was falling apart, and I didn’t know how to ask for help. It took a long time to name what I was experiencing—anxiety, depression, and burnout—and even longer to accept that I couldn’t "fix" it on my own. The decision to start therapy felt like admitting defeat at first, but it turned out to be one of the most courageous steps I’ve ever taken. Therapy didn’t solve all my problems, but it gave me a vocabulary for my pain and a space to understand it. I began to see how much pressure I had placed on myself to be perfect, how often I minimized my needs, and how rarely I showed myself the same grace I gave to others. This journey through mental health didn’t just change how I saw myself—it changed what I wanted for my life. Before, my goals were largely shaped by external expectations: get good grades, get a good job, achieve, achieve, achieve. But mental health struggles taught me that success without well-being is unsustainable. I started to redefine success—not as perfection or prestige, but as balance, purpose, and peace. My goal is no longer just to “make it” in the world, but to contribute to it in a way that’s aligned with my values and my well-being. This shift in perspective led me to change my academic focus. I became interested in studying business and mental health policy, with hopes of someday working to make workplaces more emotionally sustainable and inclusive. I want to be part of a generation that doesn't just talk about mental health awareness but integrates it into systems—educational, corporate, and cultural. If I can create environments where people feel safe to speak up, where mental health is prioritized, and where no one feels like they have to suffer in silence, I’ll consider that a real accomplishment. My relationships have also evolved in light of my mental health experience. I used to feel the need to wear a mask around others, always showing the “put-together” version of myself. But that mask became too heavy to carry. Learning to be vulnerable with my closest friends and family—admitting when I was struggling, asking for help, and letting them see the less-polished parts of me—deepened our connections in ways I never expected. The more I opened up, the more others did too. It was as if my honesty gave them permission to be honest as well. I began to understand that true relationships are not built on constant happiness or strength but on authenticity and mutual support. At the same time, I had to learn boundaries. There were relationships I had to step back from—people who didn’t respect my healing process or minimized my experience. That was hard. But it taught me the importance of protecting my peace and investing in relationships that are reciprocal, not just emotionally demanding. Through this, I learned that loving someone doesn’t mean sacrificing yourself and that it’s okay to walk away from connections that make you feel small. Perhaps the biggest transformation has been in how I see others and the world at large. Struggling with mental health made me realize how easy it is to misjudge people’s stories. You never know what someone is going through—what battles they’re fighting quietly. My own pain has made me more empathetic. I no longer see people as just what they produce or perform. I see people as layered, complex, often struggling beneath the surface. This shift in worldview has made me a better friend, a better listener, and hopefully, someday, a more compassionate leader. It’s also made me passionate about advocacy. I’ve started using my voice—whether it’s on social media, in the classroom, or in conversations with friends—to talk more openly about mental health. I’ve volunteered with campus mental wellness groups and taken part in organizing workshops and events that promote self-care and stress management. I don’t claim to have all the answers, but I believe deeply in the power of honest dialogue. If my story can help even one person feel less alone, it’s worth sharing. I won’t pretend that I’ve “conquered” mental health. It’s still a journey, not a destination. There are good days and harder ones. There are moments when anxiety still creeps in or when the weight of expectations still feels too heavy. But now, I have the tools to manage it, the language to express it, and the community to support me through it. As I move forward with my education and career, I carry these lessons with me. I hope to create spaces—whether in business, education, or advocacy—where people feel seen and valued not just for what they do, but for who they are. I want to be the kind of leader who leads with empathy, the kind of professional who makes mental health a priority, and the kind of person who reminds others that they are never alone.

The Importance of Calculus in the STEM Fields Calculus is often regarded as one of the most powerful and essential tools in mathematics, and its importance in the STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics) fields cannot be overstated. At its core, calculus provides a systematic approach to understanding and describing change and motion, concepts that are central to the natural world and technological advancements. From engineering to physics, biology to computer science, calculus plays a critical role in modeling and solving problems that are fundamental to progress in these fields. Understanding Change and Motion One of the most significant contributions of calculus to the STEM fields is its ability to model change. Calculus is built around two central concepts: derivatives and integrals. The derivative, in particular, is a tool for understanding the rate of change of a quantity. This is especially important in fields such as physics, where the behavior of objects in motion is central to our understanding of the universe. For example, calculus allows us to determine the velocity of an object at any given point in time by taking the derivative of its position with respect to time. Similarly, by using integrals, we can calculate the total distance traveled or the total work done by a force over a period. Without calculus, many fundamental principles of physics—such as Newton’s laws of motion—would be much more difficult to express and analyze. Modeling Complex Systems In engineering, technology, and even economics, calculus plays an indispensable role in modeling and solving complex systems. In engineering, for instance, calculus is used to calculate forces, stresses, and loads on structures such as bridges, buildings, and dams. By understanding how materials respond to different forces, engineers can optimize designs for safety, durability, and cost-effectiveness. In electrical engineering, calculus is used to analyze circuits and the flow of electrical current. In computer science, it aids in optimizing algorithms, especially in fields like machine learning and artificial intelligence. The ability to model complex systems mathematically is a hallmark of technological innovation, and calculus provides the foundation for these models. Optimization and Efficiency Another critical application of calculus in STEM is in optimization. Engineers, scientists, and economists often face problems that require maximizing or minimizing certain quantities, such as maximizing profit or minimizing energy consumption. Calculus, through the use of derivatives, allows these professionals to find the points at which a function reaches its maximum or minimum value. For example, in economics, calculus helps determine the most efficient allocation of resources, while in engineering, it can be used to optimize the design of a product or process. Whether it's maximizing the performance of a car engine or minimizing the energy consumption of a machine, calculus enables professionals to make the most efficient use of available resources. Conclusion In conclusion, calculus is a vital tool in the STEM fields because it provides a systematic and efficient way to understand and solve problems related to change, motion, and complex systems. From modeling the behavior of physical objects to optimizing designs and understanding biological processes, calculus is at the heart of many advancements in science and technology. It enables engineers, scientists, and mathematicians to describe the world around us with precision and accuracy, making it indispensable for solving real-world problems and driving innovation. As technology continues to evolve and new challenges arise, the role of calculus will only become more crucial in shaping the future of STEM.

Why I Love Math I love math because it makes the world make sense. Math is one of the only subjects where there’s always an answer—even if it takes effort and time to find it. It doesn’t matter where you come from, what language you speak, or what kind of day you’re having: numbers stay the same. Two plus two will always be four. That kind of consistency is comforting in a world that’s often unpredictable. Math gives me a sense of order, logic, and control. But beyond its reliability, I love math because it’s a puzzle—a challenge waiting to be solved. It’s not about memorizing steps or formulas, but about understanding how and why things work. I enjoy sitting with a problem, trying different approaches, and that moment when something finally clicks. It’s incredibly satisfying to figure something out on your own, especially when it once seemed impossible. What really excites me about math, though, is its beauty. Most people don’t think of math as something beautiful, but I do. There’s elegance in the way an equation balances perfectly, or how patterns emerge in something as simple as Pascal’s Triangle or the Fibonacci sequence. Geometry feels like art. Algebra feels like code. And calculus, to me, feels like a language for describing the universe. Math also teaches me how to think. It’s not just about getting the right answer—it’s about how you approach the problem. Math builds reasoning, attention to detail, creativity, and resilience. It shows me that failure isn’t the end—it’s part of the process. If I don’t get something right the first time, I know I can go back, rethink it, and try again. That mindset has helped me far beyond the classroom. Finally, I love math because it connects to everything. Whether it’s in science, finance, architecture, music, or technology, math is at the root of innovation. It’s a tool we use to build bridges, launch rockets, design apps, and even understand social trends. The idea that I can use something I love to solve real-world problems is incredibly exciting. Math doesn’t just live in textbooks—it lives in the world around us. And that’s what makes me love it more every day.

Ringing with Purpose: My Journey in Handbell Music Music has always been a source of joy and connection for me, but it was through handbells that I discovered a completely unique way of expressing myself and collaborating with others. Unlike many other musical forms, handbell ringing is fundamentally communal—each ringer is responsible for just a few notes, yet every sound matters. That dynamic, where individual contributions come together to create something beautiful and cohesive, is what first drew me to the art form and continues to inspire me. My journey with handbells began in middle school when I joined our church’s youth bell choir. At first, I was drawn in by the novelty of it—the precision, the choreography, the challenge of staying in sync with others. But quickly, I grew to appreciate handbell ringing as its own musical language, one that demands both technical skill and deep listening. As I’ve matured as a musician, so has my appreciation for the expressive range that handbells can offer, from delicate melodies to powerful crescendos that fill a sanctuary with sound. Over the years, I’ve had the opportunity to play a wide variety of pieces, each with its own character and challenge. One of my favorites has been Exultate by Cathy Moklebust. Its joyful, flowing rhythms feel like a celebration in motion, and the interplay between bells and chimes adds a richness that’s both fun to perform and moving to hear. Another standout piece for me is The Prayer arranged by Douglas E. Wagner. Performing this piece in worship and community events has been particularly meaningful—its emotional depth and lyrical phrasing remind me of the spiritual power music can hold. In addition to church ensembles, I’ve been fortunate to ring with community groups, where I’ve had the chance to play more complex music and learn from advanced ringers. Those experiences have challenged me to grow technically—working on four-in-hand ringing, traveling techniques, and improving my score-reading skills. I’ve also developed a deeper sense of musicality and timing, especially in pieces like Procession of Praise by Arnold Sherman, which demand precision and focus from every ringer to bring out the intricate layering of sound. What makes handbells so unique, and yet so underappreciated, is that it combines visual performance with music-making in a way few instruments do. It’s theatrical, collaborative, and deeply expressive, yet handbell choirs rarely get the spotlight they deserve in mainstream musical circles. That’s something I want to help change. Looking ahead, my aspiration is to help elevate the profile of handbell ringing as a legitimate and respected art form. I plan to continue ringing throughout college and hope to start or join an advanced ensemble that performs regularly in both sacred and secular settings. I’d love to incorporate multimedia or spoken word into performances to tell stories through bells and reach new audiences. I also want to mentor younger ringers and help teach workshops, particularly in schools or underserved communities where handbell programs might not be readily available. I believe handbells have the power to engage students who may not connect with traditional band or orchestra programs—it offers a fresh, inclusive way into music-making. Handbells have taught me discipline, teamwork, and the beauty of shared expression. They’ve given me confidence as a musician and joy as a performer. But more than anything, they’ve reminded me that every note—no matter how small—matters. That’s the message I hope to carry forward in everything I do with music.

The most challenging aspect of being both a student and a single parent is the constant act of balancing—balancing time, energy, finances, and emotions between two full-time roles that each demand more than 100% of who I am. Pursuing an education is not just a personal goal; it’s a commitment I’ve made to building a better life for myself and, most importantly, for my child. Yet the path is not easy. Every assignment I complete, every class I attend, and every moment I spend away from my child in the name of our shared future comes with a cost. That tension—between providing in the present and investing in the future—is where the deepest challenges lie. Time is the resource I feel slipping through my fingers most often. My days are governed by a schedule that starts long before the sun rises and continues into the early hours of the next morning. I wake up early to prepare my child for school, then shift into my own academic responsibilities—attending lectures, participating in discussions, completing homework, and studying for exams. All of this must be done in the small windows of quiet time I can find between school drop-offs, meal preparation, bath time, and bedtime stories. The hours after my child is asleep become my “second shift,” when I transform into the student who writes essays, studies textbooks, and strives to keep up with peers who have more time, more support, and fewer responsibilities outside the classroom. Emotionally, the toll can be just as heavy. There are moments when I wonder if I’m being present enough for my child, and other moments when I question whether I’m dedicating enough focus to my studies. The guilt of being stretched thin is real. I want to be fully engaged in both roles—supportive parent and dedicated student—but often, it feels like I’m falling short in one area just to succeed in the other. This inner conflict is hard to carry, especially when I see other students with fewer obstacles or other parents with more support. Still, I remind myself that I’m doing this for the right reasons: to create a future where my child sees the value of perseverance, education, and sacrifice. Financially, the challenge is just as great. Supporting a household on one income while also pursuing higher education creates immense pressure. Tuition costs, books, transportation, childcare, and basic living expenses all stack up quickly. Even with part-time work and budgeting, there are times when I have to choose between buying a textbook and paying a utility bill. These financial limitations not only create stress but also sometimes limit my ability to take on internships or extracurricular opportunities that could enrich my academic experience. Without financial assistance, the dream of finishing my education feels like running a marathon with a weighted vest—every step forward is possible, but far more difficult. This is where a scholarship becomes more than financial support—it becomes a lifeline. Receiving this scholarship would ease the burden that weighs so heavily on both my academic and personal life. It would allow me to invest in the resources I need to succeed in school—such as textbooks, tutoring, and reliable technology—without sacrificing the essentials my child depends on. It would free up the mental and emotional space I need to truly focus on learning, rather than constantly worrying about how I’ll make ends meet. And most significantly, it would send a powerful message: that someone believes in me and the future I’m fighting for. More than just helping me earn a degree, this scholarship would help me break a cycle. I want my child to grow up seeing that education opens doors, that it’s never too late to pursue your dreams, and that hard work can lead to a better life. I want them to understand that we didn’t have everything handed to us—but we never gave up. My goal is not only to graduate but to model resilience and hope, to show my child that challenges don’t define us; how we respond to them does. I want to build a life where we’re not just surviving, but thriving. Educationally, my ambition is to complete my degree in [insert major—e.g., Social Work, Education, Nursing, Business, etc.], a field where I can give back to the community and make a real difference in people’s lives. My experiences as a single parent have given me insight, empathy, and determination that I plan to carry into my professional life. I want to work with families like mine—those navigating adversity with limited support—so I can be the helping hand that I often wished I had. Beyond that, I dream of one day starting a nonprofit that supports single parents in higher education—offering scholarships, mentorship, and access to affordable childcare. I know firsthand how lonely and overwhelming this path can be, and I want to ensure that others don’t have to walk it alone. In the end, this scholarship represents more than a financial gift. It is an investment in my future—and in the future of a child who is watching everything I do. It is a chance to lift the weight just enough so I can move forward with strength and clarity. It is an opportunity to become the kind of person my child can be proud of, not because I never struggled, but because I never stopped trying. And it is a reminder that even in the most challenging seasons, we are never truly alone—there are people and institutions willing to believe in our potential, even when the road is hard. So while being a student and a single parent is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, it is also the most meaningful. And with the support of this scholarship, I will continue to strive—not just for a better life for myself and my child, but for a future where no one is left behind simply because their path is harder.

Education as a Catalyst: Creating Opportunity for the Disproportionately Underresourced For me, education has always represented more than just knowledge or a diploma—it’s a pathway to opportunity, a chance to rewrite narratives, and most importantly, a tool for equity. My educational goals are driven by a passion to empower others, particularly those who come from underresourced backgrounds. I believe education should not be a privilege reserved for the few, but a right accessible to all. And I have made it my mission to use my learning—not just for personal success, but to uplift communities that have been historically left behind. I grew up watching the effects of poverty and inequity in real time. Friends dropped out of school not because they lacked intelligence or ambition, but because they lacked support. Teachers were overwhelmed, classrooms were underfunded, and access to essential resources—like counseling, tutoring, and college guidance—was uneven at best. I saw how systems often failed the most vulnerable, reinforcing cycles of hardship rather than breaking them. These experiences instilled in me a belief: those closest to the struggle are also closest to the solutions. And for me, education is the bridge between knowing that truth and acting on it. My long-term goal is to work in education policy and community development, building programs that target systemic inequality and give underrepresented students the tools they need to thrive. In the short term, I am pursuing a degree in Business Administration with an emphasis on nonprofit leadership and community engagement. This choice was intentional—I want to understand not only the theory of equity, but the practical skills needed to build sustainable, data-driven solutions. With this foundation, I plan to work on initiatives that provide mentorship, financial literacy, college readiness, and mental health resources to underserved youth. One of the most powerful ways to disrupt generational poverty is to expand access to quality education. Unfortunately, this remains out of reach for many students of color, students from low-income families, and students navigating environments shaped by incarceration, trauma, or instability. My dream is to help create an ecosystem of support that meets these students where they are, recognizes their potential, and walks alongside them until their goals are within reach. I want to see after-school programs in every neighborhood, career mentorship in every school, and culturally relevant curriculum that reflects the stories and strengths of the communities it serves. A key part of this vision is making higher education more attainable. Too many young people are told to “go to college” without ever being shown how. I want to lead or partner with organizations that demystify the college application process, provide SAT/ACT prep, and offer scholarships to reduce the financial barriers that deter so many. But beyond access, I’m just as committed to persistence and belonging—making sure students not only get into college but stay, graduate, and feel like they belong throughout the process. That includes advocating for campus support centers, peer networks, and academic advising tailored to first-generation and underrepresented students. Another passion of mine is economic justice. Education is powerful, but it can’t solve everything on its own. Many underresourced students also face food insecurity, housing instability, or the need to support their families financially. My education in business and nonprofit development will equip me to launch community-based initiatives that create jobs, offer paid internships, and teach entrepreneurial skills in underinvested areas. I believe in building programs that don’t just help individuals “escape” poverty, but transform the communities themselves from the inside out. Alongside program development, I’m also deeply interested in policy reform. Educational inequality is not random—it is the result of deliberate policy decisions that can and must be challenged. Once I have established a foundation of practical experience, I plan to return to school to pursue a Master’s in Public Policy or Education Leadership. With that advanced training, I’ll be able to influence school funding formulas, curriculum standards, and state-level legislation that impacts underresourced communities. It’s not enough to build great programs—we need to build systems where those programs can flourish. At the heart of everything I do is the belief that representation matters. I come from a background that hasn’t always been represented in higher education or professional spaces. That perspective is my strength. It allows me to design solutions that are not theoretical, but rooted in lived experience. I understand what it means to navigate school while facing real-world pressures, to feel unseen in academic settings, to dream big while managing survival. My presence in these spaces—and my voice at the table—is part of the change I want to see. I want young people to know they belong in every room, every classroom, every boardroom. And I want to help build the systems that ensure they get there. Ultimately, achieving my educational goals is not just about personal fulfillment—it’s about multiplying opportunity. When I earn my degree, I won’t be crossing the stage alone. I’ll be carrying with me every kid who felt overlooked, every student who thought they weren’t “college material,” every young person who never saw someone who looked like them leading change. I’ll be using my education to prove that success doesn’t have to come at the cost of your community—it can be the very thing that lifts it. In a world where inequality persists, where zip codes too often determine destinies, and where too many dreams go unrealized, I want to be a builder of bridges. I want to use the privilege of education not as a ladder out, but as a platform to reach back, give back, and pull others forward. And I know that with hard work, the right tools, and a clear vision, I can help turn that dream into reality—not just for me, but for all of us.

Living Authentically: How Being Transgender Shaped My Identity, Relationships, and Career Aspirations Entering adulthood as a transgender individual has been both a journey of profound self-discovery and an exercise in resilience. From the earliest moments of recognizing that the person I saw in the mirror did not align with the person I felt inside, to navigating the complexities of social transition, my identity has shaped every part of my life—my beliefs, relationships, and ultimately, my career goals. Although there have been challenges, living authentically has instilled in me a deep passion for mental health advocacy, particularly for LGBTQ+ individuals. It has also given me a clear purpose: to become a clinical psychologist who not only understands the struggles of marginalized communities but works to uplift them with empathy and expertise. Growing up, I always felt a quiet but persistent discomfort with how the world perceived me. I lacked the language to describe this disconnect and, for a long time, tried to fit into the expectations that were placed upon me. Over time, that discomfort evolved into emotional distress—fueling anxiety, self-doubt, and a growing sense of isolation. It wasn’t until I came to terms with my transgender identity that I began to heal. Coming out was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. It meant risking rejection, misunderstanding, and emotional distance from people I loved. But it also meant choosing truth over fear—and with that choice came a new sense of peace, empowerment, and clarity. This experience of personal transformation deeply influenced my core beliefs. I came to understand that empathy is not passive; it is a practice that requires vulnerability, courage, and action. Being transgender has taught me that inclusion must go beyond tolerance—it must involve creating space where people are affirmed in their identities, not just allowed to exist. My journey also made me hyper-aware of the importance of mental health support, especially for individuals who feel like outsiders in their own families, schools, or communities. I believe no one should feel alone in their experience, and I am committed to ensuring others have access to the compassion and care I once needed. My relationships changed significantly after coming out, both in the challenges they posed and in the depth they eventually reached. Some relationships faded, marked by silence or discomfort. Others grew stronger through open dialogue, patience, and mutual learning. Friends and family who chose to understand my identity became more than companions—they became allies. I also found new community among fellow LGBTQ+ individuals who shared my experiences. In these connections, I learned the value of solidarity, and the importance of creating support systems for those who may not have them at home. This intersection of personal growth and community connection led me to my passion for psychology. I am especially drawn to working in LGBTQ+ mental health because I’ve seen the consequences of inadequate support: anxiety, depression, and tragically, suicide. I’ve also witnessed the power of affirming care—how one supportive therapist, teacher, or friend can help someone find their way back to hope. My own therapist, a queer-affirming clinician, was instrumental in my healing. Their patience, understanding, and nonjudgmental approach helped me reclaim my identity and build resilience. They showed me that healing isn’t about fixing someone—it’s about affirming their wholeness and helping them navigate life with strength and clarity. I aspire to become that kind of clinician. My goal is to earn a doctoral degree in Clinical Psychology with a focus on gender and sexuality. I want to work directly with transgender and queer youth, adults, and families, offering therapy that validates and empowers. I also hope to contribute to research in LGBTQ+ mental health, helping to shape policies and practices that are inclusive and informed by real experiences. Reading the work of advocates like Dr. Laura Erickson-Schroth and seeing the impact of organizations like The Trevor Project has only deepened my determination to be part of this movement for change. My plan for reaching these goals is grounded and intentional. First, I will continue my undergraduate studies in psychology, emphasizing courses in gender studies and counseling. I will seek internships at LGBTQ+ resource centers and mental health clinics that serve diverse populations. After graduating, I plan to pursue a doctoral program accredited by the American Psychological Association, with clinical placements in LGBTQ+ community health settings. Alongside my studies, I intend to volunteer with local organizations, facilitate peer support groups, and engage in public education about transgender health and mental wellness. Eventually, I want to open my own inclusive mental health practice—one that offers accessible care to LGBTQ+ clients, trains young therapists in affirming approaches, and collaborates with schools and healthcare providers to ensure safe, respectful environments for transgender people. I envision a space where no one has to question whether they will be respected when they walk through the door. In addition to clinical work, I hope to publish research on the mental health outcomes of early gender affirmation and use that data to advocate for inclusive policies at institutional and governmental levels. Being transgender has not only shaped my identity—it has defined my purpose. It has made me more empathetic, more courageous, and more determined to be a force for good. I’ve learned that healing is possible when we are seen for who we truly are, and I want to bring that hope to others. My journey has shown me that authenticity is not just a personal victory; it is a foundation for meaningful, lasting change. As I move forward in my education and career, I will carry that lesson with me, using my story not only to survive—but to help others thrive.

Entering higher education as a second-generation immigrant has been both a privilege and a challenge. While I am incredibly grateful for the opportunities my family’s sacrifices have made possible, I often feel like an outsider navigating a system that wasn’t built with my experience in mind. My educational journey has been shaped by the tension between honoring where I come from and finding where I belong—and that tension has deeply influenced both my personal growth and my future goals. My parents immigrated to this country with limited English and no formal education beyond high school. Their first priority was survival—putting food on the table, paying the bills, and ensuring my siblings and I had a better life. They didn’t know how to help with college applications, financial aid forms, or standardized tests. What they did give me, though, was an unwavering belief in the power of education and a relentless work ethic. They taught me that success comes from sacrifice and persistence. That foundation has carried me through every late-night study session and every moment of doubt. As I entered high school, I realized how different my experience was from many of my classmates. I didn’t grow up with tutors, college counselors, or family members who could walk me through the admissions process. I had to figure it all out on my own—learning what FAFSA was, researching scholarships, and asking questions I was sometimes too embarrassed to ask. I often felt caught between two worlds: the culture of my family, where education was a distant dream, and the culture of academia, where everyone else seemed to speak a language I was still trying to learn. That feeling of being an outsider has never fully gone away, but it has made me more determined. It has taught me how to advocate for myself, how to ask for help when I need it, and how to keep going when things feel overwhelming. It’s also given me a unique perspective—one that values education not just as a personal achievement, but as a tool for transformation, for both individuals and communities. My experience as a second-generation immigrant has shaped my future goals in a powerful way. I want to use my education to open doors for others who feel like outsiders. Whether I pursue a career in education, social impact, or public policy, I want to be a bridge—for students like me who need support, encouragement, and guidance to pursue their dreams. I want to mentor young people from immigrant families, help them navigate the systems I had to figure out alone, and show them that they belong in college classrooms, boardrooms, and beyond. I also hope to make a difference in the lives of immigrant parents, like mine, who often feel left out of their children’s educational experiences. I want to create programs that translate the complex world of higher education into something more accessible—resources that empower families to be involved and informed, regardless of their background or education level. Because no student should have to succeed alone. Higher education represents more than a degree for me—it’s a promise to my parents that their sacrifices were worth it, and a commitment to use what I’ve learned to lift others. I may have entered the system as an outsider, but I plan to leave it as a leader—one who brings others along and helps make the path a little easier for the next generation.

My journey as a single parent has defined not only who I am but also the reason I am pursuing higher education. It has challenged me, strengthened me, and given me a purpose far greater than myself. While balancing parenting and school has never been easy, it has given me a powerful sense of direction. Every class I attend, every assignment I complete, is done with my child in mind—because I want to show them that even in the face of adversity, growth and success are possible. When I became a single parent, I quickly learned the meaning of sacrifice. Suddenly, every decision mattered—how I spent my time, how I spent my money, and how I planned for the future. There were moments when I questioned whether going to college while raising a child alone was even possible. But deep down, I knew that earning a degree would not only open doors for me professionally, but also set an example for my child. I want them to grow up knowing that hard work and resilience can overcome any obstacle. Balancing school, work, and parenting has been exhausting at times. I’ve studied for exams after bedtime stories, written essays during nap times, and brought my child to campus when I couldn’t find childcare. These experiences have made me incredibly resourceful and more determined than ever to succeed. While other students might measure success in grades or awards, for me, success is knowing that I'm building a life where my child feels safe, loved, and inspired. Being a single parent has also given me a new perspective on community. I've experienced how isolating it can feel to navigate systems not built for families like mine. But I've also seen the difference that compassion, understanding, and support can make. Professors who were flexible with deadlines, friends who offered to babysit, and school counselors who truly listened—these moments of kindness have fueled my desire to create similar support systems for others. That’s why I am deeply committed to giving back. I plan to use my degree to work in a field where I can advocate for families and build community-focused programs—whether that’s in education, social work, nonprofit management, or even policy. I want to help single parents access affordable childcare, flexible education opportunities, and career pathways that honor both their ambition and their caregiving responsibilities. I hope to create safe, empowering spaces where parents don’t feel like they’re doing this alone. More broadly, I want to help change the narrative around single parents in higher education. We are not statistics. We are scholars, caregivers, dreamers, and doers. We are capable of achieving great things, not in spite of our parenting status—but because of it. I want to share my story with other parents who feel overwhelmed or discouraged, and show them what’s possible with the right mindset and support. My child is my greatest motivation. They have taught me more about strength and love than any textbook ever could. Every step I take in my educational journey is a step forward for our future. I want them to grow up knowing that they were never a barrier to my dreams—they were the reason I chased them so fiercely. Higher education is not just about personal achievement for me—it’s about legacy. It’s about showing my child and my community that with resilience, support, and purpose, anything is possible. I’ll be carrying every late night, every challenge, and every moment of growth with me—proof that we are capable of building the lives we dream of.

As a student-athlete, I’ve seen firsthand how mental health can impact performance, motivation, and self-worth. Throughout my time on the University of Indianapolis Varsity Swim and Dive Team, I’ve made it a priority to be someone my teammates can turn to—not just in the pool, but outside of it. I regularly check in with others, listen without judgment, and share my own experiences with failure and pressure, reminding them they’re not alone. I’ve learned that sometimes, the most powerful support isn’t offering a solution—it’s offering presence. In the classroom, I work closely with students as part of my field experience placements. Teaching students like Parker, Sadie, Maddeline, and Gwen, I’ve focused on building trust through positive reinforcement and consistent encouragement. I’ve seen how even small gestures—a compliment, a patient conversation, or simply showing up—can boost a student’s confidence and help them feel emotionally safe. This has deepened my passion for fostering emotionally supportive environments, especially for young people. In my studies as a Business Administration major, I’ve explored the importance of emotional intelligence in leadership. I plan to apply this in a future career that combines business with purpose-driven service—whether that’s in healthcare administration, elder care, or nonprofit work. For example, after preparing for an interview with Comfort Keepers, I realized how much I value careers centered on empathy and community support. I want to lead with compassion, create spaces where mental health is prioritized, and help others feel seen and valued in whatever role I serve. Ultimately, I believe emotional support starts with awareness and connection. Through my experiences as a teammate, mentor, and student, I’ve learned to be someone others can rely on. In my career, I aim to scale that impact by building teams and communities that prioritize mental well-being, just as much as they do performance or profit.

One of the most formative challenges I have ever faced occurred during my freshman year on the University of Indianapolis Varsity Swim and Dive Team. Coming from a successful high school swim career, I was eager to make an impact right away. But college athletics introduced me to a whole new level of intensity and competition. I quickly learned that talent alone wasn’t enough—it was about time management, mental resilience, and the ability to adapt under pressure. At the 2024 GLVC Swimming Championships, I placed eighth out of ten in one of my key events. While it might not seem like a devastating result, it felt like a personal failure. I had trained hard all season, pushed through grueling practices, and believed I was ready to perform better. Watching my teammates achieve personal bests while I stood at the bottom of the results sheet was humbling. The pressure I put on myself made the disappointment even heavier. I started questioning whether I belonged at the collegiate level or if I had peaked in high school. What made this experience particularly difficult was that I didn’t just feel like I had let myself down—I felt like I had let down my coaches, teammates, and family. I had worked so hard not only to represent my school but also to make my education less of a burden on my family, who had supported me every step of the way. I remember lying in bed that night, unable to sleep, replaying the race over and over in my head, wondering what I could’ve done differently. But the real turning point came in the weeks that followed. Instead of avoiding the pool or retreating from the team, I committed to learning from the experience. I met with my coach and asked for honest feedback. I also started meeting with a physical therapist and a nutritionist—Brian and Brain, respectively—who helped me realize that there were physical and dietary improvements I could make. I adjusted my training routine, focused more on recovery, and took a much closer look at how I was fueling my body. I even began complimenting myself in the mirror every night, as silly as it sounds, to work on my mental game and self-image. That eighth-place finish taught me more than any win ever could. I learned how to respond with maturity and determination when things don’t go my way. I also learned that failure is not a destination—it’s part of the journey. Through that disappointment, I became more coachable, more self-aware, and more committed to my growth as both an athlete and a student. A year later, at the 2025 GLVC Conference Championships, I earned two top-five finishes. The results were great, but what mattered more was how I got there. I now understand that resilience isn’t about always winning—it’s about learning how to rise again when you fall. That lesson has carried over into every aspect of my life, from academics, where I maintain a 4.0 GPA, to leadership roles and community involvement. This experience has reinforced my belief that obstacles are not the end of the road. They are checkpoints that test our character, shape our mindset, and prepare us for what’s next. Because of that eighth-place finish, I now view challenges as opportunities—and that mindset has made all the difference.

Growing up, mental health wasn’t something that was openly discussed in my household. It wasn’t that anyone avoided it—it just wasn’t something that was prioritized. I’m sure I’m not the only one who can relate to feeling like there’s a stigma surrounding mental health, especially in environments where strength and resilience are emphasized over vulnerability and self-care. I remember one evening, sitting on the edge of my bed, feeling overwhelmed by all the pressures piling up—homework, training schedules, expectations from others, and expectations I had set for myself. I kept thinking, What if I’m not good enough? I began to lose sleep, and my energy levels plummeted. I became distant, irritable, and frustrated with myself. But I didn’t talk about it. I thought I could power through it. After all, I had always been a “doer”—someone who just gets things done, no matter the cost. Eventually, it became too much to bear. I started to realize that my mental health wasn’t something I could just push aside. I was burning out. So, I opened up to a close friend about what I was feeling. For the first time, I heard the words, “You’re not alone in this. I’ve been there too.” Hearing that someone else understood helped me realize I didn’t have to face my struggles in isolation. One of the biggest lessons I learned during this time is that mental health isn’t just about fixing yourself; it’s about acknowledging where you are and giving yourself permission to feel. That doesn’t mean it’s easy. It doesn’t mean it’s a straight path. But it does mean you’re taking responsibility for your well-being. I started seeing a therapist, something I used to view as a last resort, and that’s when I began to fully understand the importance of taking care of my mind, just like I would take care of my body. As I became more open about my own struggles with anxiety, I also became more aware of how many people around me were facing similar challenges—whether it was dealing with stress, pressure, or loneliness. It opened my eyes to the need for mental health conversations in everyday life. I started advocating for more open discussions with friends, teammates, and family. As someone who’s a part of the Varsity Swim and Dive Team, I’ve made it a point to remind my teammates that it’s okay to not be okay sometimes, and it’s okay to ask for help. We don’t always realize how much stress and mental strain we carry until it affects our performance, relationships, or even physical health. Looking ahead, I know that my mental health will continue to be a priority. I’ve learned that mental well-being isn’t a “one and done” thing. It’s an ongoing process that requires commitment, self-compassion, and the willingness to lean on others when necessary. It’s also a reminder that, just like physical injuries, mental health requires care and attention to heal. The most important takeaway I’ve gained from my experiences is this: being mentally healthy is not a sign of weakness. It’s a strength. A strength that’s built not by pushing through but by acknowledging your limits and taking care of yourself.

If you had asked me before college what would nearly destroy me my freshman year, I probably would’ve said something dramatic like “finals” or “homesickness.” I wouldn’t have guessed it would be a blender. It all started after I met with my nutritionist. He suggested I start having smoothies multiple times a day—protein, fruit, greens, all that good stuff. Seemed simple enough. I thought, “How hard can it be?” (You can probably tell where this is going.) So, the next morning, bright and early, I rolled into the dorm kitchen with a grocery bag full of bananas, frozen berries, spinach, and a kind of optimism that only exists in people who’ve never actually used a blender. I was on a mission. I was going to be a Smoothie Guy. I loaded up the blender—carefully, I thought—screwed the lid on tight (or, at least, I thought I did), and hit the “smoothie” button like I knew what I was doing. Big mistake. In about half a second, the blender made a noise I can only describe as a jet engine being fed gravel. The lid shot off like a rocket. A mix of banana, spinach, and protein powder sprayed out in every direction like it was trying to escape. It hit the walls, the counter, my socks, the microwave. There was even some on the ceiling. I’m not kidding—I found a glob of spinach on the ceiling fan a week later. I froze. Covered in green goop. Just me, the blender, and what looked like a crime scene from a vegetable-based thriller. I considered pretending it hadn’t happened, just walking out of the kitchen like I hadn’t been personally victimized by a household appliance. But then I started laughing. Not like a polite chuckle—real, head-thrown-back, this-is-ridiculous kind of laughter. I took a picture of the mess, posted it with the caption “Blender: 1, Me: 0,” and started cleaning. The best part? A few people from my floor wandered in to check on the noise and ended up helping me clean up. We laughed the entire time. And weirdly, that ridiculous smoothie explosion ended up being the thing that helped me meet new friends. The next day, I tried again. This time, I made sure the lid was actually on tight, and I used the “pulse” button instead of “obliterate” (yes, that was somehow an actual setting). The smoothie came out great, and I didn’t even need a mop afterward. Progress. Looking back, that moment feels like such a perfect metaphor for college. You try something new, mess it up completely, embarrass yourself a little (or a lot), and then figure it out. Eventually. With a little laughter, and probably some paper towels. That blender catastrophe was the first of many little disasters that taught me how to laugh at myself, lean on others, and just keep trying. I’m still not perfect in the kitchen, but I can make a mean smoothie now—and I always double-check the lid. Lesson learned: when life gets messy, laugh, clean it up, and try again.

Carrying Forward the Spirit of Determination: My Italian American Heritage and Purpose Although I was not raised speaking Italian at home or cooking family recipes passed down through generations, my Italian American heritage has always been an important part of who I am. It has shaped how I view hard work, how I respond to challenges, and how I treat the people around me. In many ways, it lives through the values I carry—values that mirror those of Marcello Rosino: determination, resilience, and dedication. Growing up, I learned about my heritage not just through traditions, but through stories. I heard about my ancestors’ journey to the United States in search of opportunity—people who didn’t have much, but who worked tirelessly to build better lives for themselves and their families. They faced language barriers, discrimination, and economic hardship, but they never gave up. They worked with their hands, built businesses from nothing, and held their heads high even when the world around them told them they didn’t belong. These stories have stayed with me, guiding me through my own journey. In everything I do, I try to channel the same determination. As a student-athlete, I’ve learned that success doesn’t come from talent alone—it comes from showing up when it’s hard, staying late when no one’s watching, and believing in your goals even when progress feels slow. Balancing a full academic schedule with the demands of Division II swimming has tested me physically and mentally, but I never let setbacks define me. That resilience—the kind that pushes you to keep moving forward even when you’re tired or unsure—is something I associate deeply with my heritage. Dedication is another value I live by. I’m currently pursuing a degree in Business Administration with a 4.0 GPA, and I plan to use my education to make a meaningful difference in my community. Whether I’m studying for a midterm, helping a teammate through a tough week, or leading a service project, I approach each task with the mindset that effort matters. That mindset—commitment to purpose, pride in your work, and loyalty to those around you—is something I believe Marcello Rosino would have recognized and admired. Looking ahead, I plan to use my education to build a career that blends business knowledge with service to others. I want to work in a field that allows me to help people—whether that’s through leading ethical businesses that prioritize people over profit, supporting local nonprofits, or eventually mentoring young professionals the way I’ve been mentored. I also want to explore social entrepreneurship and find innovative ways to solve community challenges—particularly in the areas of elder care and education, two causes that matter deeply to me. My ultimate goal is not just to succeed, but to uplift others as I go. That, to me, is the most meaningful way to honor my Italian American roots—by taking the sacrifices and strength of those who came before me and turning them into something good for the future. I carry their spirit with me not just in name, but in every effort I make to be a person of character, perseverance, and compassion. I believe that determination, resilience, and dedication aren’t just words—they’re legacies. And I’m proud to continue that legacy, both as an Italian American and as a student who believes in using education to create lasting change.

The Quiet Thief: Learning from the Impact of Alzheimer’s Disease Although I have not personally watched a loved one experience Alzheimer’s disease, the weight of its impact is something I feel deeply. Through stories, conversations, volunteer work, and community awareness, I’ve come to understand Alzheimer’s not just as a disease, but as a profound disruption to identity, relationships, and everyday life. It’s a quiet thief—one that slowly steals pieces of a person while those around them try to hold on. And while my own family has been spared from its direct reach so far, the lessons I’ve learned from observing others’ experiences have left a lasting mark on how I view compassion, resilience, and the human spirit. Understanding Alzheimer’s Beyond the Diagnosis Alzheimer’s disease is the most common form of dementia, affecting millions of people worldwide. It is progressive, degenerative, and—most devastatingly—irreversible. It gradually erodes memory, language, reasoning, and even the ability to perform basic tasks. But what makes Alzheimer’s so heartbreaking is not just the loss of mental function; it’s the slow fading of the person behind the symptoms. Unlike a visible injury, the damage happens quietly in the brain, yet its effects ripple out across entire families and communities. As I’ve learned more about the disease, I’ve realized that the emotional burden of Alzheimer’s often falls just as heavily on caregivers as it does on the diagnosed. I’ve spoken with neighbors and mentors who’ve shared their stories of watching a parent no longer recognize their own children, or witnessing a partner of forty years slowly disappear behind a blank stare. Those stories have stayed with me. They paint a picture of a disease that doesn’t just take—it isolates, confuses, and leaves loved ones grieving someone who is still physically present. The Caregiver’s Journey Caregivers are the silent heroes of Alzheimer’s care. Their work is constant and emotionally exhausting, often without breaks or proper resources. One woman I met through a volunteer outreach program spent nearly a decade caring for her mother, who had late-stage Alzheimer’s. She described it as “saying goodbye in slow motion.” Every day, she had to reintroduce herself, calmly redirect her mother when she became agitated, and find new ways to communicate when words began to fail. What struck me most was not just her strength, but her quiet grace. She never framed her experience as a burden, but as a responsibility born out of love. She taught me that caregiving isn’t just about keeping someone safe or fed—it’s about preserving their dignity, even when they no longer recognize it. She found meaning in the small victories: a flicker of recognition, a smile, a moment of calm. These are the glimpses that Alzheimer’s sometimes allows, and caregivers hold onto them like treasures. The emotional and physical toll of caregiving is immense. Many sacrifice their own well-being, jobs, and social lives to provide care. There are also financial consequences—especially in households where paid help is not an option. Witnessing this has made me more aware of how important it is for communities to support caregivers, whether through respite programs, educational resources, or simply offering to help. It has also reminded me that empathy isn't just about feeling for someone—it's about showing up for them. The Role of the Community Alzheimer’s doesn’t just affect individuals—it reshapes communities. In my own neighborhood, I’ve seen how dementia-friendly initiatives can make a difference. Local libraries have hosted memory cafés—casual gatherings where people living with dementia and their caregivers can connect, talk, and enjoy activities in a safe, supportive environment. Some grocery stores offer special hours with extra staff to assist those who may need more time or patience while shopping. These small gestures go a long way in reducing the stigma that often surrounds memory loss. Through volunteering with senior outreach efforts, I’ve seen firsthand how social connection can uplift those with dementia. One of the most meaningful moments for me was playing music at a memory care center. The residents may not have known my name, or even what day it was, but when certain songs started playing, their eyes lit up. Some sang along; others simply smiled. Music has a way of unlocking memories that words cannot, and it reminded me that even when memory fades, emotion remains. These experiences have opened my eyes to how vital inclusion is. Too often, people with dementia are isolated—kept out of public spaces, written off in conversations, or treated as invisible. But they are still people with thoughts, feelings, and a deep need for connection. Our communities need to be designed with them in mind—not just for their sake, but to reflect the kind of compassion and inclusivity we want for ourselves and those we love. Lessons Learned The biggest lesson Alzheimer’s has taught me—indirectly, but powerfully—is how to slow down and see the person behind the struggle. In a fast-paced world, it’s easy to value productivity and sharpness over presence and patience. But Alzheimer’s reminds us that people are more than what they can remember or do. Dignity doesn’t disappear with memory; it just asks to be seen in new ways. I’ve learned that love sometimes looks like repeating the same story ten times without frustration. It looks like listening to the same question, over and over, and answering with warmth. It looks like showing up for someone who may not remember your name, but feels comforted by your presence. Alzheimer’s also taught me that grief can be ongoing, not just something that happens after someone passes. This “ambiguous loss” is something many caregivers live with daily—the person they love is still alive, but not entirely present. Understanding this kind of grief has helped me become more sensitive to what others may be going through, even if they don’t talk about it. And finally, I’ve learned that we all have a role to play in supporting those affected by dementia, even if we aren’t caregivers ourselves. We can educate ourselves. We can advocate for funding and better healthcare policies. We can volunteer, listen, offer patience, and speak up against stigma. Change happens not through grand gestures, but through small acts of kindness repeated again and again. Moving Forward Though I have not been personally touched by Alzheimer’s in my own family, I carry the stories and lessons of those who have. They have shaped my values and inspired me to pursue a path that centers empathy, awareness, and advocacy. Whether I’m interacting with elders in the community, supporting a friend who is caregiving, or raising awareness about dementia-related issues, I try to show up with the understanding I’ve gained. Alzheimer’s is a complex, devastating disease—but it has also revealed to me the incredible strength of the human heart. The people who face it head-on—whether as patients, caregivers, or allies—are some of the most courageous I’ve ever known. They’ve taught me how to be present, how to listen with intention, and how to love without condition. Those lessons will stay with me for life, even as memories fade.

Picking a favorite song from BRAT by Charli XCX honestly feels impossible because the whole album is such a bold, chaotic, and beautifully honest ride—but if I had to choose one, it would be “So I”. There’s something about “So I” that hits harder than the rest. It’s different from the usual hyper-pop, club-ready sound that Charli is known for. It’s stripped back, vulnerable, and emotionally raw in a way that completely caught me off guard. While the album as a whole is full of heavy beats, cocky lyrics, and electronic energy, “So I” is the moment where Charli pauses the party and just feels. And I love her for that. The song is reportedly a tribute to her late friend and collaborator, SOPHIE, who had such a huge impact on her music and on the hyperpop genre as a whole. Knowing that makes every lyric hit even harder. The way she sings “So I think about you all the time” in that soft, almost fragile tone—it’s heartbreaking. But also beautiful. It’s a reminder that grief doesn’t always look dramatic. Sometimes it just lingers in the background, showing up quietly in everyday moments. And Charli captures that perfectly here. What makes the song so special to me is how human it is. In an album full of glitter and noise and ironic bravado, this track is completely sincere. No filters, no auto-tuned posturing—just her voice, her memories, and the ache of missing someone. It’s like reading a private letter she wrote and never meant to send. It doesn’t beg for attention; it just exists as a moment of stillness in a world that’s constantly moving too fast. It also makes me reflect on my own relationships and losses. Everyone has someone they’ve lost—whether to death, time, or distance. And sometimes the hardest part isn’t the goodbye—it’s the fact that life just keeps going, and you’re expected to go with it. “So I” captures that in such a delicate way. It doesn’t scream about pain; it just sits with it. Musically, it’s simple but haunting. The production is minimal, which lets her voice and lyrics breathe. It’s not trying to impress you—it’s trying to reach you. And it does. That contrast—between the chaos of the rest of the album and the quiet of this track—makes it even more powerful. Charli has always been a master of pushing the limits of pop, but “So I” shows that she doesn’t need all the bells and whistles to make something unforgettable. Sometimes, the most impactful thing an artist can do is let down their guard—and she does that here in a way that feels incredibly brave. I think that’s why it’s my favorite. It reminds me that even the most electric, futuristic, larger-than-life artists are still real people with real emotions. That behind the confidence and fame and Instagram-perfect moments, there’s love, loss, and everything in between. And when someone like Charli, who usually gives us glittery chaos, decides to be that open—it sticks with you. “So I” isn’t just a favorite song on BRAT—it’s a favorite song period. Because it reminds me that music can be both a celebration and a sanctuary. It can make you dance, but it can also make you cry. And sometimes, it can do both at once.

Being a fan of Sabrina Carpenter isn’t just about liking her music—it’s about watching someone grow up, make mistakes, learn, and still come out stronger and more confident. I’ve followed her journey for years, and what keeps me coming back is how real and relatable she is. There’s something about the way she tells her story that makes you feel like she’s telling yours, too. At first, I knew her as an actress—like a lot of people did—but it wasn’t until I really listened to her music that I felt a connection. Her songs aren’t just catchy pop tunes (even though they are incredibly catchy); they’re full of heart and honesty. She’s not afraid to talk about the messy stuff: heartbreak, insecurity, regret, confusion. And she does it in a way that’s both clever and emotional, sometimes even funny. “Because I Liked a Boy” and “Feather” are perfect examples—she turns what could’ve been painful moments into empowering ones. What I really respect about Sabrina is how she’s handled everything that’s been thrown her way. People have tried to define her, judge her, reduce her to a headline—but she’s always responded with grace and authenticity. She doesn’t try to prove herself through drama; she does it through her music. And in a world where so many artists are told to play it safe, she’s choosing to be honest and a little risky, and that’s something I admire. Her last album, emails i can’t send, hit me hard. It’s one of those records that just gets it. It feels like a diary—messy, emotional, raw—but also so smart and beautifully written. Listening to it made me feel seen. It helped me through times when I didn’t know how to explain what I was feeling. That’s what makes her music special—it’s like she’s putting emotions into words for people who don’t always know how to say them. On top of that, Sabrina is just... cool. She’s stylish, funny, quick-witted, and she clearly cares about her craft. Everything she does, whether it’s a performance, a red carpet look, or a music video, feels intentional and unique to her. She’s not trying to copy anyone. She’s not trying to be perfect. She’s just trying to be her—and that’s incredibly refreshing. Supporting her feels easy, because you can tell she’s in it for the right reasons. She genuinely loves what she does. She’s growing as an artist and as a person, and she’s letting us grow alongside her. I’ve seen so many fans say that her music helped them through something—and I get it. It helped me too. Sabrina Carpenter isn’t just someone I listen to on repeat—she’s someone who inspires me to speak my mind, own my story, and not be afraid of the parts of life that aren’t perfect. And I think that’s the kind of artist we need more of. That’s why I’m a fan. Not just because she’s talented, but because she’s real—and she makes me feel like it’s okay to be real too.

Chappell Roan’s music has impacted me in ways that are both deeply personal and powerfully communal. Her artistry doesn’t just entertain—it liberates. She gives voice to feelings I’ve struggled to articulate, and through her vulnerability, she invites her listeners to embrace every part of themselves, unapologetically. In a world that often asks us to tone ourselves down, she’s a beacon of boldness and self-acceptance. From the very first listen, Chappell’s sound struck me as different—not because it was flashy or loud, but because it was honest. Her voice, raw and commanding, carries a mix of yearning and defiance. Songs like “Pink Pony Club” and “Naked in Manhattan” are more than catchy anthems; they’re declarations of freedom. They celebrate queerness, individuality, and the joy of existing as your truest self. As someone learning to navigate who I am in a world that often tries to define me before I can define myself, her music feels like a safety net and a spark at the same time. What sets Chappell Roan apart is how she merges theatricality with authenticity. Her music videos and performances are flamboyant, expressive, and fun—but never at the expense of substance. Beneath the glitter and glam are stories of heartache, self-doubt, resilience, and love. That balance reminds me that I can be complex, layered, and whole. I don’t have to choose between being bold and being vulnerable; I can be both, just like she is. Supporting Chappell Roan’s career is a no-brainer for me because she represents a shift in the music industry toward something more inclusive and real. She doesn’t just chase trends—she creates space. She’s proof that you don’t have to fit into the box the industry builds for you. Her rise is slow-burning and grassroots, built on community and connection rather than algorithms and gimmicks. Watching her career grow feels like watching a friend win—it’s personal. There’s also something incredibly important about the fact that she openly advocates for LGBTQ+ visibility and mental health awareness. Her performances feel like a celebration of everything society once told people to hide. For queer fans, especially those from small towns or conservative backgrounds, her music becomes a lifeline. She reminds us that we are not alone, that there is beauty in difference, and that there is power in being seen. Supporting her is more than fandom—it’s solidarity. I’ve shared her music with friends, danced to her songs in my room when no one was watching, and cried to her lyrics when they felt too close to home. Her work connects us to ourselves and to each other. It gives us language for our longing and rhythm for our joy. There’s healing in that. Ultimately, I support Chappell Roan because she’s not just making music—she’s making moments. She’s helping shape a culture that values authenticity over perfection, art over image, and connection over clout. She’s carving out a space where it’s okay to be loud, emotional, queer, confused, confident, or all of the above. In a time when the world feels increasingly divided and performative, her honesty cuts through the noise. She’s creating a world I want to live in—one song at a time.

The perfect ending to a series brings not just resolution, but growth. It ties up loose ends, honors the characters’ journeys, and leaves space for imagination. For me, the ideal ending would be hopeful, nostalgic, and full of heart. The series would end with the core group reunited, not by accident, but by intention. After years of growing up and growing apart, they each return—whether for a wedding, a farewell, or simply to reconnect. They've faced heartbreak, career changes, distance, and misunderstandings, but they've also evolved, found purpose, and learned what truly matters. The finale would weave flashbacks into present-day moments, reminding us where they began and how far they’ve come. The main protagonist—the one we’ve seen struggle the most—would finally find balance. After chasing ambition and making sacrifices, they’d settle into a life that reflects both their dreams and their values. Maybe they write a book, start a nonprofit, or become a mentor to others. Their story arc closes not with a dramatic twist but with quiet confidence and peace. They're no longer running—they're rooted. The loyal best friend, the comic relief with surprising depth, would find happiness too. Perhaps they’ve spent the series unsure of what they want, bouncing between jobs or relationships. But in the end, they open a small business doing something they love—maybe a quirky bookstore or a music cafe. They find love, not in someone perfect, but in someone who truly sees them. The high-achiever of the group, who spent seasons being the "responsible one," finally learns to let go. They take a risk—move abroad, change careers, adopt a child. Their journey isn’t about success anymore; it’s about fulfillment. They're softer now, more open. We see them smile more in the finale than we did in the first two seasons combined. The romantic pair who were once on-again, off-again? They make a decision—not necessarily to be together, but to be at peace. If they end up together, it's because they’ve earned it, healed, and grown. If not, they part as friends, knowing their chapter mattered. Their storyline isn't about ending up together—it’s about love teaching them how to be better. One character—a wild card or rebel type—would surprise everyone. Maybe they become a teacher, a coach, or a parent. They find meaning in giving back. Watching them go from reckless to reliable would feel deeply satisfying. Their journey reminds us that change is always possible. In the final moments, there’s a scene—maybe on a rooftop, at a dinner table, or under a tree—where the group sits together, laughing about something small. There’s warmth in their eyes. Maybe one of them gives a toast or reads something aloud. A montage plays: weddings, births, quiet mornings, big achievements, and the little things too—coffee cups, road trips, handwritten notes. The music swells. We see photos on a wall, some fading, some new. Then, the screen fades out—not with finality, but with continuity. The last line? Something simple. A callback to the pilot. Maybe it’s a joke. Maybe it’s, “We made it.” Whatever it is, it leaves us smiling through tears. In the perfect ending, not every dream comes true, but every journey feels worth it. There’s closure, but more importantly, there’s hope—for the characters and for the audience watching them say goodbye.

Swimming Toward Purpose: How a College Degree and Scholarship Will Help Me Make a Difference From the moment I first dove into the water, I’ve always been moving forward—stroke by stroke, inch by inch. The pool has been my training ground, my classroom, and in many ways, a symbol of how I’ve navigated life. With every race, I’ve learned more about discipline, focus, and resilience. But my dreams go beyond the walls of a natatorium. Earning my college degree in Business Administration is about building something bigger—a career where I can combine my heart for service with the skills I’ve developed through athletics, leadership, and perseverance. Once I graduate with my degree from the University of Indianapolis, my ultimate goal is to create a business or nonprofit organization that helps student-athletes and young people access mentorship, financial literacy, and leadership development resources. I’ve seen firsthand how powerful it can be to have someone believe in you, guide you, and invest in your potential. I want to be that person for someone else. Why Business? Why Now? Business is often seen as a field dominated by profits and competition, but I’ve always seen it as a tool for people. What excites me most is the opportunity to lead with purpose—bringing compassion, creativity, and ethical leadership into a space that desperately needs it. I’ve always admired my dad, a cyclist who built his own club from the ground up. Watching him grow something from a place of passion and integrity planted a seed in me early on. My business education is teaching me the technical skills—marketing, finance, management—but my real strength lies in how I relate to others. I’m a people-first kind of leader. My time on the Varsity Swim and Dive Team has shown me the value of teamwork, commitment, and accountability. Being named an Academic All-GLVC honoree and inducted into Chi Alpha Sigma has proven that I can balance the rigors of sport and academics. I’ve also taken on leadership roles through Kappa Delta Pi and the AE Board, where I’ve developed confidence in speaking up, leading meetings, and advocating for my peers. A Story of Perseverance and Purpose My story hasn’t always been easy. Losing my grandma—who helped raise me and believed in me with her whole heart—left a gap in my life I didn’t know how to fill. She was my biggest supporter, the one who’d play catch with me in the backyard, talk me through life, and remind me that my kindness was my greatest strength. Her passing taught me that life is unpredictable, but also deeply meaningful if you live it with purpose. I’ve also faced my own battles with anxiety, especially as I’ve tried to balance the pressure of athletics, academics, and family responsibilities. But through it all, I’ve had two constant anchors: swimming and God. My faith has grounded me, reminding me that I’m never alone and that my story has value even on the days I don’t feel strong. Swimming has given me a place to push through my limits, to feel powerful and focused, and to build a community of teammates who support me like family. I’ve learned to transform pain into motivation, to use loss and uncertainty as fuel for growth. That mindset has shaped everything I do—from my dedication in the classroom to the care I bring into every tutoring session, every practice, every leadership meeting. How This Scholarship Would Help Receiving this scholarship would be more than a financial boost—it would be a belief in my potential. As a first-generation college student, I carry the responsibility of making my education count—not just for myself, but for my family. I want to make my parents proud. I want to reduce the burden they carry. They’ve given me so much, and now it’s my turn to give back. This scholarship would allow me to focus more on my academics, swim training, and service work, instead of stressing over how to cover tuition or whether I’ll need to pick up another job. It would mean more time spent mentoring younger students, teaching lessons, building community, and less time worrying about whether I can afford the next semester. But beyond the financial help, this scholarship represents recognition. It’s the affirmation that my non-traditional journey—one shaped by grief, growth, and grit—is still worthy. That my goals are possible. That someone sees the future I’m fighting for. Looking Ahead: What I Want to Build In five years, I see myself creating an organization that supports student-athletes holistically. I want to offer services that help them transition from high school to college, and eventually from college to career. I want to include workshops on time management, mental health, faith, and financial planning. I want to build a team of coaches, mentors, and alumni who give back because they remember how hard the journey was. In ten years, I want to expand that vision—maybe even open a training center or launch a digital platform that connects students across the country. I want to speak at schools, write a book, or lead retreats for young men trying to find their purpose. I believe my life’s mission is to help others believe in themselves, even when the world tells them they don’t measure up. I also want to give back through teaching. I’ve loved my time teaching students like Olivia, Maddeline, and Parker, and working alongside mentors like Mrs. Webster and Mrs. Nistor. Education has changed my life, and I want to be part of that change for others. Whether it’s in the classroom, on the pool deck, or at a leadership conference, I want to show young people what’s possible when you choose courage, compassion, and consistency. Conclusion: A Life Built on Faith, Family, and Forward Motion Graduating with a degree isn’t the finish line—it’s the launchpad. Everything I’ve done so far has been leading to something bigger. I want my life to be a reflection of the values my grandma instilled in me: kindness, perseverance, humility, and strength. I want to live in a way that honors my family’s sacrifices, my teammates’ support, and my faith in something greater than myself. This scholarship wouldn’t just help me earn a diploma—it would help me continue building a life rooted in purpose. It would give me the resources and recognition to keep moving forward, not just for me, but for the students I’ll serve, the athletes I’ll mentor, and the lives I’ll help shape. I may not have the most traditional story, but I have a heart full of drive, a head full of vision, and a life full of moments that have prepared me for exactly this path. Thank you for considering me—not just for what I’ve done, but for who I hope to become.

I’ve never really fit into a perfect box. I’m a first-generation college student, a swimmer, a big brother, a believer, and a business student who’s more interested in people than profits. My path hasn’t always been straight, but every twist and turn has taught me something important about who I am and where I’m going. I grew up in a family that has faced its fair share of challenges. My dad is a cyclist with his own club, and he’s one of the hardest workers I know. He’s also been one of my biggest inspirations. I’ve watched him build something from the ground up, not because it was easy, but because he cared deeply about the people he served. That mindset stuck with me. My mom has also been my rock—kind, selfless, and strong in ways that are often quiet but incredibly powerful. When I was younger, I spent a lot of time with my grandma. She had this way of making me feel like I could do anything. We’d play catch in the backyard, just the two of us and a baseball glove. Those moments shaped me more than I realized at the time. They taught me the value of being present, the comfort of consistency, and the power of encouragement. When she passed, I promised myself I’d carry her legacy of kindness and resilience wherever I went. Swimming has always been a part of my story too. I’m on the Varsity Swim and Dive Team at the University of Indianapolis, and I’ve competed at the GLVC Championships—placing in the top 5 and making the CSCAA Scholar All-America list. But the pool is more than competition for me. It’s a space where I feel grounded. It’s where I push myself physically and mentally, and where I’ve learned the value of discipline and showing up, even on hard days. Academically, I’ve worked hard to earn a 4.0 GPA while balancing athletics, student organizations, and volunteer teaching. I’m studying Business Administration because I want to lead and serve in ways that matter. I’ve been involved with Kappa Delta Pi, Chi Alpha Sigma, and I sit on the AE Board—all experiences that have taught me how to collaborate, listen, and lead with integrity. One of my goals is to make education and mentorship more accessible, especially for young people who feel overlooked or unsure of their place. I’ve worked with students like Olivia, Parker, Sadie, Maddeline, Gwen, and others, and each one has reminded me why I’m pursuing this path. I want to build people up, the same way others have done for me. I want to use my degree not just to enter the business world but to change it—to bring compassion, clarity, and purpose into spaces that often forget those values. Faith has played a major role in shaping me too. My relationship with God has helped me stay grounded during times of anxiety, grief, and uncertainty. It’s given me peace when nothing else could. And it’s pushed me to see the bigger picture—to look beyond success and focus on significance. I don’t have it all figured out, but I do know this: I want to live a life that reflects the values I’ve been taught—kindness, perseverance, and the courage to keep showing up. Whether it’s in the classroom, the boardroom, or at the edge of a pool, I want to bring light, lift others, and lead with heart. This is my story so far—and I’m just getting started.

As a Business Administration major and student-athlete at the University of Indianapolis, I’ve learned that effective learning doesn’t only happen in classrooms or during lectures—it also happens through self-directed study, practice, and engagement with real-world tools. To deepen my understanding of the subjects I’m studying, I’ve turned to a variety of online platforms and resources that have helped me bridge the gap between academic concepts and practical application. One of the most valuable platforms I use is LinkedIn Learning. With access to professional video courses on topics like leadership, marketing, finance, and time management, I’ve been able to reinforce classroom lessons with visual examples and in-depth tutorials. These resources are often taught by industry professionals, which gives me insight into how business concepts apply in the real world. I used LinkedIn Learning to dive deeper into digital marketing strategies and Excel skills—both of which I now use in class presentations and group projects. Another powerful tool in my academic toolkit is YouTube, especially when it comes to reviewing difficult topics. For example, when I was struggling to fully grasp financial modeling concepts, I found several creators who broke things down step-by-step, using real-life case studies. Watching these tutorials at my own pace helped me feel more confident in class discussions and assignments. For organizing my studies and keeping track of my goals, I rely heavily on Notion. This all-in-one workspace allows me to manage my class schedules, to-do lists, assignment deadlines, and even meal planning to support my training as an athlete. By using Notion to stay organized, I’ve been able to balance a 4.0 GPA with the demanding schedule of a student-athlete, including early morning practices and weekend competitions. In addition, Google Scholar and my university’s online library databases have been critical when writing research papers and learning how to find credible sources. These tools have helped me go beyond textbooks and explore up-to-date information on business trends, ethical leadership, and entrepreneurship—topics that align closely with my career aspirations. Social platforms like Reddit and Discord have also provided surprising value. I’m part of a few business and student-athlete communities where we discuss everything from time management strategies to internship opportunities. These spaces create a collaborative, informal learning environment where I can exchange ideas and ask questions that might not come up in class. Collectively, these tools and platforms have made me a more proactive learner. They’ve taught me how to take ownership of my education, seek out answers, and apply knowledge in ways that matter—not just for tests, but for real life. Whether it’s analyzing market trends, managing a project team, or leading a practice session in the pool, I’ve become more confident in my ability to transfer what I’ve learned into action. As I move toward a career in business and sports leadership, I know that the habits I’ve built through these platforms—curiosity, organization, and a hunger to improve—will continue to guide my personal and professional growth.

My desired career path blends my passions for leadership, service, and athletics into one ultimate goal: to become a leader in the sports business industry and eventually run my own swim club. Growing up as a competitive swimmer and later continuing my career at the collegiate level with the University of Indianapolis Varsity Swim and Dive Team, I’ve seen firsthand the powerful role that sports can play in shaping character, discipline, and resilience. I want to create environments where athletes—especially young ones—feel supported, challenged, and inspired not only to excel in their sport, but to grow as people. The first step in this journey is my pursuit of a Business Administration degree. I chose this field of study because it offers a strong foundation in organizational leadership, finance, management, and marketing—all crucial skills for running any organization, especially one that serves youth and athletes. I’ve worked hard to maintain a 4.0 GPA, balancing my academic responsibilities with the demands of collegiate athletics. My experience as an Academic All-GLVC honoree and CSCAA Scholar All-American has taught me the importance of time management, discipline, and persistence—qualities that will serve me well in my career. My leadership experience isn’t limited to the pool. I serve on the AE Board at the University of Indianapolis and am a member of Chi Alpha Sigma, the national honor society for student-athletes. These roles have allowed me to engage in decision-making processes, represent the voices of my peers, and contribute to projects that directly impact our campus community. These experiences have shown me how much I value collaboration and advocacy—skills that I believe are essential in any leadership position. This summer, I plan to train with the University of Cincinnati and compete at Speedo Sectionals, continuing to refine my athletic abilities while also networking with coaches and mentors in the swimming world. Training with high-performing teams has given me insight into how strong leadership and team culture can make or break an organization. I’ve also taken steps to understand the importance of holistic development by meeting with a nutritionist and physical therapist to better understand the body’s needs for peak performance—knowledge I hope to pass on to others in the future. I’ve always believed that sports can be a vehicle for personal transformation. In the long term, I envision opening a swim club that doesn’t just focus on athletic success, but also mentorship, mental wellness, and educational support. I want to create a space where kids from all backgrounds can access high-level training and also learn life skills like goal-setting, communication, and resilience. My dad, a cyclist who started his own club, has been a huge inspiration in this. Watching him build a team from scratch—one centered around community and shared passion—has shown me what’s possible with dedication and a clear vision. What drives me is more than a love of the sport. It’s the desire to give back. I’ve been fortunate to have coaches, teammates, and mentors who believed in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself. I want to be that person for someone else. Whether I’m running a club or contributing to youth development programs through partnerships or nonprofit initiatives, I want my work to matter—to help people become better, stronger, and more confident. Ultimately, my career path is about more than personal success. It’s about building something bigger than myself, and using the skills and experiences I’ve gained to serve others and uplift the next generation of leaders, athletes, and change-makers.

One of the most defining moments of leadership in my academic journey came not in a classroom, but on the pool deck during my freshman year as a student-athlete at the University of Indianapolis. As the youngest member of our Varsity Swim and Dive Team, I didn’t expect to take on a leadership role right away. But when a teammate struggled with both performance and motivation mid-season, I found myself stepping up in a way I hadn’t before. This teammate had potential—he was strong in the water and smart in training—but he was clearly burnt out. After a string of tough practices and disappointing race results, he started skipping workouts, isolating himself, and losing confidence. Coaches noticed. So did the rest of the team. Instead of watching from the sidelines, I made the decision to take initiative. I reached out to him personally, listened without judgment, and started training alongside him in workouts, even when it wasn’t required. I became a quiet but consistent source of accountability, support, and encouragement. At the same time, I communicated with our coaching staff—not to report him, but to help find ways to bring him back into the team in a positive and supportive way. Eventually, with time and trust, his attitude shifted. He returned to full training, raced well at conference, and thanked me privately for not giving up on him when it would’ve been easy to. That moment taught me that leadership isn’t always loud—it’s not about giving speeches or calling the shots. Sometimes, it’s about showing up consistently, being someone others can trust, and leading by example through integrity and empathy. Those are the qualities I’ve brought with me in every classroom, every group project, and every leadership position I’ve held on campus. The biggest challenge in that experience wasn’t the training or the time—it was building trust and supporting someone without overstepping. I learned how to balance empathy with accountability, and how to lead through action, not just words. That skill has helped me become a better teammate, a better student, and someone others look to for quiet confidence. As I look to my future career in business and coaching, I plan to apply these leadership skills every step of the way. Whether I’m starting a swim club or leading a team in the business world, I want to create a culture where people feel seen, supported, and inspired to be their best. Leadership, to me, is about lifting others up and creating systems where everyone has a chance to succeed. This early experience showed me that I don’t need a title to lead—I just need the heart and courage to step forward when it matters most. And that’s exactly what I plan to continue doing, in and out of the pool.

My passion for public service was born out of watching the people around me—teachers, coaches, and community leaders—go out of their way to lift others up. I’ve always admired the kind of individuals who put others first, who use their time and talents not to gain recognition, but to make a difference. As I’ve grown older and more aware of the challenges facing my community, I’ve felt a strong calling to be one of those people. That’s why I’m pursuing a career in public service: because I want to help solve real problems, create opportunities for others, and make the lives of those around me better. Growing up, I witnessed firsthand how access to resources—or a lack thereof—can shape someone’s path. Whether it was a student struggling in school without support, a family dealing with health issues and no safety net, or someone trying to navigate life after losing a job, I began to see patterns of need that could be addressed with compassion, structure, and smart leadership. That’s where my drive to study business and leadership comes in. I believe that with the right tools and education, I can be a changemaker in my local community. Public service isn’t just about holding a title or working in government—it’s about using your skills to serve others. I want to combine my Business Administration degree with hands-on community work to develop programs that support youth, promote wellness, and improve access to education and mentorship. Whether that means working with local schools to establish academic tutoring and after-school programs, or building a nonprofit that provides sports and leadership development for underserved kids, my goal is to uplift others through intentional, sustainable service. My involvement in student organizations, athletics, and volunteer work has already shown me how powerful teamwork and leadership can be. As a student-athlete, I’ve learned how to manage time, communicate effectively, and persevere through challenges. I’ve also taken part in service initiatives that opened my eyes to the small but impactful ways we can serve—packing meals, mentoring younger students, and showing up for those who need a listening ear. These experiences have confirmed what I already knew deep down: my purpose is to lead by serving. Receiving a scholarship to support my education would give me the opportunity to expand my impact. It would allow me to focus more fully on my studies and service efforts, and worry less about how to afford tuition or books. Most of all, it would be an investment in a future dedicated to giving back. I’m not pursuing a career in public service for personal gain—I’m doing it because I believe in the strength of community, and I want to be someone who helps build a brighter, more equitable future for everyone in it.

Watching someone you love slowly lose the ability to move, speak, and eventually breathe is something I wouldn’t wish on anyone. My dad was diagnosed with ALS when I was still a kid, and ever since, life has looked a lot different than it used to. ALS doesn’t just change the person diagnosed—it changes the entire family. For me, being the child of a parent with ALS meant growing up fast, learning to live with uncertainty, and figuring out how to hold hope in one hand and heartbreak in the other. My dad has always been my hero—he’s strong, selfless, and someone who leads by example. When ALS began to take his strength away physically, it didn’t take away his spirit. He still smiled through the hard days. He still asked about my practices, my tests, my goals—even when he could no longer speak. Seeing that level of resilience made me want to work even harder in every part of my life, especially school. It became important to me that I succeed—not just for myself, but for him. I want to make him proud, to show him that the values he instilled in me—grit, kindness, determination—are alive in how I live my life. At times, though, balancing school, athletics, and caregiving responsibilities has been incredibly difficult. There have been moments when I felt overwhelmed, like I was carrying more than someone my age should. But even in those moments, I never gave up. I found strength in my routines, in the support of my teammates, in the quiet encouragement of teachers who knew what I was going through. And I kept going because I have a vision for the future—a future where I can build something meaningful, not in spite of my experiences, but because of them. Pursuing a college degree isn’t just a dream—it’s a necessity. I want to earn my Business Administration degree so I can open a swim club one day and use what I’ve learned to inspire and lead young athletes. I want to teach others that life’s hardest moments don’t have to define you—they can shape you into someone stronger and more compassionate. That’s the kind of coach, leader, and person I want to be. Financially, things have been tight. With my dad unable to work and the medical costs piling up over the years, our family has had to make a lot of sacrifices. College is a major investment, and I’m doing everything I can to carry my part—maintaining a 4.0 GPA, working when I can, and applying for every scholarship that could help lighten the load. Receiving this scholarship wouldn’t just help me financially—it would be a reminder that I’m not alone, that others believe in my future, too. This journey hasn’t been easy, but it’s made me who I am. And I’m ready to take all of it—the pain, the love, the lessons—and turn it into something powerful.

Anxiety has been a constant companion in my life for as long as I can remember. While many people experience stress and worry, my anxiety has always been more intense and overwhelming. Whether it’s a looming deadline, an important presentation, or the pressure of balancing academics, sports, and personal life, the weight of it can sometimes feel unbearable. However, through my struggles with anxiety, I have learned resilience, the importance of self-care, and the power of growth in the face of adversity. In high school, I often found myself paralyzed by the fear of failure or not being good enough. I would lay awake at night, worrying about everything from my grades to my future, convinced that I wasn’t capable of meeting the expectations I had set for myself. This anxiety sometimes affected my performance in school, even when I knew the material. It wasn’t a lack of intelligence; it was the fear of not being perfect, of not living up to the standards I thought I needed to meet. What helped me manage my anxiety was learning to embrace imperfection. Over time, I realized that setbacks and mistakes are part of the learning process, not a reflection of my worth. I started seeking support from trusted friends, mentors, and even professional resources. I learned strategies to manage my anxiety, such as mindfulness, breathing exercises, and prioritizing my mental health. These strategies have been crucial in helping me stay grounded, even when everything feels out of control. Despite the challenges anxiety has presented, it hasn’t stopped me from pursuing my dreams. In fact, it has fueled my desire to prove to myself that I can push through, even when things are difficult. It has motivated me to find healthier ways of managing stress, so that I can perform at my best—whether in the classroom, on the swim team, or in personal endeavors. I’ve learned to be kinder to myself, to acknowledge that not everything will go according to plan, and that’s okay. Pursuing a college degree has always been important to me, not only as a stepping stone for my future career but as a way to challenge myself and grow. The pursuit of higher education represents the opportunity to expand my knowledge, build resilience, and prepare for a career that will allow me to make a difference. It’s also a personal challenge to prove to myself that I can achieve my goals, despite the obstacles I may face along the way. My experience with anxiety has taught me valuable lessons that I will carry into my college career. I understand the importance of time management, mental well-being, and seeking support when needed. I’ve learned that it’s okay to ask for help, to take breaks when necessary, and to not be afraid of setbacks. Earning a degree will not only open doors for my career but will also allow me to continue to grow as a person. I’m determined to pursue a career where I can use my education to help others, especially those facing their own challenges. Whether I become a teacher, a counselor, or a professional in another field, I want to make a positive impact by showing others that they too can overcome their struggles and reach their potential. In summary, anxiety has shaped me in many ways—sometimes limiting, but always providing opportunities for growth. Pursuing a college degree is important to me because it represents both a personal victory and a path to help others.

When most people think about foster care, they picture courtrooms, case workers, or maybe long rides in the backseat of a stranger’s car. And yeah, I’ve had all of that. But the memory that sticks with me the most isn’t dramatic or loud—it’s a bowl of mac and cheese. I was ten years old, and it was my third placement in under two years. I’d started to learn how to pack quickly. I could fit all my things into one backpack and a plastic bag. I didn’t make eye contact with new foster parents for the first few days, and I never unpacked all the way. I figured if I didn’t get too comfortable, it wouldn’t hurt as much when it was time to go. That particular home was quiet. The foster mom, Tammy, wasn’t overly cheerful or fake-nice. She had this calm way about her, like she didn’t need to fill every silence with words. At first, that made me nervous. Silence was usually a warning sign. But with her, it felt different. One day after school, I came home in a mood. I’d gotten in trouble for mouthing off to a teacher—not because I was trying to be disrespectful, but because I was tired of pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t. I expected to be met with a disappointed look or a lecture, but instead, Tammy just said, “Rough day?” I didn’t answer, and she didn’t push. She just went into the kitchen and started cooking. About 20 minutes later, she handed me a real bowl of homemade mac and cheese—no box, no microwave, just real food made with real care. “Mac and cheese okay?” she asked. I nodded, a little stunned. Most of my meals had been quick, convenient, and silent. But this? This was different. We sat at the kitchen table and ate. No heavy conversation. No forced “so how are you adjusting?” talk. Just two people sharing a meal. We talked about random things—like how neither of us knew how to fold a fitted sheet and how we both hated soggy cereal. And for a moment, I didn’t feel like “the foster kid.” I felt like a person. That bowl of mac and cheese didn’t erase everything I’d been through. It didn’t fix my trust issues or make me magically feel safe overnight. But it was the first time in a long time that I felt seen. Not pitied, not “handled”—seen. It was such a small act—so simple that most people wouldn’t think twice about it. But it reminded me that sometimes the biggest kindnesses are quiet. Tammy didn’t try to “save” me or talk me into opening up. She just gave me space, food, and warmth when I needed it most. That moment has stuck with me. In every home after that, I remembered how powerful small kindness could be. It made me want to be that kind of presence for someone else someday—someone steady, quiet, and kind. Someone who sees others even when they’re trying to disappear. I don’t know where I’d be without people like Tammy—people who made ordinary things feel safe again. And if I ever have the chance to be that person for someone else, even just once, I’ll know I’ve done something that matters. Because sometimes healing starts with something as simple as a bowl of mac and cheese.

Faith has always been more than a part of my life—it’s been the foundation beneath every step I’ve taken. My relationship with God is what grounds me, especially during the moments when things feel uncertain or overwhelming. Whether I’m in the pool before sunrise or at my desk preparing for an exam, I try to carry the peace and purpose that come from my faith into everything I do. It’s what keeps me going when my body is tired, my mind is stretched thin, or doubt starts to creep in. Academically, faith has helped me stay focused and grateful. I’ve been blessed with opportunities to learn, lead, and grow—and I don’t take that lightly. There are plenty of late nights and long practices, but I remind myself that every challenge is part of a bigger plan. Verses like Colossians 3:23—“Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men”—guide how I approach both school and sport. I don’t need to be the best, I just need to be faithful with what I’ve been given. My future goals are centered on service. I plan to become a teacher and use my business degree and educational training to support students—especially those who learn differently or come from under-resourced communities. I believe my purpose is to pour into others in the same way I’ve been poured into, creating spaces where every child feels capable, safe, and inspired. Faith shapes that vision; it reminds me that success is measured not by titles or income, but by the impact we leave behind. Outside of faith, my biggest source of motivation has been my family—especially after the loss of a parent. That kind of heartbreak changes you. It makes you grow up faster, and it teaches you how short and fragile life can be. But it also showed me what resilience looks like. My parent’s legacy pushes me to take full advantage of every opportunity I have, not just for me, but for them—for the life they hoped I’d lead. It made education feel not just important, but sacred. I’ve also been lucky to have coaches, mentors, and teachers who saw potential in me before I saw it in myself. Their encouragement—whether it was a kind word after practice or a challenge to aim higher in class—gave me the confidence to believe I belonged in college and beyond. Together, faith and community have shaped my journey. They’ve kept me grounded, lifted me up, and inspired me to keep striving—not just for personal success, but for something bigger: to make a difference in the lives of others.

Chapter Two of Real Insights by John Graff offers a compelling examination of leadership through the lens of adaptability, reflective practice, and decision-making—three areas that strongly connect to my career aspirations in education. As someone preparing to become an elementary school teacher and long-term educational leader, the lessons in this chapter challenged me to think more intentionally about the way I want to lead in the classroom and in the community. Graff introduces the concept of “dynamic reflection,” a practice of consistently evaluating your actions and outcomes in real-time and adjusting based on what is and isn’t working. In education, this is crucial. Teachers can plan meticulously, but every classroom is a living environment, shaped by student energy, understanding, and behavior. Being able to pivot during a lesson—rethinking your approach to meet students where they are—isn’t just a skill, it’s a necessity. This idea reinforced my belief that adaptability is not a sign of unpreparedness, but of mastery. Graff also discusses the idea of leading with intention—specifically, the importance of defining your values early and allowing them to guide your decisions. As a future educator, I plan to lead with empathy, consistency, and purpose. Whether I'm managing classroom behavior, navigating curriculum changes, or mentoring students beyond academics, I want my choices to reflect my core belief: that every child deserves to feel seen, heard, and supported. Graff’s emphasis on values-based leadership reminded me that clarity in what you stand for creates trust and confidence in those you lead. One of the most powerful moments in the chapter is Graff’s discussion of failure—not as an endpoint, but as a feedback loop. In both teaching and athletics, I’ve learned that failure is often the best teacher. Whether it’s a lesson that didn’t land or a swim race that didn’t go as planned, I’ve come to view setbacks as invitations to grow. Graff encourages readers to embrace failure with humility, which aligns perfectly with the mindset I want to model for my students. In all, Chapter Two of Real Insights offers guidance that I will carry with me as I step into classrooms, lead student programs, and continue growing as both an educator and a servant leader

I still remember that warm July evening on the shores of Lake Monroe when everything inside me shifted. I was fourteen, awkwardly tall and painfully self-conscious, wrestling with a sense that I’d never measure up—either in the pool lanes or the classroom—because of my dyslexia. Our youth group had gathered for a simple lakeside worship service under a canopy of stars: folding chairs, guitar-strummed hymns, and the gentle lapping of water on the dock. As the sun dipped below the treeline, I felt a peace more powerful than any current I’d battled in the pool. In that moment, I handed over my fears—of never being the fastest swimmer, of my reading struggles, of not belonging—and I asked Christ to guide me. I gave my life to the Lord, and for the first time, I felt truly at home. From that night on, swimming and faith became my two greatest anchors. Each pre-dawn practice took on new significance: as my muscles burned through lap after lap, I whispered Philippians 4:13—“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me”—and felt a calm confidence settle in my chest. No longer was every workout solely about shaving seconds off my personal best; it became an act of worship. When late-night study sessions for my Business Administration courses threatened to overwhelm me, I leaned on that same promise. I learned that true strength doesn’t come from physical prowess or raw intellect alone but from a heart surrendered to something far greater. That surrender shaped my academic journey in profound ways. Despite needing extra time to decode passages, I graduated high school with honors and earned admission to the University of Indianapolis. There, I balanced a 4.0 GPA with early-morning swim practices, leadership roles on the Varsity Swim and Dive Team, and active involvement in campus ministry. Juggling these demands wasn’t easy, but each challenge became an opportunity to reflect God’s grace through perseverance. Whenever I stumbled—whether over a tricky finance problem set or a grueling interval workout—I found comfort in prayer and in the fellowship of friends who reminded me that my worth wasn’t defined by grades or times, but by God’s unchanging love. Alongside my personal growth, I discovered a deep passion for service. Volunteering at Comfort Keepers, I assisted seniors with daily tasks—preparing meals, teaching basic tech skills for telehealth, simply sitting and listening to their stories. Mrs. Thompson, an 82-year-old retired teacher, once told me she felt trapped by arthritis and isolation; after guiding her through a video-call setup and praying with her, I watched her face light up with hope. In the pool, I mentored children with special needs, guiding young swimmers through their first backstroke while encouraging them with simple words: “You’ve got this.” Those experiences convinced me that my calling lay in empowering others—academically, physically, and spiritually. That conviction led me to pursue a Master of Education in elementary teaching, with a focus on integrating faith and differentiated instruction. I envision classrooms that feel like safe harbors—nurturing environments where every child, especially those who learn differently, knows they’re valued and capable. I plan lessons that weave academic content with character-building themes: exploring multiplication through real-world sharing problems or teaching reading comprehension by analyzing stories of courage in Scripture. By combining evidence-based strategies—color overlays, audio tools, small-group instruction—with gentle discipleship, I aim to nurture both intellect and heart. However, graduate school comes with significant financial hurdles. Tuition, certification fees, textbooks, and the unpaid hours of student teaching required for licensure quickly add up. Receiving this scholarship would be a tremendous blessing. First, it would alleviate the need for part-time work, allowing me to devote my full attention to immersive classroom practicums and specialized coursework in trauma-informed teaching and faith integration. Second, it would fund service-learning opportunities—such as leading a summer literacy and swim camp at a Title I elementary school—where academic tutoring, water-safety instruction, and short devotional reflections combine to build confidence and community. With financial stress eased, I can focus wholly on developing as an educator and servant leader. Looking beyond graduate school, I am laying the groundwork for Streams of Hope, an after-school initiative designed around three pillars of student support: Academic Enrichment: Homework help, reading clinics, and STEM workshops led by trained tutors—many of them education majors learning alongside me. Physical Empowerment: Swim lessons and water-safety training at partner YMCAs, teaching resilience, coordination, and self-confidence. Spiritual Formation: Small-group discipleship circles where children explore virtues like kindness, perseverance, and gratitude, grounded in Biblical stories. I’ve already secured tentative partnerships with local churches, the YMCA, and the Indianapolis Parks Department for pool space and meeting rooms. This scholarship’s seed funding would cover pilot-year expenses: pool rental fees, curriculum materials, transportation for families in need, and modest stipends for program coordinators. With these resources, Streams of Hope can launch with a cohort of forty students, track outcomes, and refine the model for expansion into neighboring communities. My journey into Christianity taught me that true strength flows from surrender—trusting that God’s grace is bigger than my mistakes and more reliable than my own resolve. Swimming taught me discipline, the compounding power of effort, and the joy of shared victories. Together, they have shaped my calling to teach, serve, and inspire. I have seen firsthand how a simple act of encouragement can unlock hidden potential, whether in a struggling reader, a young swimmer, or an isolated senior. As I prepare to step into countless classrooms and community centers, I carry these lessons with me. I will lead with compassion, teach with creativity, and mentor with unwavering belief in each person’s God-given potential. With your support, this scholarship will enable me to dive into this next chapter—building programs that help children learn to swim confidently through life’s challenges and anchor their hopes in something far greater than themselves. Through every stroke in the pool, every lesson in the classroom, and every moment of service, I pray that others will feel the same peace and purpose I first discovered beside that lake at fourteen—a peace that endures, a hope that spreads, and a life transformed by faith.

I used to think I wasn’t much of a reader—dyslexia made every page feel like a puzzle. But over the years, I’ve picked up a handful of books that didn’t just entertain me; they quietly handed me new ways to tackle school, swimming, and life in general. Looking back, each one nudged me toward a goal I might never have set otherwise. “Mindset” by Carol Dweck was the first game-changer. I’d always assumed you either had it—smarts, talent, athleticism—or you didn’t. Struggling to keep up in class fed that doubt. Dweck flips the script, showing how a “growth” mindset turns obstacles into stepping-stones. So when I discovered colored overlays and text-to-speech tools for my dyslexia, I stopped seeing them as crutches and started treating them as training wheels. That change in attitude helped me pull a 4.0 GPA out of thin air, and suddenly I was tackling hard finance problems the same way I’d conquer a tough swim set—one small effort at a time. Then I grabbed “Atomic Habits” by James Clear. Clear’s whole thing is that tiny improvements—just 1 percent—stack up over time. I tried his trick of breaking overwhelming tasks into tiny chunks: ten-minute reading sprints instead of marathon cram sessions, or focusing on shaving off a few hundredths of a second in each practice. By the end of the semester, those little tweaks turned into better test scores—and personal-best laps. Of course, momentum doesn’t mean smooth sailing. That’s where “Grit” by Angela Duckworth came in. Organizing our Healthy Horizons Senior Wellness Fair felt like her “dip” moment—vendors backed out, a last-minute tech glitch, budget headaches. But Duckworth’s research reminded me that sticking with something you care about—even when it hurts—is what really counts. Rallying thirty student volunteers through chaos taught me that grit isn’t stubbornness; it’s refocusing on why it matters. On a different note, “To Kill a Mockingbird” by Harper Lee was my crash course in empathy. Watching Atticus Finch insist on walking in someone else’s shoes hit home how easy it is to judge before you understand. That lesson lives on every time I sit with an elderly neighbor who’s lonely, or coach a peer struggling to read. It taught me that good listening can be as powerful as any strategy or study hack. Finally, as I dream about launching my own social enterprise someday, “The Lean Startup” by Eric Ries has become my roadmap. Testing ideas fast, gathering feedback, and being willing to pivot—that’s exactly how we ran the pilot of our wellness fair and iterated on it. Applying Ries’s build-measure-learn cycle, I’m sketching out plans for community centers that blend tutoring, fitness classes, and mental-health check-ins—all funded through grants, sponsorships, and sliding-scale fees. Putting these books together feels like assembling a toolkit: Dweck gave me confidence to keep learning, Clear showed me how small habits add up, Duckworth fueled my stamina, Lee sharpened my empathy, and Ries taught me how to make an idea stick. Those lessons now guide my goals: to lead with kindness, build habits that last, and create programs that actually help people—whether it’s a struggling reader, a burnout student-athlete, or an older adult craving company. So yeah, I’m still not a speed reader—but I’ve learned that reading the right ideas can spark real change. And that, more than anything, has shaped the goals I’m chasing every day.

My identity—as a first-generation college student, a white male student-athlete with dyslexia, and a committed caregiver—has profoundly shaped how I see the world and my role within it. Growing up with dyslexia taught me that everyone learns differently and that success often comes from discovering personalized strategies rather than following a one-size-fits-all path. Being a student-athlete on the University of Indianapolis swim team instilled in me a deep respect for teamwork and resilience. Pre-dawn practices and relentless training schedules showed me that collective effort and mutual encouragement can turn individual limitations into shared victories. That mindset extends beyond the pool—whether coordinating volunteers at a senior wellness fair or tutoring peers, I view challenges as opportunities to unite people around common goals. As a first-generation college student, I’ve carried the weight of my family’s expectations and sacrifices. Their support underscores the importance of access and mentorship, inspiring me to pave pathways for others who might feel out of place in higher education. Finally, volunteering as a caregiver reinforced that dignity and connection are essential to well-being. Listening to seniors’ stories of resilience and then partnering with them on small health or tech solutions taught me that leadership is rooted in service. By combining these facets of my identity—adaptive learner, teammate, trailblazer, and compassionate helper—I strive to build inclusive communities where every individual feels valued and capable of making a difference.

I’m William, a first-generation college student, varsity swimmer, and Business Administration major at the University of Indianapolis. Growing up with dyslexia taught me early on that everyone absorbs information differently—and that tailored support can unlock potential. Volunteering as a caregiver with Comfort Keepers showed me that compassion paired with practical help can restore dignity and independence. Combining those lessons, I plan to use my degree and personal experiences to create organizations and programs that empower individuals—especially those facing learning or health challenges—to thrive on their own terms. First, I will leverage my business training in operations and strategic planning to build scalable community centers focused on inclusive education. In tutoring younger students, I saw how differentiated instruction—using color overlays, audio tools, and hands-on activities—helped peers with reading difficulties gain confidence. I want to turn that know-how into a sustainable model: establishing learning hubs that partner with local schools, libraries, and nonprofits. These centers would offer free or low-cost reading clinics, homework clubs, and college-prep workshops, staffed by trained volunteers and education majors. By combining effective teaching strategies with sound financial planning—grant writing, corporate sponsorships, and sliding-scale fees—I can ensure the centers serve students long-term without sacrificing quality. Second, my experience organizing the Healthy Horizons Senior Wellness Fair revealed the power of cross–sector collaboration. I recruited thirty student volunteers, secured sponsorships from a local smoothie bar and physical-therapy clinic, and delivered free health screenings to over one hundred seniors. Drawing on that blueprint, I plan to launch a social enterprise that connects health-care providers, fitness instructors, and nutritionists to underserved neighborhoods. Operating much like a consulting firm, it would design community-based wellness programs—yoga classes in church basements, telehealth tutorials in senior centers, adaptive-sports clinics at local pools—while measuring impact through reduced hospital readmissions and improved self-reported well-being. As a business leader, I’ll streamline logistics and funding so these initiatives can be replicated in cities nationwide. Third, I’ll champion mental-health advocacy by embedding peer-support networks into every project. I’ve witnessed friends and teammates joke about “being so stressed” instead of asking for help. Inspired by Olivia Rodrigo’s lyric, “And it’s so fucked up that we joke about being depressed,” I created “Check-In Circles” on my swim team—brief weekly gatherings where we honestly share victories and struggles. The result was a tighter, more trusting team culture and fewer burnout symptoms. I intend to integrate similar circles into the educational and wellness centers I build, training facilitators to lead guided discussions and connecting participants to professional resources when needed. Finally, my long-term dream is to found an impact-driven consulting firm that advises both nonprofits and businesses on how to blend profitability with purpose. Drawing on my academic work in organizational behavior and entrepreneurship, I would help companies design mentorship programs, inclusive hiring practices, and employee-wellness initiatives. At the same time, I’d work with nonprofits to improve operational efficiency and diversify funding streams—ensuring they can serve more people with limited budgets. My journey—from decoding texts with colored overlays to coordinating large-scale events, from lifeguarding peers through practice sets to coaching them through life’s challenges—has solidified one truth: business acumen is a powerful vehicle for positive change when guided by empathy. By marrying my degree with my lived experience of overcoming dyslexia and caring for others, I am committed to creating ventures that don’t just succeed in the marketplace but leave the world more inclusive, healthier, and hopeful than we found it.

Losing my father during my sophomore year of high school was the hardest lesson I’ve ever had to learn—and it ultimately guided me to become a teacher. Before his passing, I saw teaching as an abstract notion: I admired teachers who cared, but I never imagined stepping into the role myself. Then my dad—my fiercest supporter—fell ill, and everything changed. When Dad was hospitalized, I spent long afternoons by his bedside, flipping through his old science textbooks and asking him to explain concepts he’d once taught. Even in pain, he lit up teaching me about the solar system or the chemistry of a perfect pancake flip. I realized that his greatest gift wasn’t his knowledge—it was the way he made me feel capable of understanding anything. His patience, his encouragement, and his unwavering belief that I could learn—and even teach—sparked something in me. After he passed away, I struggled to find that same sense of encouragement. Grief made me reticent to speak up in class; my dyslexia felt heavier without Dad’s reminders that “every mind learns its own way.” My grades dipped, and I lost confidence in my ability to ask for help. But I also remembered how my dad would gently coach me through challenges—breaking big problems into smaller steps, celebrating each breakthrough. I began applying his teaching strategies to myself: reading one paragraph at a time, using color-coded notes, and speaking answers aloud. It wasn’t long before I rediscovered my 4.0 GPA and my love of learning. That transformation convinced me of teaching’s power. I signed up to tutor middle schoolers in reading comprehension. I saw kids’ faces light up when a tricky sentence finally clicked. I noticed how a well-timed question could spark curiosity or a few words of praise could bolster a shy student’s confidence—just as my dad had done for me. Every tutoring session felt like a tribute to him: I was passing on the kindness, clarity, and belief he’d given me. In college, I expanded that vision. Working with Mrs. Webster and Mrs. Nistor in local elementary classrooms, I learned that teaching isn’t just about imparting facts; it’s about building relationships. I remember standing in front of a class of second graders who were convinced they “couldn’t do math.” Drawing on my dad’s approach, I broke lessons into tiny, achievable goals. When the students counted blocks successfully, I celebrated wildly—high-fives, stickers, silly cheers. By the end of the term, those same students were volunteering to solve problems on the board. Witnessing their growth reminded me of my own journey through grief and learning. My father’s absence also taught me the value of creating a safe, nurturing environment. I’ve seen how students who feel supported—emotionally and academically—are more willing to take risks, ask questions, and embrace challenges. As a teacher, I plan to build classrooms where every child knows someone cares deeply about their success, as my dad cared about mine. I’ll use differentiated instruction to meet diverse learning needs, draw on my own experience with dyslexia to offer empathy and strategies, and cultivate a culture of mutual respect and encouragement. Choosing teaching feels like coming full circle. The grief of losing my father was tempered by the realization that his legacy lives on in every student I help. My career as a teacher will honor his memory by giving future generations the same gift he gave me: the confidence to learn, the joy of discovery, and the conviction that they can achieve far more than they ever imagined.

I’m William, a first-generation college student, varsity swimmer, and a Business Administration major at the University of Indianapolis. Growing up with dyslexia taught me early on that everyone’s journey to understanding is different—and that the right support can make all the difference. That lesson underpins my decision to pursue medicine: I want to meet people where they are, translate complex information into clear action, and build systems of care that honor each patient’s unique story. My passion for medicine first took shape through caregiving. I spent weekends volunteering with Comfort Keepers, assisting seniors with daily tasks and simply listening. Mrs. Thompson, an 82-year-old retired teacher, confided that her arthritis made her feel trapped in her own home. After helping her navigate a telehealth appointment and teaching her simple hand-strengthening exercises, I watched her face light up with hope. That moment crystallized for me how small interventions—grounded in empathy and education—can restore independence and dignity. Around the same time, I began working with a nutritionist and a physical therapist to optimize my own performance as a competitive swimmer. Early pre-dawn workouts left me exhausted until I learned how tailored meal plans and targeted mobility drills could accelerate recovery. Experiencing firsthand the synergy between diet, exercise, and medical oversight inspired me to think holistically about health. I realized that physicians don’t just prescribe medications—they partner with patients to design lifestyles that prevent illness and promote well-being. These caregiving and athletic experiences have shaped my interest in geriatric medicine. The world’s population is aging faster than ever, yet too few doctors are trained to address the complex interplay of chronic disease, mobility, and mental health that comes with advancing years. I want to specialize in gerontology so I can become an advocate for older adults—designing care plans that integrate physical rehabilitation, nutrition counseling, and social support networks. While some see business and medicine as distinct paths, my administration background will be an asset in this specialization. In my role organizing the Healthy Horizons Senior Wellness Fair, I recruited 30 volunteers, secured sponsorships, and coordinated free screenings and workshops for more than 150 seniors. I learned how effective programs depend not only on clinical expertise, but also on strategic planning, cross-sector partnerships, and sustainable funding models. As a physician-leader, I aim to leverage those skills to build community clinics and telehealth platforms that deliver quality geriatric care to underserved neighborhoods. My dyslexia also informs my approach to medicine. I know what it feels like to struggle with dense text and to need information communicated in alternative formats. As a future doctor, I will prioritize clear, patient-centered communication—using visual aids, analogies, and teach-back methods to ensure each person truly understands their treatment plan. That relational approach fosters trust, improves adherence, and ultimately leads to better outcomes. In the pool and in the classroom, I’ve honed discipline, teamwork, and resilience. Now, I’m ready to channel those strengths into medicine—partnering with older adults to extend their independence, integrating preventive strategies to reduce hospital readmissions, and advocating for policies that recognize the value of our elders. Guided by empathy, buoyed by my leadership experience, and driven by a deep respect for each person’s story, I am committed to making geriatric medicine not just a career, but a calling.

Last spring, I organized the first-ever Healthy Horizons Senior Wellness Fair at the University of Indianapolis—a half-day event bringing together students, local businesses, and non-profits to offer free health screenings, fitness demos, and social activities for older adults in our community. Partnering with Comfort Keepers and the Indianapolis Senior Center, my goal was simple: break down barriers that keep seniors from accessing holistic wellness resources, all while giving university volunteers a chance to lead through service. Concept & Planning The idea emerged during a campus “Needs and Assets” health workshop. I noticed that our student body volunteered extensively—tutoring kids, cleaning parks, staffing shelters—but rarely alongside seniors. Drawing on my caregiving experience, I pitched a fair focused on four pillars: physical health, nutrition, mental stimulation, and social connection. Over two months, I recruited thirty student volunteers, secured sponsorships from a local smoothie shop and physical-therapy clinic, and coordinated with campus dining to provide healthy snacks. I led weekly planning meetings, delegated tasks (logistics, marketing, wellness workshops), and built a checklist to ensure every detail—from chairs and signage to liability waivers—was in place. Event Day & Direct Service On Fair Day, I arrived at 7 AM to oversee vendor setup: blood-pressure checks by nursing students; mobility and balance demonstrations by PT interns; a smoothie-making station staffed by our nutrition club; and “Tech Talk” booths teaching seniors basic tablet skills. As the volunteer coordinator, I ran a quick morning huddle: reviewing schedules, reminding teams to rotate every 45 minutes, and emphasizing a welcoming tone. Throughout the day, I shifted between roles—leading a gentle chair-yoga session, troubleshooting a jammed blender, and simply chatting with attendees about their grandchildren. By 2 PM, we’d served over 150 seniors, distributed 300 wellness guides, and collected commitments from ten seniors to join our campus “PenPal” program for ongoing companionship. Ongoing Volunteering & Community Impact Organizing the fair was just the beginning. I continued visiting the Senior Center weekly—delivering care packages I assembled with teammates, helping residents navigate telehealth appointments, and hosting swim-therapy demos in our campus pool. I also mentored freshman volunteers, teaching them event-planning skills and how to approach seniors with respect and empathy. Beyond elder care, I led quarterly campus clean-ups and fundraised for adaptive sports equipment, reinforcing my belief that community service is most effective when it’s consistent and collaborative. Leadership Through Service For me, leadership isn’t about rank or authority—it’s about using your abilities to elevate others. Organizing the Wellness Fair taught me that real leadership combines vision with humility: you must see needs before others do, mobilize resources thoughtfully, and then step back so fresh leaders can emerge. By involving students of all majors—business, nursing, education—we created cross-disciplinary teams that learned from one another. Service projects like this fair demonstrate that leadership is best exercised at the intersection of planning and personal connection. When I coached volunteers through a stressful setup or helped Mrs. Jenkins track her blood-pressure readings, I practiced the same skills I’ll need as a business leader: clear communication, adaptability, and genuine care for people’s well-being. Those experiences reinforce my conviction that positive impact—whether in healthcare innovation or corporate strategy—always starts with serving communities, listening to their stories, and empowering them to thrive. Through organizing the Healthy Horizons Fair, sustaining hands-on volunteering, and mentoring peers, I’ve learned that serving is the foundation of meaningful leadership. Moving forward, I plan to carry these lessons into my career—building organizations that measure success by the lives they uplift, and never forgetting that real leaders lead by giving.

I’m William, a Business Administration major at the University of Indianapolis, varsity swimmer, and first-generation college student who thrives on challenges. Growing up with dyslexia taught me that success doesn’t come from doing things the easy way—it comes from finding strategies that play to your strengths. In the pool, that meant channeling frustration into extra early-morning workouts; in the classroom, it meant developing color-overlay reading systems and voice-to-text software that helped me keep pace. Today, I carry a 4.0 GPA while balancing rigorous training and leadership roles in honor societies like Chi Alpha Sigma and Kappa Delta Pi. These experiences have shaped me into someone who doesn’t just overcome obstacles—I seeks out opportunities to transform them into springboards for growth. Beyond academics and athletics, I’ve learned the power of service through caregiving. As a volunteer with Comfort Keepers, I’ve helped seniors maintain independence—everything from preparing meals to simply offering companionship. Those moments of connection taught me that business isn’t just about profits; it’s about people. One afternoon, I sat with Mrs. Thompson as she told me stories of teaching in rural schools. Her gratitude reminded me that small acts—a compassionate word, a patient ear—can ripple outward, improving not just an individual’s day but their sense of dignity and belonging. That lesson guides my vision for a career in business: to build organizations that measure success by impact as much as by margins. My training with a nutritionist and a physical therapist has deepened my appreciation for holistic wellness, and I’m fascinated by how savvy management can make health care more accessible and sustainable. I see an urgent need for companies that blend social responsibility with operational excellence—businesses that deliver quality services while investing in communities. Whether it’s designing elder-care programs that prioritize mental health or creating affordable adaptive-sports equipment for athletes with disabilities, I want to harness the tools of business to broaden opportunity and improve quality of life. In my coursework, I’ve gravitated toward classes in organizational behavior, strategic management, and entrepreneurship. I’ve led student teams through case competitions, developing plans for social enterprises that empower marginalized youth through skill-building workshops. Each project has reinforced my belief that good leaders listen first—identifying needs through genuine dialogue—and then co-create solutions that uplift everyone involved. As a tutor for underclassmen, I’ve seen how tailored support helps struggling students find confidence. I plan to scale that model in the corporate world by embedding mentorship and professional-development programs into organizational culture. After graduation, I aim to join a mission-driven consulting firm or health-care startup where I can refine my skills in operations, finance, and stakeholder engagement. Long term, I envision launching my own social enterprise focused on inclusive education and wellness—perhaps a network of community learning centers that integrate academic tutoring, mental-health resources, and adaptive-fitness classes. By partnering with local schools, health providers, and non-profits, I’d ensure these centers serve as hubs for empowerment, breaking down barriers that too often keep talented individuals on the sidelines. Ultimately, I believe that responsible business can be a powerful force for good. My journey—from navigating dyslexia to mentoring peers, from clocking miles in the pool to caring for elders—has taught me that leadership is rooted in empathy, creativity, and unwavering resolve. Through a career that marries my passions for strategy, service, and innovation, I am committed to building ventures that don’t just succeed in the marketplace, but leave the world healthier, more inclusive, and more hopeful than we found it.

I’ve been a devoted fan of Wicked ever since I first saw it on Broadway, and its story continues to resonate with me on so many levels—personally, artistically, and even academically. At its core, Wicked retells the familiar tale of Oz through the eyes of Elphaba, the “Wicked Witch of the West,” turning a one-dimensional villain into a deeply human protagonist. That shift in perspective—challenging us to rethink what we thought we knew—mirrors my own journey overcoming assumptions about my learning disability and my identity as a student-athlete. Just as Elphaba is judged by her green skin before anyone understands her heart, I’ve learned not to let first impressions define what I can achieve. Musically, Wicked is a masterclass in storytelling through song. From the soaring optimism of “Popular” to the defiant power of “Defying Gravity,” each number feels like an emotional landmark. “Defying Gravity” in particular speaks to the relentless drive I bring to both my swimming and my studies: the idea that with enough courage and conviction, I can break free from the expectations that hold me down. Whenever I’m at the pool in the pre-dawn hours—arms burning with every yard—I replay that anthem in my head. It reminds me that true magic comes from daring to push beyond our limits. Beyond the score, the characters themselves embody moral ambiguity. Elphaba and Glinda’s friendship is complicated by politics, prejudice, and personal ambition, reflecting the messy realities of leadership and community. As president of clubs and a peer tutor, I’ve witnessed how easy it is for good intentions to get tangled up in egos and unexamined beliefs. Wicked encourages me to hold complexity in my teaching and mentoring: to listen first, with empathy, rather than rushing to label someone as “good” or “bad.” Visually and technically, the production never fails to amaze. The iconic yellow brick road winding around the stage, the dramatic arrival of the Wizard in a shower of sparks, and the transformation of Elphaba as she takes flight all demonstrate how theatre can transport an audience to a world where the impossible feels possible. That sense of wonder reminds me why I pursue Business Administration: I want to be part of creating experiences—whether in marketing, operations, or leadership—that move people and inspire fresh perspectives. On a more personal level, Wicked has taught me about resilience. Elphaba faces isolation, betrayal, and heartbreak, yet she never stops advocating for justice, kindness, and truth. Those qualities echo my own path—balancing a 4.0 GPA with grueling swim training, or navigating the stigma of dyslexia by developing smarter study strategies rather than giving up. Like Elphaba, I’ve learned that adversity can deepen our compassion and strengthen our resolve. Finally, Wicked has given me lessons I carry into the classroom as a tutor and aspiring teacher. Its central message—that there’s no single “right” side of a story—pushes me to help students find their voice, question assumptions, and celebrate diverse viewpoints. Whether I’m working with a freshman struggling to read or leading a study group for future business leaders, I strive to create an environment where everyone feels seen and supported. In the end, being a fan of Wicked isn’t just about loving a great musical; it’s about embracing a worldview that champions empathy over judgment, courage over conformity, and kindness over fear. Those are values I carry with me in every lane I swim, every classroom I enter, and every challenge I face—and that’s why Wicked will always hold a special place in my heart.

BIRCH BANANA EAGLE TULIP SPARROW MAPLE ORANGE LILY PENGUIN ROSE OAK CHERRY APPLE DAISY PINE ROBIN The Four “Aha!” Groups 1. Trees BIRCH, MAPLE, OAK, PINE These are the giants of any forest—or the friendly sentinels lining suburban streets. Birch shows off its distinctive white bark, Maple lights up in autumn reds, Oak stands solid and timeless, and Pine brings year-round greenery with its needles. 2. Fruits BANANA, ORANGE, CHERRY, APPLE Sweet, juicy, and snack-ready! Bananas travel well in backpacks, oranges pack a vitamin C punch, cherries make perfect pie filling, and apples are the classic orchard pick—great raw or baked. 3. Garden Flowers TULIP, LILY, ROSE, DAISY Nothing says “spring has arrived” like a bed of tulips and daisies, or a vase of lilies and roses. Each bloom brings its own personality: tulips pop with bold color, lilies perfume the air, roses carry romance, and daisies beam innocence. 4. Birds EAGLE, SPARROW, PENGUIN, ROBIN Feathered friends—and one formal bird of prey! Sparrows flit through your backyard, robins hunt for worms on the lawn, eagles soar high above, and penguins waddle in cooler climes (or at your local zoo). Why This Puzzle Works Shared Theme, Distinct Corners. All sixteen words live in nature, but each group inhabits a different realm: towering trees, tempting fruits, cheery flowers, and winged creatures. It’s the kind of puzzle where your brain first notices the broad “nature” theme, then delights in the specific clusters. Everyday Familiarity. No obscure scientific jargon here—just things you’d see in a park, garden, grocery store, or your backyard birdbath. That makes the “aha” moments feel warm and accessible, whether you’re a seasoned puzzler or just looking for a quick mental stretch. Balanced Structure. Four groups of four creates symmetry on the page and in your mind. Once you lock onto one category (say, the fruits), the remaining words narrow down more quickly, guiding you toward the trees, flowers, and birds. Friendly Challenge. The puzzle invites you to pause and scan broadly (“Is there a nature theme here?”) and then zoom in on details (“Which words are edible? Which are feathered?”). It trains both your pattern-spotting and your categorization skills in a playful way.

Lyric Chosen: “And it’s so fucked up that we joke about being depressed.” — “All-American Bitch,” GUTS (2023) Olivia Rodrigo’s line cuts straight to the heart of adolescence: the impulse to mask real pain with a sarcastic quip. As a teenager juggling dyslexia, a 4.0 GPA in Business Administration, and collegiate swim practices, I often hid my vulnerability behind humor. This lyric gave voice to a truth I lived but couldn’t articulate—that joking about depression is both a shield and a prison. Adolescence is defined by contradictions: we crave belonging yet fear exposure, we pursue excellence yet dread failure. In my case, every extra minute spent decoding a text felt like a confession of weakness, so I’d laugh off the strain: “School’s killer, right?” On the deck, after a sub-par race, I’d grin and say, “Just an off day,” even as my chest tightened with self-doubt. Rodrigo’s lyric names this defense mechanism, revealing how humor normalizes the very struggles it conceals. By framing depression as a punchline, we invite dismissal: “Lighten up,” or “Everyone feels like that.” That’s why Rodrigo’s “we” is so powerful—it implicates peers, teachers, and institutions in a culture that punishes honesty. I saw that firsthand during finals season, trading memes about mental breakdowns rather than admitting I was overwhelmed. It wasn’t until I replaced a sarcastic caption with, “I really need help today,” that friends and mentors responded with genuine support. This shift from humor to honesty reshaped my sense of community. In a leadership retreat, I took Rodrigo’s mandate to heart and shared my struggles with dyslexia and anxiety. The room that once buzzed with small talk fell silent, then filled with empathy. Teammates admitted their own hidden battles—social anxiety, family pressures, imposter syndrome. That vulnerability forged bonds deeper than any shared joke ever could. Rodrigo’s lyric also reframes achievement. As a student-athlete, I strived for podium finishes and academic honors, yet felt guilty for needing accommodations. “All-American Bitch” critiques the myth of perfection—that to admit pain is to betray expectations. Embracing authenticity taught me that strength isn’t flawless performance but the courage to ask for help. I started advocating for balanced workloads, seeking tutoring before crises, and encouraging peers to do the same. Social media intensified the pressure. I curated feeds of study sessions and meet victories, captioned with emojis and punchlines. Yet those highlights hid sleepless nights and racing thoughts. When I posted a candid plea—“Not just a joke, I’m really struggling”—the outpouring of support underscored Rodrigo’s point: dropping the façade can transform a scroll‐past into a lifeline. In 500 words, Olivia Rodrigo distills a universal teenage paradox: we joke to cope but lose connection in the process. Her lyric challenged me to exchange sarcasm for sincerity, punchlines for pleas, and isolation for community. Adolescence may be a battleground of expectations and emotions, but honesty is the most radical act of self-care. By refusing to joke about depression, we reclaim our stories—and open the door to real understanding, resilience, and growth

My favorite athlete on Team USA to cheer for is Katie Ledecky, and cheering her on never fails to inspire me both in and out of the pool. As a fellow swimmer and student-athlete at the University of Indianapolis, I’ve witnessed firsthand how dedication, consistency, and humility can translate into extraordinary achievement. Katie’s dominance in the freestyle events—from her first Olympic gold at London 2012 when she was just fifteen, through her record-shattering performances in Rio and Paris—reflects a level of focus I strive to emulate in my own training and academic pursuits. Katie’s achievements are staggering: multiple Olympic gold medals across three Games, dozens of world records, and unbeaten streaks in races ranging from 200 to 1,500 meters. But what truly elevates her beyond the numbers is her work ethic. I’ve read about her early mornings—hours before sunrise spent logging yardage in the pool, meticulous attention to stroke technique, and the drive to keep pushing even when she’s already the fastest in history. As someone who balances pre-dawn weight sessions, intense swim practices, and a 4.0 GPA in Business Administration, I know how challenging it is to bring your best every single day. Katie’s unwavering commitment reminds me that consistency—showing up, yard after yard, problem after problem, obstacle after obstacle—is where greatness is built. Beyond her physical prowess, Katie carries herself with a humility that resonates deeply with me. In interviews, she speaks reverently about her teammates, her coaches, and the small moments that have shaped her journey. She credits her successes to a supportive swim community, her parents’ encouragement, and the countless hours of mundane, unglamorous training. That humility is something I value as a student-athlete: in moments of triumph, to remember the people who helped me, and in moments of struggle, to lean on a network of coaches, teammates, and friends rather than retreat in isolation. Perhaps most importantly, Katie uses her platform to give back. She’s spoken passionately about water safety, youth swim programs, and the importance of supporting each other beyond the finish line. As someone who volunteers with younger swimmers and mentors freshmen on our team, I appreciate how she elevates the sport as a whole. Her example encourages me to look beyond my own goals and to invest in the next generation—just as so many coaches and senior teammates invested in me. Cheering for Katie Ledecky isn’t just about witnessing gold medals and world records; it’s about celebrating a spirit of relentless pursuit, grounded in gratitude and service. Every time I watch her race, I’m reminded why I got into the water in the first place: not just to swim fast, but to challenge myself, support my teammates, and grow as both an athlete and a person. Katy’s journey—her achievements, her character, her advocacy—gives me a roadmap for my own future, whether that’s competing at Speedo Sectionals, leading a business team, or mentoring a struggling swimmer who needs someone to believe in them. In Katie Ledecky, I see an athlete who embodies excellence in every dimension: physical, mental, and moral. Cheering for her lights a fire in me to chase my own potential with the same blend of ambition and humility. And when I step onto the deck before a race, I carry her example with me—to train hard, stay grounded, and lift others up along the way.

Teaching has never just been a job to me—it’s always felt like a calling. I’ve had a front-row seat to the power of education to transform lives, including my own. Growing up with a learning disability, I didn’t always believe I was capable of succeeding in school. I struggled to keep up, often feeling like I was falling behind while everyone else was miles ahead. But one teacher changed everything for me—and because of her, I want to be that person for someone else. In the sixth grade, I met Mrs. Turner, my reading and writing teacher. She saw something in me that I didn’t yet see in myself. While other teachers focused on my struggles, she focused on my potential. She didn’t lower her expectations—she raised them, and then gave me the tools and encouragement to reach them. She stayed after school to help me grasp difficult texts, taught me how to advocate for myself, and most importantly, never let me feel ashamed of learning differently. Because of her, I stopped seeing my learning disability as a weakness and started seeing it as part of my story—one that gave me resilience and determination. That experience planted a seed. As I got older and entered college, I became more involved in tutoring, mentoring, and eventually student teaching. Each time I stepped into a classroom—whether with first-graders learning to read or middle schoolers figuring out who they are—I felt at home. Teaching allows me to combine my love of learning, my desire to serve, and my personal experiences into something meaningful. I understand what it feels like to need someone to believe in you. That’s what drives me to become that teacher for the next generation. Now, as a Business Administration major at the University of Indianapolis, I’ve had the opportunity to teach students like Olivia, Parker, Sadie, Maddeline, Gwen, and work alongside teachers like Mrs. Webster and Mrs. Nistor. Each teaching experience reinforces why I’m drawn to the classroom. I love watching the “aha” moments, the confidence that builds over time, and the sense of community that forms when students feel seen, heard, and supported. Whether it’s helping a student solve a math problem or encouraging them through a tough day, I know those small moments add up—and that’s what makes teaching so powerful. Teaching also gives me a chance to lead by example. As a student-athlete and member of the Varsity Swim and Dive Team, I’ve learned the value of discipline, teamwork, and perseverance. I bring those same qualities into the classroom. I want my students to know that it’s okay to face challenges and that success doesn’t always come easily—but it’s always worth working for. And if they see someone who has faced their own learning struggles and come out stronger, I hope it inspires them to keep going too. More than anything, I want to create a classroom where students feel safe, valued, and excited to learn. I want to be a steady presence in their lives—the way Mrs. Turner was for me. I believe that every child deserves a teacher who believes in them, even when they don’t yet believe in themselves. And I’m ready to be that teacher. Pursuing a career in teaching isn’t just about giving back—it’s about paying it forward. It’s about honoring the people who helped shape me and stepping into a role where I can do the same for others. That’s why I want to teach. Because one teacher changed my life—and I want to spend the rest of mine doing that for someone else.

Caregiving has taught me that strength isn’t always loud—it’s often quiet, patient, and persistent. My experience as a caregiver, though not traditional, has been rooted in small daily acts: showing up, paying attention, and putting someone else’s needs before my own. It has shaped not only how I treat people but also how I view my purpose, my future, and who I am becoming. When I began supporting older adults through Comfort Keepers and other service-based opportunities, I realized that caregiving is about more than helping someone get through their day. It’s about preserving dignity. It’s about being a calm presence in someone’s life. Often, the people I care for are in vulnerable positions—whether physically, emotionally, or mentally—and I have the chance to provide not just practical help, but connection and comfort. These moments have made me deeply aware of the impact one person can have on another. Before these experiences, I thought I had my life mapped out: go to college, get a business degree, and find a career in management. But being a caregiver shifted that vision. I still want to succeed in business, but now I want to lead with compassion. I want to be part of organizations that care about people—companies that prioritize well-being, ethical leadership, and making life better for others. I’ve started to see the intersection between caregiving and business, especially in service industries like health care, elder care, and nonprofit management. It’s become clear to me that my purpose is not just to make a living, but to make a difference. This journey has also helped me become more grounded. As a student-athlete in a rigorous academic program, my schedule is often packed. Between early morning swim practices, weightlifting, and maintaining a 4.0 GPA in Business Administration at the University of Indianapolis, there isn’t much time to spare. But caregiving reminded me to slow down and focus on what truly matters. It's helped me become a better listener, a more thoughtful teammate, and a more intentional student. Emotionally, caregiving has deepened my empathy. I’ve seen the loneliness some seniors face, the fear that can come with losing independence, and the relief they feel when someone simply takes the time to ask how their day is going. Those small interactions have left a lasting impression on me. They’ve shaped how I treat others in all areas of life—whether it’s helping a struggling classmate or checking in with a teammate who’s had a rough week. Through caregiving, I’ve also seen the strength in vulnerability. I’ve watched people face aging, illness, and uncertainty with grace and courage. That resilience has inspired me. It’s pushed me to embrace my own challenges, including managing a learning disability, without shame. Instead of seeing it as a limitation, I’ve come to see it as another reason to stay committed—to use my own struggles as motivation to keep showing up for others. Today, my goals are shaped by a desire to lead in a way that reflects those caregiving values: service, integrity, and kindness. I want to build a career in business that puts people first. I want to be the kind of leader who understands the value of every person, no matter their age, ability, or background. Caregiving didn’t just change the way I think—it changed the way I live. It has become a part of my identity, something I carry into every space I enter. And it’s why I believe that wherever life takes me, I will keep finding ways to serve others—not just because it’s the right thing to do, but because it’s who I am.

One moment that stands out from my time in foster care—a moment that made me truly proud of my resilience—happened during my sophomore year of high school. It was a time when everything felt unstable. I had just moved into a new foster home, the third one that year, and was trying to adjust to unfamiliar routines, expectations, and personalities. I was also balancing a demanding course load and committing myself to swimming, the one constant I held onto no matter where I landed. That year, I was invited to compete in a regional swim meet, and while that might not sound like a life-changing moment on the surface, for me, it was a turning point. I remember getting off the school bus that day, walking into a home I had only known for two weeks, and finding out that my foster parent couldn’t drive me to the meet. I had no way to get there—no family in the stands, no ride, and no backup plan. For a moment, I felt like giving up. It was one of those moments when the world felt rigged against me, like success was always one step out of reach. But instead of letting that moment break me, I started calling people—coaches, teammates, even a teacher I barely knew. It took persistence and vulnerability, but eventually, I got a ride. That small victory—just showing up—was huge for me. I went on to place in the top five that day, but more importantly, I proved to myself that I could navigate obstacles with grit and resourcefulness. I learned that pride doesn’t always come from winning. Sometimes it comes from showing up when it would’ve been easier to quit. Sometimes resilience means asking for help when you're used to relying only on yourself. That experience changed the way I face challenges now. It taught me to stop waiting for perfect circumstances and start looking for solutions, even if they aren’t ideal. In foster care, nothing is ever guaranteed. You learn to adapt, to read situations quickly, to build relationships fast, and to expect change. But that meet showed me I could thrive within that uncertainty—not just survive it. Since then, I’ve applied that same mindset in every aspect of my life. In academics, I take initiative, ask questions, and take ownership of my success. In athletics, I push through plateaus and setbacks with the knowledge that progress often comes from persistence. In my relationships, I’ve learned that building a support network—friends, coaches, mentors—is not a weakness but a strength. Most importantly, it gave me a sense of identity. Not as “just a foster kid” or someone defined by their circumstances, but as someone who is resourceful, determined, and brave enough to keep moving forward, no matter what. That identity gives me strength when things feel overwhelming, whether that’s a tough exam, a job interview, or a personal struggle. The foster care system can make you feel invisible, like your story is temporary or insignificant. But that moment reminded me that my story matters—and that I have the power to shape it. It didn’t just make me proud. It made me who I am. And today, when I think about my future—graduating from college, building a career in business, and giving back to young people like me—I carry that moment with me. It reminds me that I’ve overcome worse, that I’ve already proven what I’m made of, and that I can face whatever’s next with courage and confidence.

I’ve been a fan of Billie Eilish almost since her debut, and her music has become a soundtrack for different moments in my life. Three songs in particular––“When the Party’s Over,” “Everything I Wanted,” and “Bad Guy”––stand out as my favorites, each resonating for very different reasons. 1. “When the Party’s Over” This song captures a sense of quiet devastation that feels almost therapeutic to experience. The sparse piano and Billie’s fragile, breathy vocals create an intimate space where vulnerability is front and center. I first heard it after a long week of pushing myself academically and athletically, and the line “Quiet when I’m coming home and I’m on my own” felt like an invitation to simply be still. Rather than telling me to power through, it gave me permission to acknowledge exhaustion and emotional overload. Every time I listen now, I’m reminded that it’s okay to pause, to feel deeply, and to let out the tears or the sighs that built up when I was “performing” for everyone else. That honesty––that willingness to sit with pain instead of masking it––is something I try to bring into my own life, whether I’m coaching a swimmer through a tough set or balancing a hundred commitments at once. 2. “Everything I Wanted” This track has stayed with me because of its exploration of dreams versus reality and the importance of having someone who truly sees you. The cinematic production—swelling synths under a deliberate beat—sets a dreamlike mood, but it’s the lyrics that hit hardest: “I had a dream / I got everything I wanted / But when I wake up, I see / You with me.” I first connected with it during a period when I was chasing goals so feverishly—GPA milestones, swim times, business growth—that I began to wonder, What happens if I actually get there? The song reminded me that success feels hollow without people who care, who share your joys and buffer your disappointments. It reshaped my idea of achievement: not as solo glory, but as collective celebration. Since then, I’ve made a point of thanking teammates, acknowledging mentors, and keeping my family close, knowing that their presence is the difference between hollow victory and genuine fulfillment. 3. “Bad Guy” On the surface, “Bad Guy” is the fun, defiant anthem that made Billie a household name. Its minimalist bass line and playful vocal effects create an infectious swagger. But what resonates most is the way she subverts expectations—both sonically and lyrically. At a time when I was stepping into leadership roles, learning to coach and manage teams, I felt pressure to adopt a certain “serious adult” persona. Listening to “Bad Guy” reminded me that confidence doesn’t require fitting into someone else’s mold; it can come from embracing idiosyncrasies and finding strength in humor. The song encouraged me to be unapologetically myself—whether that’s cracking a joke on deck to ease pre-meet nerves or sending a playful meme to lighten the mood in a group chat. It’s a reminder that leadership can include levity, and that authenticity often inspires more loyalty and energy than rigid formality ever could.

I’ve been a fan of LeBron James ever since I watched him arrive in the NBA as a teenager with that combination of size, speed, and court vision that felt almost unfair. He isn’t just a physical marvel—what really draws me in is his basketball IQ and unselfish style. Whether he’s threading pinpoint passes in traffic, bullying bigger defenders off the dribble, or sinking a corner three, you can see him constantly thinking three moves ahead. Off the court, his commitment to community—opening the “I PROMISE” school in Akron, spearheading voting-rights initiatives, and using his platform to speak out on social issues—speaks to the kind of leader I admire: someone who recognizes that true greatness carries responsibility. As to whether LeBron is the greatest basketball player of all time, I think it depends on how you weigh different eras and skill sets. In terms of raw production, longevity, and all-around impact, he certainly checks every box: four MVP awards, four NBA championships, and the all-time scoring record are milestones no one else has combined. His ability to dominate as a teenager, take over finals games in his 30s, and still operate at an elite level in his late 30s is unprecedented. That said, the “greatest ever” debate usually centers on Michael Jordan, whose six championships, unblemished Finals record, and cultural impact in the 1990s set a different kind of standard. Jordan’s killer instinct and flawless playoff résumé are hard to argue with. LeBron’s Finals record (four titles in ten appearances) isn’t perfect, but it speaks to how consistently he’s carried teams deep into the postseason. In the end, I lean toward calling LeBron the greatest—not because I dismiss Jordan’s legacy, but because LeBron’s blend of versatility, durability, and off-court leadership feels uniquely complete. He’s been at the very top for over two decades, reshaping teams and the league itself wherever he goes. To me, that sustained excellence—coupled with his willingness to use his platform for more than just basketball—makes a compelling case that LeBron James stands alone at the pinnacle of the sport.

I was raised in Mariemont, Ohio, waking up early to deliver newspapers and establishing my first company—Lawn Mower CEO—at age fourteen. Those pre-dawn hours instilled discipline, time management, and a strong work ethic. Resolving service contracts with neighbors and juggling last-minute scheduling issues on rainy days taught me that customer listening and adjusting on the spot are the foundations of success. Even as a paper carrier, I discovered that dependability and follow-through create trust—a lesson that pervades all that I do today. When I came to the University of Indianapolis to pursue a Bachelor of Science in Business Administration and Management, I was committed to continuing to push my boundaries. I have kept a 3.70 GPA while juggling jobs as lifeguard and operations manager at the neighborhood pool, youth swim coach, and varsity swimmer. Rising at 4:30 AM to work out before school, then to night shifts or study groups, instilled me with resilience and the value of wise planning. Receiving Academic All-GLVC recognition and a spot on the CSCAA DII Scholar All-America List in 2023/2024 confirmed the belief that hard work and conscientious self-care can translate to success in and out of the pool. My experiences have also reaffirmed my belief that business can be good. Operating day-to-day activities at the pool—staff scheduling, upkeep of safety procedures, and dealing with customer complaints—has refined my leadership and problem-solving skills. Teaching youth athletes, I've learned the impact that personalized feedback and praise can have on unlocking someone's potential and understanding the influence of empathy as a motivator. Starting and building my lawn-care business gave me an entrepreneurial attitude: establish definite goals, evaluate outcomes, and move swiftly. In the future, I hope to establish a consultancy firm that assists small companies in integrating socially responsible behaviors. I envision starting a sustainable landscaping firm that employs at-risk youths, combining my business acumen with social activism. I also dream of building an online support system where student-athletes and young entrepreneurs can be paired with mental-health services and peer support groups—something I wished for during my busiest semesters. By integrating my certifications in Apple, Google, and Microsoft Office with strategic management principles, I’ll offer scalable, tech-driven solutions that drive both profitability and positive social impact. I’m passionate about fulfilling these dreams because I’ve witnessed firsthand how purposeful action transforms lives. Helping a neighbor around the corner to enjoy their lawn, seeing a swimmer shave precious seconds off a personal best, or watching a team member find equilibrium in the face of academic pressures has demonstrated to me that empathy and creativity are interdependent. My own journey—finding release from perfectionism through mindfulness, peer mentoring, and professional coaching—has shown me that true success is not a solitary achievement but one that is shared with others. Every venture I take on is driven by a desire to listen, to serve, and to create opportunity for others. Ultimately, my story is one of setting early goals, embracing challenges, and ongoing learning. The ambitions that I have—a consultancy based on community impact, a resilience-building technology platform, and ongoing mentorship for future generations—are spin-offs from the values that I was able to forge as a paper carrier, teenager entrepreneur, and dedicated student-athlete. I am committed to turning those ambitions into reality, fueled by the conviction that business with heart can create enduring, positive impact.

My name is William Robert Pettifer and I am a University of Indianapolis student studying Business Administration with a 3.70 GPA and a goal to make ideas a reality. I have been a paper boy since I was eleven and have created my first venture—a lawn care company that I created myself—so I've known since the beginning that business goes to those that listen to others, act fast, and deliver value every time. I now have a few different hats that I wear: Lifeguard & Operations Manager at the Community Pool, Swim Coach to a youth squad, and varsity swimmer, all of which have helped to develop my organizational, communication, and leadership skills. The availability of this award will be a life-changing element of my education by lowering the economic burden to my family and enabling the freedom to take internships, certifications, and study abroad without putting in additional part-time hours. With assistance by the Jorian Kuran Harris (Shugg) Helping Heart Foundation Scholarship, I will have more time to work to develop the socially impactful companies I envision—be this a sustainable landscaping firm that hires at-risk youth or an online platform that connects student-athletes with mental-health counseling. My long-term goal is to create a consultancy that helps small firms to become more socially responsible. I do not believe purpose and profit are mutually exclusive: with strategic insight and empathetic leadership, firms will be able to profit and make a difference. In the near term, I will be authorized to sell insurance with State Farm and leverage that experience to gain a better understanding of risk management and client relationships. With that foundation, I will leverage my operations-management expertise and certifications with Apple, Google, and Microsoft applications to create scalable, technology-enabled offerings that automate back-office activities at small firms. Ultimately, I want to guide the next generation of small business leaders—particularly those with under-represented backgrounds—by teaching them the lessons I’ve gleaned with respect to resilience, integrity, and client-centricity. The biggest shaping challenge I faced was emotional burnout that resulted from maintaining my perfectionist personality. I took a full schedule of classes in my second year, practicing with the varsity at 5 AM, lifeguarding shifts, and performing duties stationed at the deck by the coach. I worried day and night and woke in the dead of night thinking about all those missed deadline or less than optimal swim splits. I was lagging behind in class and on deck and felt as if I was letting down my teammates and family. In response, I consulted with a physical trainer and a nutritionist—Brian, incidentally, both named Brian—and shifted my activities to a healthier mix and was introduced to mindfulness meditation. I also set incremental, achievable goals and weekly meetings with a small peer study group, where we were there to motivate each other but also to hold each other accountable. After a semester, I was encouraged to acknowledge and celebrate small successes, to see failure as a learning experience, and above all, to seek assistance before crises. By spring term, not only had I regained academic stability but placed in the top five at the GLVC Conference Championships—testament that self-compassion and resilience are just as necessary to achievement as talent. In narrating my tale, I am attempting to do justice to the Helping Heart Foundation commitment to students like myself to harmonize business acumen with purpose. This honor will enable me to refine my skill, expand my vision, and, not too long thereafter, give back the investment made in myself by helping others actualize their entrepreneurial dreams.

From an early age, I held myself to impossibly high standards. Whether it was earning straight A’s, shaving fractions of a second off my swim times, or building my lawn-care business from scratch, I equated self-worth with flawless execution. That mindset drove me to excel—culminating in a 4.0 GPA, Academic All-GLVC honors, and two top-5 finishes at the 2025 conference championships—but it also exacted a toll on my mental health. Anxiety, self-doubt, and burnout became routine companions. Over time, I realized that perfectionism wasn’t just a personal quirk; it was a filter through which I viewed the world, shaping my beliefs, my relationships, and the career path I now aspire to follow. Confronting perfectionism forced me to reevaluate my core beliefs. I learned that excellence and well-being are not mutually exclusive—that sustainable success springs from resilience and self-compassion rather than relentless self-criticism. Through sessions with a nutritionist and physical therapist named Brian, and by presenting on “Mental Health for Athletes” at the Scholars Showcase, I came to embrace a growth mindset: setbacks are opportunities to learn, and imperfections are signposts for where to focus next. This shift in thinking has underpinned my belief that leadership is less about never making mistakes and more about owning them and rallying others toward collective improvement. My struggle with perfectionism also transformed how I relate to others. For years, I struggled to ask for help or show vulnerability, fearing it would expose weakness. But as I opened up to teammates, classmates, and the young swimmers I coach, I discovered that vulnerability breeds connection. Sharing my own battles with anxiety encouraged peers to talk about theirs, forging bonds built on empathy rather than competition. In my role as Operations Manager at the community pool, I prioritize one-on-one check-ins with staff, modeling the same openness I value in my friends. By learning to listen without judgment, I’ve built stronger, more authentic relationships—both in and out of the water. These insights are now steering my career aspirations. As I complete my Bachelor of Science in Business Administration and Management, I am determined to integrate mental-health advocacy into whatever I do next. Whether I launch client-focused ventures like sustainable landscaping services that offer wellness stipends, or serve as a sales agent for State Farm, my goal is to build teams and products that recognize the human element behind every metric. I plan to leverage my certifications in Apple, Google, and Microsoft tools to create digital platforms for stress management and peer support—tools I wish I’d had as a student-athlete juggling dual careers. Ultimately, my experience with perfectionism has taught me that true achievement is measured not by flawless performance, but by the capacity to adapt, empathize, and uplift others. By channeling my drive into initiatives that balance high standards with compassion, I hope to cultivate work environments and community programs that prioritize mental well-being as much as they do productivity. In doing so, I aim to transform the lessons I learned the hard way into lasting positive impact—proof that embracing imperfection can be the most profound form of excellence.

Since I was a kid delivering newspapers in Mariemont, Ohio, I've been good at setting goals, assisting others, and delivering quantifiable results. I am graduating with a Bachelor of Science in Business Administration and Management from the University of Indianapolis with a 3.70 GPA, while working as lifeguard and operations manager at the local pool, owner of a small lawn-care business, and coach of a youth swim team. These shared duties have instilled in me a strong work ethic, polished my leadership skills, and strengthened my devotion to customer service—qualities that are essential to a prosperous sales career at State Farm. Operational work at Community Pool has taught me the importance of effective communication and proactive problem-solving. I staff schedule daily, inventory management, and address patron concerns daily to ensure a safe and welcoming environment. Managing emergencies and daily inquiries have taught me to think on my feet, listen carefully to what customers are saying, and to follow up on my word—talents that directly translate to building trust and long-term relationships with insurance clients. Starting and developing Lawn Mower CEO at fourteen was my initial on-the-job business lesson. I had to learn how to advertise my services, satisfy customers, and handle irregular weather and client schedules. By providing dependable, quality service and keeping the lines of communication open, I gained a faithful client base through referrals. What I gained from this experience is that success in sales is not just about product knowledge, but empathy, trust, and being able to customize the solution to the individual customer scenario. As a member of the varsity team and as a swim coach, I have conducted training sessions, created personalized plans, and guided athletes to new personal records. Coaching calls for patience, motivation, and the skill to simplify complicated techniques into basic steps that are easily followed. My status on the Academic All-GLVC Honoree list and CSCAA DII Scholar All-America List speaks to my commitment to juggling rigorous athletic and academic calendars. Such experiences have strengthened my conviction that true motivation comes from knowing people's aspirations—and leading them to achievement through one-on-one guidance. I was attracted to an insurance sales career because it combines my desire to help people with my business acumen. Insurance is really all about protecting people's peace of mind and financial futures. I would like to utilize my operations management experience and client-centered approach to assist families and small business owners in managing risk and attaining the best coverage for their lives. In college, I have already started preparing by learning strategic management fundamentals, developing my public speaking abilities, and acquiring Apple, Google, and Microsoft Office certifications to facilitate communication and presentation to clients. After graduation, I will be employed as a sales agent for State Farm and growing my book of business by establishing a presence in the community, networking, and referrals. I will leverage my background in event planning with Kappa Delta Pi and the Academic Enrichment Board to provide workshops in financial literacy and risk management. To continue to be successful, I will establish quantifiable goals, obtain a mentor in a seasoned agent, and benefit from State Farm's continuing education through professional development programs. I will continue to be customer-centric, solicit client feedback regularly, and evolve my methodology to fulfill changing client needs. With my background in operational excellence, entrepreneurial spirit, and natural empathy, I know that I will excel as a State Farm agent—assisting people in protecting what is important and making a positive difference in the communities I'll serve

Why I Am Passionate About the Special Education Teaching Profession "I have learned that the purpose of teaching is to bring the student to his or her sense of his or her own presence." – Professor Harold Bloom, Possessed by Memory This quote beautifully summarizes the heart of why I want to be a special education teacher. Professor Bloom believed that the role of the teacher is not just to pass along information, but to awaken something within the student—a sense of self, a recognition of their worth, and a confidence in their ability to engage with the world. For me, this is especially true in special education, where students often face not only academic challenges, but personal ones that can make them feel invisible or misunderstood. Helping students with special needs come into their own presence—helping them believe they belong—is my calling. To me, a “sense of presence” means recognizing and embracing one’s own worth. It’s when a student understands that they are capable, seen, and important—not in comparison to others, but in their own right. I want my students to know they matter. That they’re not broken, behind, or less-than. They are different, yes—but that difference is not a weakness. It’s a strength. Helping students realize this is what fuels my passion for teaching. What makes special education so meaningful to me is that no two students are the same. Every child learns in a unique way and brings their own strengths, perspectives, and challenges to the classroom. As a teacher, I love the puzzle of figuring out how each student learns best and how I can support them in reaching their full potential. Whether it’s through visual aids, hands-on activities, or simply more time and patience, I’m committed to building an environment where every child feels safe, supported, and celebrated. My mission is rooted in relationships. Before learning can happen, students need to feel safe and valued. That’s why I focus first on creating trust—learning about each student’s interests, dreams, and fears, and showing them that I see them as a whole person. Once trust is built, I tailor instruction to meet their individual needs and abilities. I believe in setting high expectations while providing the support they need to succeed. I want them to be challenged, not discouraged; to grow confident through effort, not discouraged by comparison. I also believe in teaching students how to advocate for themselves. Many students with special needs are used to having adults speak for them. I want to teach them how to speak for themselves. Whether that means asking for help, sharing what they’re good at, or standing up for what they need, I want to give them the tools and language to take ownership of their education and their future. Ultimately, I want my students to walk out of my classroom not just having learned math or reading—but knowing that they are powerful. That they can learn. That their differences don’t define them, but empower them. I want them to feel their own presence—confident, visible, and capable of creating a life that reflects who they truly are. Teaching isn’t just a job for me. It’s a lifelong mission. Special education gives me the chance to make a real difference—not just academically, but in the lives and hearts of the students I serve. Helping my students find their voice and recognize their presence is my passion, and I am committed to walking beside them on every step of that journey.

I was raised in Mariemont, Ohio, where I was taught the value of hard work, teamwork, and service at a young age. From a young paper boy to the CEO of my own lawn care business, which I started at age fourteen, I discovered that success is about listening to people, being financially conservative, and following through on what you commit to do. I am presently pursuing a Bachelor of Science in Business Administration and Management at the University of Indianapolis with a 3.70 GPA, two varsity sports seasons, and concurrent part-time jobs as Lifeguard & Operations Manager at a community pool and swim coach for a local youth team. My own path has not been without challenges. As a member of the University of Indianapolis Swim & Dive Team, I was challenged to improve my performance to the Division II level without sacrificing academic achievement. Early in the season, I finished eighth at the 2024 GLVC Championships—a solid placing but still not where I knew I was capable of being. To get better, I dedicated myself to additional dry-land sessions, nutrition counseling, and diligent time management. Some mornings I woke up at 4:30 AM so that I could be at the pool before class, and some evenings I went directly from night lifeguarding jobs to virtual study groups. Keeping up with these demands tried my patience, but it also helped me realize that determination and self-discipline can transform disappointments into stepping stones. The second obstacle arose when I initiated my own lawn-care business. Developing a clientele while still in high school involved discovering marketing, customer service, and simple accounting years ahead of the majority of my classmates. I learned to handle tough calls, adjust to eleventh-hour weather conditions, and keep accurate records—all of which I now use as an operations manager. But most importantly, I understood that leadership is service: a happy customer or a swimmer who achieves a personal best is the greatest indicator of success. In the US, I plan to further my education in strategic management, ethical leadership, and international markets. My three-pronged plan is this. First, I will use my entrepreneurial abilities and academic education and create businesses with a social return—whether it is an eco-friendly landscaping business that hires at-risk youth or a technology company that connects student-athletes with mental health services. At UIndy, I have started building a foundation by presenting the lecture "Mental Health for Athletes" at our Scholars Showcase annual event and by being a member of the Academic Enrichment Board to help advance academic support services. Second, I will tap my coaching experience to guide underrepresented students through academic and athletic pressures. Having been a member of Chi Alpha Sigma and Kappa Delta Pi, I've led workshops and study sessions that foster learning among peers; I will expand upon these efforts in the broader community by forging partnerships with local schools and non-profit organizations. Lastly, I wish to foster global understanding by combining my business education with international exchange. Summer training at the University of Cincinnati and competing in Speedo Sectionals introduced me to teammates and competitors from a variety of cultures. These experiences sparked my fascination with how business can unite people across cultures. I envision the creation of virtual internships and collaborations across the globe where students in the U.S., Europe, and Asia can co-create together—whether it's streamlining supply chains for small producers or creating community outreach campaigns. I have learned that effectiveness and empathy are not just complementary, but also depend on each other: by listening attentively to others' needs, we create more effective solutions.

've spent my professional life moving between careers as a student-athlete, business owner, coach, and operations manager—each with insights gained on listening, planning, and motivating. In imagining how I can build a more empathetic and compassionate world society, I will use these skills and capabilities in three interrelated modes: through advocating inclusive business leadership, by educating with compassion, and through using technology as a bridge of understanding between cultures. First, my background in business administration and management (B.S., University of Indianapolis, 3.70 GPA) and my hands-on experience as Operations Manager at Community Pool have honed my ability to coordinate teams, optimize processes, and deliver exceptional service. On any given day, I’m managing staff schedules, overseeing inventory, and troubleshooting customer concerns—all while ensuring safety and compliance. These responsibilities need good communication, strategic thinking, and genuine empathy: if the patron feels heard, trust is established. Moving forward, I will apply these regulations on a global scale by developing training modules for global teams based on cultural sensitivity. Whether leading an online workshop of colleagues from another time zone or mentoring a virtual intern, I will draw on my past experience of placing a premium on functional effectiveness while placing people above all else. Second, experience working with swimmers—first as a Swim Coach for Community Swim Team and now as a Varsity Swim & Dive Team member at UIndy—has taught me that high-level performance is driven by emotional connection. I develop customized training plans, give positive feedback, and arrange competitions so that every athlete feels supported. My induction into Chi Alpha Sigma and selection to the CSCAA DII Scholar All-America List embody my commitment to excellence not just in the pool but as well on land. In the coming years, I aim to work with youth programs all over the world, using sport as a universal language to share grit, team-oriented spirit, and respect. By converting drills to different facilities and environments—like how I previously operated lawn-care clients through my Lawn Mower CEO business—I will help youth worldwide unlock their potential and, in the process, gain empathy for teammates of different cultures. Finally, my Apple, Google, and Microsoft certifications have given me digital fluency to bridge communities online. I leveraged those skills to build a social media account counting down to conference championships, engaging followers with authentic storytelling. As a member of Kappa Delta Pi and the AE Board, I’ve organized educational outreach events and academic support initiatives. I will globalize those communication and organizational skills by starting a multilingual digital network for student-athletes and young professionals, where members can exchange challenges, celebrate victories, and learn from each other. This network would provide tools—everything from time-management webinars to public-speaking clinics—drawn from my own experiences juggling a 4.0 GPA, demanding training schedule, and part-time employment. In all of these activities, my guiding philosophy is simple: empathy grows when we commit to listening to one another's stories. By combining my leadership and customer-service expertise, my coaching experience, and my digital-strategy expertise, I'm dedicated to closing gaps—one conversation, one training session, and one online connection at a time—toward a more empathetic, interconnected world.

Why I Am Passionate About the Special Education Teacher Profession "I have learned that the purpose of teaching is to bring the student to his or her sense of his or her own presence." – Professor Harold Bloom, Possessed by Memory Defining the Quote: What is a “Sense of Presence”? This profound quote by Professor Harold Bloom speaks directly to the heart of what it means to be an educator. Bloom, a Humanities professor at Yale with over six decades of teaching experience, didn’t simply teach facts or skills. He believed that the ultimate goal of education was to help students recognize and inhabit their own unique sense of self—to understand that they matter, that they are capable, and that they have a voice. This is what Bloom meant by helping students realize their own “sense of presence.” To “bring the student to his or her sense of presence” is to empower them to exist fully in the classroom—not just physically, but emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually. It’s about making sure they feel seen, heard, valued, and capable. When a student develops this presence, they are no longer passive recipients of knowledge. They become active participants in their learning and their lives. For students with special needs, this is especially critical. Many of them face not just academic challenges, but also societal stigmas and internal battles with self-worth. As a special education teacher, my mission is to guide these students to see themselves not through the lens of their disability, but through the light of their individuality and strength. Why I’m Drawn to Special Education My passion for special education stems from both personal experience and a deep sense of purpose. I have worked with students who learn and process information differently, and I’ve witnessed the joy that lights up their faces when they finally master something they once thought was impossible. I’ve seen the quiet confidence grow in a child when someone finally believes in them, listens to them, and adapts learning to their needs rather than expecting them to fit into a rigid mold. Special education offers a space where creativity, compassion, and critical thinking intersect. It’s a field that demands patience, empathy, and resilience—and those are qualities I’ve worked hard to develop in myself. I love the challenge of figuring out what makes each student tick. No two students are the same, and that’s what makes this work so fulfilling. I don’t just want to teach—I want to change lives. But it’s not just about giving to students—it’s about learning from them. Every child I’ve worked with has taught me something new about how to communicate, how to adapt, and how to celebrate progress. They’ve shown me that growth comes in many forms and that the smallest victories can mean the most. My students have helped shape the person and educator I am becoming. My Mission: Helping Students Find Their Presence So how do I, as a special education teacher, help my students come into their own presence? 1. Create a Safe Environment The first step is building a classroom culture based on trust and safety. Students need to know that they are accepted exactly as they are, without judgment or comparison. In my classroom, mistakes are not just tolerated—they’re celebrated as stepping stones to growth. This allows students to take risks, ask questions, and express themselves without fear. 2. Individualize Instruction Every child learns differently, and as a special education teacher, my job is to figure out how each student best receives and processes information. Whether that means using visual supports, breaking down tasks into manageable steps, or incorporating movement and sensory activities, I tailor my instruction to help each child succeed in their own way. 3. Build Relationships Strong, supportive relationships are at the core of all effective teaching. I take the time to get to know each of my students—their interests, fears, and dreams. I also work closely with their families and other professionals to ensure that we’re all working together to support the child. When students know that they’re supported by a team that believes in them, they start to believe in themselves too. 4. Teach Self-Advocacy Part of helping students develop their presence is teaching them how to speak up for themselves. I want my students to know that their voices matter. I help them understand their learning differences, identify their strengths, and develop the confidence to ask for what they need. This empowerment not only helps them in school but also in life. 5. Celebrate the Whole Child Academics are important, but so are social-emotional skills, creativity, and character. I aim to nurture the whole child by encouraging kindness, perseverance, and self-reflection. I want my students to leave my classroom not just knowing how to solve a math problem, but also how to solve a disagreement with a friend, how to regulate their emotions, and how to believe in their future. A Fairy Tale: The Hero’s Journey to Presence Once upon a time, in a faraway kingdom called Lumenaria, there lived a young teacher named Theo. Theo had always dreamed of being more than just a teacher—he wanted to be a Guide of Light, someone who helped children discover their hidden brilliance. He trained with wise mentors, studied the scrolls of Bloom, and practiced the art of listening with both ears and heart. One day, Theo was sent to a village school on the edge of the forest. The children there were known as the “Quiet Lights,” for though they glowed softly with potential, their lights had never been fully seen. Some could not speak easily, some struggled to write, and others found it hard to sit still. Many had grown used to hiding their light, afraid that no one would understand them. Theo entered the classroom and felt the silence like a fog. But he did not command them to listen or scold them for not trying. Instead, he whispered, “I see you. You matter. Let’s find your light together.” He set to work creating magical learning tools: picture-spells for visual learners, music-spells for auditory learners, and movement-dances for kinesthetic ones. He encouraged laughter, made space for quiet, and gave every child a role in the classroom village. When one student named Liora struggled to read, Theo wrote stories using her favorite animals. When another, a boy named Caspian, couldn’t stay seated, Theo gave him a standing desk shaped like a pirate’s mast. Slowly, the Quiet Lights began to shine more brightly. But the real magic happened during the “Day of Mirrors,” when Theo gave each child a mirror enchanted with kind truths. As they looked into the glass, they didn’t just see their faces—they saw their growth, their courage, their dreams. They saw their presence. From that day on, the classroom became a lighthouse in Lumenaria. Other teachers came to learn Theo’s ways, and soon, all over the land, Quiet Lights were being seen, heard, and celebrated. Theo continued his journey, not as a savior, but as a guide—helping every child step into the fullness of who they were always meant to be. And though he knew the path ahead would be filled with challenges, he also knew that this was his calling: to help every child find their presence, and in doing so, fully realize his own. Conclusion Becoming a special education teacher is not just a career choice—it’s a mission, a passion, and a promise. It’s a promise to meet students where they are, see their full humanity, and help them grow into confident, self-aware individuals. Bloom’s words serve as a guiding star in my teaching philosophy: the true purpose of education is to help students realize that they matter, that they are capable, and that they belong. I carry this mission in my heart every day. And I hope that through my work—both in reality and in the fairy tale of Lumenaria—I can be a light that helps others shine more brightly.

Public service, to me, is about contributing to something greater than yourself. It’s about putting your time, talent, and energy toward the betterment of others—especially those who may not have the tools, support, or access to advocate for themselves. It is the idea that every person, regardless of background, income, or circumstance, deserves the opportunity to live a full and meaningful life. Public service doesn’t always look like a big headline. Sometimes, it’s found in the quiet moments—showing up every day with consistency, listening with empathy, and doing the hard work even when no one is watching. That’s the kind of service I aspire to provide throughout my life. I believe my purpose lies at the intersection of education, family support, and community development—fields where public service isn’t just impactful; it’s essential. My focus is on early childhood development because I’ve seen firsthand how critical the earliest years of life are in shaping a person’s future. Children do not get to choose the conditions they are born into, but the systems and adults around them can help shape the conditions they grow up in. I want to be one of those adults—someone who advocates for them, believes in them, and creates systems that serve them. That is why I am pursuing a degree in Business Administration with a passion for applying my knowledge to community-based programs, particularly those that serve young children and their families. My journey into public service began with small acts: tutoring classmates, volunteering with kids, and organizing community drives. These experiences taught me that impact doesn’t always require money or power—it requires heart, time, and a willingness to act. As a first-generation college student, I’ve also learned that the systems in place often don’t serve everyone equally. Navigating college without a family blueprint has given me a deep appreciation for access, equity, and the importance of mentorship. It has made me more compassionate, more determined, and more aware of the gaps that still exist in education and social services. I want to use my education to bridge those gaps. In my ideal future, I see myself leading or helping launch a nonprofit that serves children and families in underserved communities. The mission would focus on early childhood education, parental engagement, mental health support, and access to basic needs. So many of the challenges students face later in life—academic struggles, behavioral issues, low confidence—are rooted in experiences from the earliest years. If we can support children and their families at the beginning, we can positively shape the entire course of their lives. I want to create programs where parents feel empowered, children feel safe and excited to learn, and teachers are equipped with the resources and training they need to truly thrive. My studies in business are preparing me with the tools I need to make this vision a reality. I’m learning about financial management, organizational leadership, project planning, and strategic communication—all skills that are essential for building and sustaining community programs. Beyond spreadsheets and case studies, I see my business education as a toolkit: one I’ll use to write grants, build budgets, evaluate program effectiveness, and train future staff. I’ve come to understand that passion alone isn’t enough to run a successful public service initiative. You need structure, vision, and sound strategy. My education is helping me build those pieces. At the same time, my experiences working directly with children remind me why this work matters. Whether I’m volunteering in a classroom, teaching a lesson, or mentoring students one-on-one, I am constantly reminded of how impressionable, eager, and full of potential young children are. I believe that every child deserves at least one adult in their life who is crazy about them—who sees them, believes in them, and makes sure they know they matter. I want to be that person for as many children as possible. And I want to train and inspire others to do the same. Public service, in my mind, isn’t just about helping people—it’s about helping people help themselves. It’s about investing in others in a way that creates independence, confidence, and dignity. That’s especially important when working with families. I don’t want to “rescue” anyone; I want to walk alongside them, build trust, and help create opportunities that allow them to thrive. That’s why family engagement is such a big part of my future plans. When parents are supported, informed, and respected, their children benefit. I want to build programs that treat families as partners, not just clients or participants. Another way I plan to serve is by advocating for better policy and funding for early childhood education and family services. I want to be a voice that helps decision-makers understand the long-term value of investing in young children. Research consistently shows that children who attend high-quality early learning programs are more likely to succeed in school, graduate, and contribute positively to society. I want to use data, stories, and results from the programs I help lead to advocate for systems-level change. I believe we need more leaders who understand both the human side of education and the business side of running sustainable programs—and I’m working to become one of them. Finally, I recognize that service is a lifelong journey. It’s not something you do for a few years and then leave behind. It’s a mindset, a commitment, and a way of living. My hope is that whether I’m running a nonprofit, working in a public school system, or collaborating with policymakers, I will continue to grow, listen, and stay rooted in the values that brought me here in the first place. Service, to me, is a calling—and I intend to answer it for the rest of my life. By combining the strategic thinking and leadership skills from my business education with the passion and insight I’ve developed through working with children and families, I am confident that I can contribute something meaningful to the world.

I chose to pursue early childhood development because I have always been amazed by how quickly and deeply young children learn. Watching a child go from saying their first words to holding conversations, from crawling to running confidently, and from observing the world to asking endless questions, is something truly incredible. These early years are not only full of growth but are foundational to everything that follows in a person’s life. I want to be a positive part of that foundation. As a first-generation college student and someone who values both education and human connection, I see early childhood education as a way to make a real difference in the lives of children, families, and communities. What drew me to this field is the realization that early childhood is a time when children are not only learning how to count or recite the alphabet—they're learning how to be themselves. They are forming their identities, discovering how to express emotions, interact with others, and solve problems. When we invest in those early years with intention and care, we are giving children the tools they need to thrive in school and in life. I’ve also seen firsthand how much support families need during this time. Not every family has access to high-quality early education or knows how to encourage development at home. I want to be someone who not only teaches young children but also empowers their families to be involved and informed. To support early childhood development, I plan to use a combination of proven teaching strategies and strong, supportive relationships with both children and parents. I believe in developmentally appropriate practice, which means meeting children where they are and helping them grow through play, discovery, and hands-on experiences. In my classroom, learning will happen through building with blocks, acting out stories, playing outside, asking questions, and exploring art and music. I will also establish consistent routines that give children a sense of structure and safety—because children learn best when they feel secure and cared for. Social-emotional development will be a big focus for me. I want to create a classroom where every child feels seen, heard, and valued. I’ll teach them how to identify their feelings, resolve conflicts peacefully, and treat others with kindness. These are skills that don’t just help in preschool—they help in every stage of life. I will also be intentional about teaching self-regulation and problem-solving skills, using language and activities that help children recognize their emotions and work through challenges in healthy ways. Another important part of my approach is family engagement. I see families as partners in the learning process. I plan to maintain open communication with parents, share updates on their child’s progress, and provide ideas for simple ways they can support learning at home. I’ll organize family nights, learning activities to take home, and conferences that focus not only on what the child is doing in school but how we can support them together. Finally, I know that to be the best teacher I can be, I need to keep learning myself. I plan to continue my education through workshops, certifications, and possibly a graduate degree in early childhood education. I want to stay current on the latest research, understand the needs of diverse learners, and always be improving my practice. Choosing this field was never just about a career—it’s about having a lasting impact. I believe that by supporting young children in their earliest years, I can help shape a future that is brighter for them, their families, and the communities we all share.

Pursuing higher education has always felt like more than just a personal choice—it’s a commitment to change the trajectory of my life and honor the sacrifices made by my family. As a first-generation college student, stepping onto a college campus for the first time wasn’t just a milestone; it was a symbol of possibility, hope, and determination. I chose to pursue higher education because I want to open doors that have never been opened in my family before, and to create a future filled with opportunities that reflect the work, growth, and passion I’ve invested in myself. Growing up, college was always seen as a goal, but not always an accessible one. Without the blueprint of having family members who had been through the experience, I had to take initiative and become my own guide. From a young age, I made academics a top priority. I learned to set goals, manage my time, and seek out resources that would help me stay on track. Today, I maintain a 4.0 GPA as a Business Administration major, a reflection of the commitment I made to not just attend college, but to thrive in it. My preparation for college extended far beyond the classroom. As a student-athlete on the Varsity Swim and Dive Team at the University of Indianapolis, I’ve learned to balance the intense demands of academics with early morning practices, travel, and competition. I’ve earned Academic All-GLVC honors and was named to the CSCAA Scholar All-America list. These recognitions mean a lot to me because they show that I’ve not only managed to survive college life—I’ve excelled in it, even while navigating it without a roadmap. Being a first-generation student has also meant finding mentors and building a support network from scratch. I’ve taken advantage of every opportunity to connect with people who could help guide me, whether it’s my career counselor Brittany Dyer, my nutritionist, or my physical therapist. I’ve learned the importance of advocating for myself and asking for help when I need it. These relationships have helped me develop holistically—not just as a student, but as a leader, an athlete, and a young professional. In addition to academics and athletics, I’ve sought to get involved in organizations that align with my goals and values. I’m a proud member of Kappa Delta Pi, Chi Alpha Sigma, and serve on the AE Board. Each of these roles has allowed me to build leadership skills and contribute to communities that uplift and support one another. Through these experiences, I’ve developed a strong sense of purpose and gained confidence in my ability to lead, collaborate, and grow. One of my biggest motivations is to ensure that my education lessens the burden on my family, not adds to it. That’s why I’ve taken my business studies seriously and am actively seeking scholarships, internships, and professional opportunities that will allow me to graduate with experience, direction, and financial independence. I want my journey to inspire others in my family and community to pursue higher education as well. Choosing college as a first-generation student hasn’t been easy—but it has been worth every challenge. I’ve learned resilience, independence, and how to shape my future with intention. I’m excited for what’s ahead, and I’m proud of the foundation I’ve built through hard work, determination, and a deep sense of purpose.