I believe lasting impact begins in the spaces where you live, work, and serve. For me, that space is rural Tennessee, a place rich in history, community, and resilience, but also burdened by neglect, inequality, and outdated systems. My goal is not to change the world in a broad, abstract way. Instead, I want to work directly with the people around me, shaping policy, increasing access to resources, and building programs that uplift those who are too often overlooked. I plan to make a positive impact by becoming a voice for the underserved and the unheard, starting with my own community. My decision to pursue a degree in history was not random. I chose this path because understanding the past helps us better navigate the present. The roots of injustice, poverty, and systemic bias did not appear overnight. They are the result of long-standing structures that must be challenged with both knowledge and strategy. Studying history gives me the tools to recognize these patterns and advocate for solutions that are not only informed but also sustainable. While others may enter public service through the study of law or criminal justice, I believe history offers a broader, more reflective foundation for meaningful change. I am especially passionate about supporting marginalized groups in rural areas. In places like mine, people who are different because of their color, disability, sexuality, or religion are often left without representation. Their voices get lost in systems that were not built with them in mind. One of my primary goals is to create programs that empower these groups. This could mean organizing voter education initiatives, expanding access to local healthcare, or working with state leaders to fund better community resources. I am committed to listening to the needs of my neighbors and acting with intention. Experience has taught me that true service requires both empathy and action. After Hurricane Helene, I helped organize relief donations for our area, coordinating storage and distribution when resources flooded in faster than we could handle. It was a moment that reinforced my belief in what communities can accomplish when they unite. It also made clear how much more effective we can be when systems are already in place to support that unity. That is the kind of future I want to help build, not one where we respond to crisis after crisis, but one where we are prepared, supported, and working together before the storm ever comes. Ultimately, my hope is to become a leader who helps others rise. I do not seek recognition or authority for its own sake. I want to work in public service because I believe in people’s right to be heard, supported, and protected. I believe that education can be used not just to elevate one life, but to shape a better future for many. That is what drives me. That is how I plan to make a positive impact on the world.

"Of things some are in our power, and others are not. In our power are opinion, movement toward a thing, desire, aversion; and in a word, whatever are our own acts. Not in our power are the body, property, reputation, office, and in a word, whatever are not our own acts. And the things that are in our power are by nature free, not subject to restraint or hindrance; but those not in our power are weak, slavish, subject to hindrance, dependent on others." — Epictetus, Discourses, Book I, Chapter I The central thesis of Epictetus’s passage is that peace and purpose are only possible when one understands and accepts the boundary between what is within our control and what is not. This philosophical division is not merely academic, it is a moral and practical foundation for living a resilient life. The line drawn by Epictetus carves human experience into two realms: the internal, which we can govern, and the external, which we must face with grace. This division challenges modern perspectives that equate empowerment with control over outcomes, urging instead that true strength lies in mastery of the self. At the heart of this Stoic concept is an invitation to reframe our understanding of power. Many are conditioned to think of power as the ability to change the world around us. But Epictetus argues that the world, by its nature, resists control. Illness strikes regardless of our schedules. Loved ones disappoint us despite our best intentions. Recognition may never come, and loss is all but guaranteed. If peace is dependent on bending reality to our will, then we are doomed to frustration and bitterness. But if we root our peace in our response, our judgment, and our will, then we gain a kind of invincibility. To understand Epictetus’s intention more deeply, we must look at the context in which he taught. A former slave who rose to become a respected Stoic philosopher, Epictetus understood powerlessness in the most literal terms. He could not control his social status, his body (he was reportedly lame), or even his basic freedoms. And yet, within those limitations, he built a life of profound insight and ethical clarity. His words are not the musings of someone removed from hardship, but the lived truth of someone who had no choice but to master his internal world when the external was cruel and unforgiving. This divide between the internal and external is not about apathy or withdrawal from the world. On the contrary, it is a call to engage with the world from a place of principle rather than panic. When Epictetus says reputation, property, and office are not within our power, he is not condemning ambition, but detaching self-worth from the fickleness of external recognition. We may pursue a public role or work toward a goal, but the outcome does not define us. What defines us is whether we acted with wisdom, courage, justice, and discipline, the four cardinal virtues of Stoicism. These are always within reach, even when success is not. One of the more subtle implications of this passage is its relevance to social and civic life. While Epictetus emphasizes the internal, he does not reject public duty. Instead, he teaches that effective participation in the world must begin with the self. Only those who are not ruled by ego, fear, or the desire for validation can lead and serve with integrity. In this way, the passage is not just a roadmap for personal peace, but a blueprint for ethical public leadership. A person who understands that office and reputation are not true possessions will be less likely to be corrupted by them. They will govern themselves first, and by doing so, be more capable of contributing to a just society. This idea resonates deeply in today’s climate, where chaos often masquerades as control. Social media offers the illusion of influence. Political platforms promise sweeping change. But both can become traps when we seek identity through external impact alone. Epictetus’s advice cuts through this noise. If we focus first on shaping our character and anchoring our peace in values rather than outcomes, then even in the storm of modern life, we remain steady. And in being steady, we can be effective agents of change, not driven by pride or despair, but by service. This ancient Stoic insight is not a relic. It is a challenge, particularly for those navigating systems that seem rigged or unjust. How can we focus on internal control when external systems deny fairness? Epictetus does not ignore this tension. Instead, he argues that by holding firm to our own judgments and values, even in the face of injustice, we reclaim a kind of moral autonomy. It is not a passive stance. It is an act of rebellion, to remain ethical in a world that rewards compromise. To stay grounded when the ground shifts. This is not resignation. It is resistance. The clarity of this teaching is precisely what makes it powerful. It does not ask us to become detached from the world’s problems. It urges us to enter into them without being consumed by them. It tells us that while we cannot prevent hardship, we can prevent it from destroying our sense of self. While we cannot guarantee success, we can guarantee effort guided by principle. There is also a liberating humility in recognizing what is not in our control. It frees us from the illusion that we are responsible for every outcome. We learn to strive without clinging. We learn to accept failure without being defined by it. And perhaps most importantly, we learn to be kind, to others and to ourselves, knowing that much of life is uncertain, but that dignity is always within reach. In conclusion, the paragraph from Discourses is more than a philosophical statement. It is a survival strategy. It teaches us how to endure, how to act with courage, and how to anchor ourselves in values when everything else is uncertain. Epictetus calls us to a life of quiet strength, one not measured by titles or applause, but by integrity. His words are a reminder that what truly matters, the soul of who we are, is always ours to shape. In mastering the self, we begin to shape the world.

My passion for public service began long before I had a name for it. I was raised in rural Tennessee, where I saw firsthand how inequality, lack of access, and generational hardship shaped people’s lives. I was also raised by a single mother who carried the weight of our family with grace and strength. She taught me the value of perseverance and compassion, and her example laid the foundation for everything I hope to build through public service. For much of my life, I have worn many hats: healthcare worker, caretaker, advocate, and problem-solver. My heart has always leaned toward service, and over time, that instinct has become my calling. I want to work in public service not only because I believe in change, but because I want to be part of creating it. My focus is on helping the overlooked, the underserved, and the unheard. These include people in rural areas like mine, people with disabilities, people facing systemic discrimination, and those navigating life with limited resources and support. Returning to school as a non-traditional student has not been easy. I am managing a heart condition and adjusting to a life that looks very different than I once imagined. But these experiences have not discouraged me. They have deepened my resolve. I am currently pursuing a degree in history because I believe understanding where we have been is essential to knowing how to move forward. History offers more than stories of the past. It reveals the patterns, power structures, and cultural shifts that shape our laws and lives today. While others may choose to study criminal justice or political science, I believe history offers a broader, richer lens that allows for more informed and empathetic leadership. My goal is to work at both local and state levels of government, where I can influence real policy decisions and create programs that support vulnerable communities. I want to help expand healthcare access, increase rural education opportunities, and create nonprofit initiatives that focus on civic engagement and voter empowerment. I am especially passionate about increasing political representation for marginalized groups and addressing the barriers that prevent many from participating fully in public life. Education is giving me the tools to bring this vision to life. Through my coursework, I am learning how systems were built, and more importantly, how they can be rebuilt. I am developing my ability to research, communicate, and organize effectively. I plan to use these skills to write policy that reflects the realities of everyday people, not just the privileged few. I want to bridge the gap between the government and the communities it serves. Public service, to me, is not about a title or a position. It is about impact. It is about standing up when others are silent, reaching out when others turn away, and building solutions where others only see problems. I am not pursuing this path for personal gain. I am pursuing it because I want to give back to the places and people who shaped me. I want to be a force for change in a world that so often forgets those without a platform. This is more than a goal, it is a promise I intend to keep.

I want to build bridges, not the kind made from steel or stone, but the kind that connect people across differences, needs, and experiences. Growing up in rural Tennessee as a first-generation, low-income student taught me a lot about what it means to feel unseen. I saw how easily people could be forgotten simply because they lived in the wrong zip code, had the wrong insurance, or didn’t fit neatly into a social mold. It made me realize that real change begins with connection, and connection begins with understanding. That’s why I’m pursuing a degree in history. I want to understand how our systems came to be, how injustice was written into policy, and how ordinary people challenged that injustice through courage and compassion. I want to take that knowledge and use it to build a future rooted in equity, service, and community. My goal is to work in public service where I can build community programs that reflect the real needs of the people I live among, programs that offer practical support like rural healthcare access, education on civic engagement, and resources for underserved populations. But building the future I envision doesn’t stop at the policy level. I also want to build trust. I want to show others that leadership can come from someone who has lived through struggle and used it as fuel for change. I want to be the kind of person who holds the door open behind them, who uses their education not just to advance themselves but to lift others. Recently, I helped organize a food and clothing drive after Hurricane Helene devastated our area. I was in charge of tracking donations and securing storage when our supplies outgrew the space we had. That experience taught me that leadership isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about showing up, asking the right questions, and doing what you can with what you have. It also reminded me that when people come together, we can build something bigger than ourselves. The future I want to build is one where no one feels left out of the conversation. Where your voice matters, even if no one has listened before. I am building that future one class, one conversation, and one step at a time. And when I look ahead, I don’t just see a degree. I see the lives that can be changed when someone finally says, “You belong here too.”

Becoming a first-generation, low-income student has changed how I see the world and my place in it. I grew up in rural Tennessee, raised by a single mother who worked tirelessly to provide for our family. She did not have the opportunity to pursue college because she was focused on keeping food on the table and a roof over our heads. Watching her sacrifice so much to give my brother and me a chance taught me the meaning of perseverance. But it also opened my eyes to the kind of systemic challenges that keep families like mine from accessing opportunities that others take for granted. That realization is one of the biggest reasons I chose to return to school. Higher education is more than a personal achievement for me. It is a step toward creating real, lasting change for people in communities like mine. My decision to pursue college was not immediate. After high school, I took on responsibilities at home, held multiple jobs, and tried to help hold my family together. I had dreams of continuing my education, but there were always more urgent needs. For years, college felt like something I could only hope for, not something I could actually do. It took time, self-reflection, and a major health scare for me to realize that if I wanted to build a better future, for myself and for others, I had to take the first step, no matter how late it felt. Returning to school at forty has not been easy, but I have prepared myself by leaning on the same qualities that helped me get through life’s most difficult seasons: determination, resourcefulness, and the ability to adapt. I have researched programs that meet the needs of non-traditional students like me, found online platforms that allow for flexibility given my health condition, and connected with academic advisors who support my journey. I have also sought out scholarships and funding opportunities to help ease the financial burden, knowing that this investment in myself is one that will pay off in the long run. Choosing to study history is a reflection of my deeper goal to work in public service. I want to understand how policies have shaped the lives of people over time, especially those who have been underserved or forgotten. My education is not just for me, it is a tool I will use to lift others. I want to work in local and state government to create programs that address real needs, from healthcare access to civic education. My experiences have given me a clear perspective, and my education is giving me the language and structure to turn that perspective into action. I am not just going to college to earn a degree. I am doing it to become a stronger voice for those who feel like they do not have one. I believe that education can be a catalyst for change, and I am ready to use mine to build a better, more inclusive future.

My name is Wiyanna Vannoy, and I am a first-generation college student beginning my journey at forty years old. I was raised in rural Tennessee by a single mother who gave everything she had to keep our family together. We lived with very little, but she taught me what it meant to stand for something. That example, and the challenges I faced growing up in an underserved and often overlooked community, shaped my belief that real change begins at the local level. I am now returning to school not just to build a better life for myself, but to build a better future for the people around me. I am studying history because I believe understanding the past is essential to correcting the injustices of the present. My background has shown me the cracks in the system, how easily vulnerable people can be ignored, especially in rural areas like mine. In my community, people are too often denied access to healthcare, reliable resources, or even a voice in decisions that directly impact their lives. As someone who has experienced these gaps personally, I feel a responsibility to step forward and help fill them. Public service is not a title to me. It is a mission. I plan to begin in local government, where I can engage directly with my neighbors and bring attention to the real issues they face. From there, I will work toward a role in state government, using that platform to create nonprofit initiatives, expand access to healthcare, and promote civic education. I want to show people that their vote matters, that their voice has power, and that change is possible when communities stand together. My goal is to become a leader who does more than speak on behalf of others. I want to listen, act, and make lasting change that reflects the diversity and strength of our state. I want to protect the rights of those who feel forgotten and create opportunities for people who have been left behind. Whether someone is living with a disability, practicing a minority faith, navigating poverty, or identifying as part of the LGBTQ+ community, I want them to know they are seen and that their needs matter. I believe one of the most powerful tools we have is education, both formal and civic. That is why I advocate for election reform that gives more value to each individual vote, and why I support efforts to increase direct democracy. People should have a say in the laws that affect them, and that process should be clear, fair, and accessible. I want to work toward a world where leaders are chosen by the people, not by outdated systems or self-serving political structures. What sets me apart is my lived experience, my determination, and the path I have taken to get here. I am not in this for status. I am in this because I have seen what happens when no one speaks up, and I have decided I will not stay silent. I want to be remembered as someone who helped make the world a better, safer, freer place. I want my story to inspire others to stand up, even when the odds are against them. This scholarship will allow me to continue my education and build the foundation I need to serve effectively. It will help me turn compassion into action and ideas into policies that uplift entire communities. With your support, I will keep moving forward, not just for myself, but for everyone whose voice deserves to be heard.

Becoming a first-generation, low-income student has changed how I see the world and my place in it. I was raised by a single mother who worked tirelessly to provide for our family. She did not have the time or opportunity to go to college herself. Her life was about making sure my brother and I had the essentials, and she did it with quiet strength. Watching her push through long days and constant challenges taught me the value of hard work, but it also showed me that dreams often get delayed when survival takes priority. My high school offered college prep classes, and I took advantage of them. But the real benefits of those programs often went to students who already had resources. The ones with tutors, private guidance counselors, and parents familiar with the system always had a head start. I did not lack ambition, but I did lack access. At the time, I was focused on helping at home, working part-time jobs, and doing what I could to keep things afloat, rather than learning how to write personal statements or apply for financial aid. The combination of financial stress and family responsibility delayed my path to college. I wanted to continue my education, but the timing was never right. There were always more pressing needs, bills, caregiving, and health issues. I told myself I would return someday, but for years, that day stayed out of reach. It took a long time for me to be in a position where I could finally choose myself and pursue something meaningful. Returning to school now, at forty, is a decision shaped by every challenge I have faced and every lesson I have learned. I am just beginning my college journey, and I bring with me a purpose that goes far beyond earning a diploma. I am pursuing a degree in history because I want to understand how our systems were built, who they serve, and how they can be changed. I have always cared deeply about helping others. My goal is to work in public service, advocating for those who are often overlooked. My own experiences give me insight into what it feels like to fall through the cracks, and how transformative it can be when someone helps you up. Education is not just a personal goal. It is a pathway to impact. With the knowledge I am gaining in college, I will be better prepared to support the very communities I come from. I want to help create programs that provide meaningful, accessible support to families like mine, families who work hard but are often left out of the conversation. Whether it is through healthcare, disaster recovery, or education access, I want to be part of building solutions. Being a first-generation student is not always easy, but it has given me strength and perspective. I carry the hopes of those who never had this chance, especially my mother, whose sacrifices made mine possible. Her story, and mine, are still being written, but now, they are being written from a classroom. That shift means everything. I believe it is never too late to begin again. And I am ready to use what I learn to help others do the same.

Anxiety has been a quiet, constant presence in my life for as long as I can remember. I didn’t have a name for it when I was younger. I just thought I was broken. I thought the tightness in my chest, the racing thoughts, and the overwhelming need to either do everything at once or completely shut down were just part of who I was. It wasn’t until later in life that I realized what I had been struggling with wasn’t just stress. It was anxiety—real, clinical, and exhausting. For years, I managed it alone. Some days I could push through and appear functional, and on others I struggled to think clearly or speak up for myself. It affected every part of my life. My health, relationships, and confidence all suffered. Eventually, the combination of unmanaged anxiety and a serious heart condition made continuing in the medical field impossible. It became harder to tell where the physical symptoms ended and the mental ones began. That’s when I realized I couldn’t keep living the same way. Something had to change. So I began to face it. I started learning what triggered my anxiety and how to respond to it. Breathing exercises, routines, and grounding techniques helped bring me back to the present when everything felt like too much. I also accepted that this would likely be a part of my life moving forward. It might never fully disappear, but I could still learn to live with it in a way that gave me control over my life again. Deciding to return to college at 40 was a turning point for me. It wasn’t something I had planned, but it became clear that the future I wanted was still within reach. I am studying history because I believe understanding the past is essential to building a better future. My goal is to go into public service and represent the people in communities like mine who are too often left behind or spoken over. I want to bring real stories and real experience into the spaces where decisions are made. Anxiety is still part of my life. I won’t pretend it’s gone. But it no longer controls what I do. It doesn’t get to decide if I am too old to go back to school. It doesn’t keep me from speaking up when it matters. It doesn’t stop me from learning, growing, and stepping into spaces that used to feel too big for me. For me, earning a degree means more than academic success. It represents healing, growth, and a refusal to be defined by the hardest parts of my life. College is my chance to take everything I have lived through and turn it into something meaningful, not just for me, but for others as well. Anxiety shaped the way I saw the world, but I am learning to see myself differently. I am more capable than I thought. I am still learning, still growing, and still moving forward. That choice is mine now, and I choose to keep going.

Living Openly, Fighting Boldly As a gay woman living in rural Tennessee, my identity is something I carry with me every day. It is not something I can set aside or hide when it becomes inconvenient. It shows in how I speak, how I love, and how I exist in a place that often tells me I do not belong. Being openly queer in a conservative part of the country comes with constant challenges, but it has also shaped me into someone resilient, outspoken, and ready to fight for change. Discrimination is part of daily life here. It is not just direct insults or exclusion, although those happen. It is the constant pressure to shrink yourself. It is the policies that are passed without input from the people they harm. It is the silence in rooms where acceptance should be loud. These experiences have influenced the direction of my life in more ways than I can count. They have played a major role in my decision to return to school and to prepare for a future in public service. I am studying history because I believe understanding the past is key to shaping a better future. Every movement, every moment of progress, came from people who refused to stay quiet. I plan to run for office and use that platform to fight for the rights of people in communities like mine, places that are often overlooked or left behind. Today, it is reproductive rights and protections for transgender individuals under threat, and tomorrow it will be someone else. The pattern is clear, and the time to act is now. When I was younger, I responded to ignorance with anger. It felt justified. It felt necessary. Over time, I have learned that not every battle is won by fighting back in the same way harm was delivered. I have found more strength in patience, in compassion, and in choosing which conversations are worth my energy. Some people are determined to hate what they do not understand. Others just need someone to speak with honesty and calmness. I focus on the moments where change is possible, and I let go of the ones that are not. Living openly in a place that often rejects people like me is not easy, but it has given me clarity. I know what I stand for. I know who I am. I believe every person deserves to live freely and with dignity, no matter their background, identity, or zip code. That belief is what guides my goals for the future. This journey has taught me that it is possible to face adversity without becoming hardened. It is possible to be proud without being loud. And it is possible to build a life of purpose, even when the world around you tries to make you small. I will never stop working for a better tomorrow, because I know what it feels like to be left out of the conversation, and I plan to make sure that others do not have to feel the same.