If someone were to make a brochure about my time on the girls' cross country team, it would probably highlight things like travel to exclusive away meets, personal record times that shattered my first attempts, and a very hilly half marathon. And while those were all highlights that I look back on fondly, they weren't the reason I kept coming back to practice. I had a wonderful experience in cross country, and this wonderful experience was a result of my team. This team was made up of dozens of strong, powerful girls who undertook 40, 50, 60 miles a week without batting an eye, who ran 5k times faster than the average American man ran two miles, who sweat through punishing core workouts without even shaking. And all of this reinforced for me just how physically strong women and girls can be. Six days a week, we ran six, seven, eight miles together, stride for stride. We were all physically exhausted, and emotionally exhausted from school and home responsibilities. But we helped each other along. Every time a girl would start to feel weak or hopeless, there would always be another girl there to remind her how strong and how capable she was. At every practice and race, we would cheer for each other, encouraging girls who were struggling to keep going. And in this beautiful, uplifting community of strength and success, I found my safe space and my support system. This support system allowed me to come to cross country and feel refreshed, ready to go home and tackle whatever homework or chores I had in a way I never would have been without cross country. We were all each other's support systems, a group of physically strong young women uplifting each other in a world constantly trying to put us down. When the world said "you aren't good enough, you're just the girls' team," we dug deeper and practiced harder. When classes got hard, we tutored each other. When we needed advice or support, we gave it to each other. We took care of each other and we stood up for each other. When I was being bullied freshman year and didn't know where to go, it was one of the senior cross country girls who helped me get the support I needed. When one of my best friends on the team battled an eating disorder, we all wrote her encouragement and most of us visited her in the hospital. Throughout all of this, I learned not only how physically strong women can be, but how kind and compassionate. Being on the girls' cross country team taught me how to be kind and to support others, especially women. And I've applied that ability to be supportive and gentle everywhere in my life. In class, when we're assigned a difficult group project and my groupmates are struggling, I now react with encouragement and confidence, helping my groupmates to succeed instead of tearing them down, just as I was always cheered on when I struggled at practice. When a friend is struggling with a breakup, I sit down with them and offer them advice and compassion, just as the girls on my team always offered me this comfort. I have become confident and learned to respect myself, because I have been so lifted up by the girls who ran cross country with me. When women lift each other up, we all grow, and it allows us to lift up other women in turn.

I have always been a hard worker, sometimes to a fault. During my sophomore and junior years of cross country, no matter how tired I was, no matter how much my body hurt, I kept pushing myself. I was determined to be the hardest worker on the team, to never ever let up or rest. It didn't matter if I felt sick, or sore, or if I’d had a hard run the day before, I made it my mission to run with the top girls every day, to stay at their pace. I ran extra miles on top of extra miles until I had higher mileage than almost any other girl on the team. Obviously, this system worked for a short time and then became counterproductive. I was running slower and struggling harder because I'd been overtraining. In this frustration, my coach met me. He commended my hard work, but reminded me of the importance of not overworking myself. He encouraged me to take rest days, to let myself run with slower groups sometimes, to not feel guilty about not running extra at the end of every single practice. And he held me accountable for my training, ensuring that I was balancing fast and long runs and difficult workouts with short and slow days and rest. And as I began to incorporate more rest and recovery rather than spending all of my time at maximum effort, I began to see better results at meets, enjoy cross country more, and physically feel better. And thanks to him, I was able to apply this lesson to other areas of my life. I became better at balancing my school schedule, making sure I chose classes rigorous enough to challenge me but also allowed myself time to recover and not be constantly overwhelmed. I learned how to build time into my weeks for rest rather than feeling guilty for not being constantly productive. This balance will serve me well for the entire course of my life. In the workplace, I need to be able to work hard enough to give my best effort, but not so hard that I am no longer able to function at my peak. In my personal life, with my future family, I need to be able to provide fully for them while also still taking care of myself. And thanks to my coach, I understand the importance of balancing hard work and recovery, and I possess the skill set to find this balance.

I have spent my entire academic life in collaborative spaces. Between my seven years of singing in school choirs, my four years of performing in my school musicals, and my six years of running cross country for one of the strongest teams in the state, I’ve devoted an enormous amount of time and energy to buying into a larger goal and working hard to achieve that mission. In choir, every voice matters, and everyone has different strengths and weaknesses. One singer has a gorgeous soprano voice, and it’s her job to produce the sweeping high notes that could shatter glass. But maybe this soprano isn’t the best at the low, roaring notes that anchor a choir’s sound. That’s where a powerhouse alto gets her chance to rock. And I’ve always loved this balance, this division of labor catered to the skills of the individual that creates something beautiful. What the audience hears is a magical melody backed by strong, clear harmonies. That in and of itself is beautiful. But what the audience doesn’t see is the work, the collaboration behind the scenes, and the way every member of the choir has to play to their strength to produce the best sound possible. Business is the same way. A team of people with different strengths have to work together to create a product that appeals to the general public. For instance, one team member is better at public speaking, so she pitches the marketing campaign to their bosses. And although she’s not the most artistic, the presentation was put together by the team member with the eye for aesthetics. Another team member is full of innovative solutions to company problems, but lacks the sense of practicality that his coworker is proud to possess. At the end of the day, the pitch is successful because the strengths and weaknesses of all of the team members came together fantastically to create something wonderful. Throughout middle and high school, every activity that I have been passionately involved with has been rooted in collaboration and playing to one another’s strengths, and I’ve always loved being a part of this dynamic. In the professional world, business is the career path that most allows me to continue collaborating and exploring my strengths while helping others explore theirs.

The excerpt is from Sophocles’ Antigone, published in 441 BC, translated by Paul Woodruff. Antigone and Ismene have just been found by King Creon after Antigone buried their brother, Polyneices in an attempt to honor him despite King Creon’s order not to do so. Paragraph: Antigone: No, you may not die along with me. Don’t say you did it! You wouldn’t even touch it. Now leave my death alone! Ismene: Why would I care to live when you are gone? Antigone: Creon’s the one to ask. He’s the one you care for. Ismene: Why are you scolding me? It won’t help you. Antigone: Of course not. It hurts me when my mockery strikes you. Ismene: But I still want to help you. What can I do? Antigone: Escape! Save yourself! I don’t begrudge you that. Ismene: Oh misery! Why am I cut off from your fate? Antigone: Because you chose life, and I chose death. Ismene: But I gave you reasons not to make that choice. Thesis: In this passage from Sophocles’ Antigone, translated by Paul Woodruff, the conflict between Antigone’s passionate disobedience with the goal of honoring her brother, Ismene’s desperate attempts to save her sister from the consequences of her disobedience, and King Creon’s anger and punitive attitude towards Antigone suggest that disobedience is a form of power, but those affected by the disobedience are powerless against the consequences. Essay: Prior to the start of this excerpt, Antigone has made the choice to defy King Creon by burying her traitor brother, Polyneices. Antigone disagrees with a political stance, in this case, Creon's stance that her brother does not deserve to be buried and honored. Therefore, since she did not have the power to change the minds of those with the power to reverse the decision, she decided to take action in a way she did have the power to: by burying her brother herself. She believes that Polyneices deserves honor, so much so that she is willing to die to honor him. Although Antigone maintains her tone of harsh acceptance for the consequences of her disobedience at lines 546-556, Ismene moves from an attitude of desperation to one of despair. Antigone and Ismene both speak with dramatic, mortal language throughout the course of the passage, with Antigone berating Ismene with mortal phrases like “ no, you may not die along with me!” And "leave my death alone” (ll. 546-547). The repetition of words related to mortality such as "die" and "death" as well as the finality with which Antigone speaks them suggest that Antigone has accepted her death as a consequence of her disobedience. Although Antigone had the power to defy Creon and bury her brother, honoring him, she did not have the power to survive Creon’s anger, and desire for punishment, therefore, she accepts her death. Ismene, on the other hand, feels powerless to save her sister from the consequences of her decision to disobey the powerful King Creon. Although she recognizes that her sister must die, she laments that she cannot suffer the same “fate” (l. 554) as her sister, and claims that she cannot "live while [Antigone] is gone” (l. 548). Ismene is no longer attempting to save her sister, but is still devastated by her death. Towards the end of the section, Ismene and Antigone both begin to repeat and emphasize variations of the word "choice” (l. 556), with Antigone asserting that Ismene “ chose life "while Antigone "chose death” (l. 555). This emphasis on choice suggests once again that Antigone had the power to disobey Creon, because making a choice automatically involves using one's power. However, the fact that the choices were between life and death suggest once more the powerlessness faced by those who disobey once their disobedience is done, as Antigone’s only options were to obey the powerful king or perish. On a broader scale, Antigone's disobedience demonstrates how dangerous disobedience can be for those who disobey as a form of protest. Antigone's decision to bury her brother against the orders of King Creon came at the expense of her life, and throughout history, many leaders of political protest movements, such as Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and Rosa Parks, have been harassed or even assassinated. Additionally, Ismene's powerlessness to save her sister from the consequences of her actions demonstrate the impact on the families of those who disobey. Ismene is now going to lose her sister, just as Dr. King's family lost him. However, as Antigone demonstrates, in a time of powerlessness, disobedience is a surefire way to regain some power, even if just for a moment. And although Antigone was powerless against the consequences of her disobedience, as often happens, she made a powerful statement first.

My favorite book to film adaptation is the Keira Knightley version of Pride and Prejudice. One of my favorite things about this adaptation is the scene where Elizabeth Bennett (Keira Knightley) and Mr. Darcy (Matthew McFadyen) are dancing in the ballroom. This scene occurs relatively early on in the film, when Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy are not yet acknowledging their affections for each other and are instead spending their time loathing one another. Their dance is full of snide remarks (which is very characteristic of their interactions at this point in the story based on Austen's novel), but as they dance, the rest of the room begins to fall away. They are the only two people in each other's worlds in this moment, and the filmmakers chose to represent their singular focus on each other by simply removing all of the other dancers from the background. I fell so in love with this scene because for the majority of the book, Elizabeth is insistent on their mutual loathing, so insistent that it almost becomes absurd. She spends so much of her time talking and thinking about Mr. Darcy, yet still insists that their emotions are not entangled. As I was reading the book, some of this nuance escaped me. I took Elizabeth's words at face value and assumed that she hated the man and that he hated her as she believed. But upon watching this dance scene and then returning to the novel, I was able to really process the romantic tension that existed between the two characters the whole time and the importance they held to each other even early on in the tale, and this tension and its evolution throughout the story is now one of my favorite aspects of Pride and Prejudice and the relationship between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth. Another aspect of this adaptation that made me fall in love with it is Mr. Darcy's awkward, blundering confession of love and proposal in the rain. In the book, this scene came off as much more abrasive. He starts off by insulting her again and again, and then claims to be madly in love and requests her hand in marriage. Naturally, Elizabeth declines. When I first read the book, I was so firmly on Elizabeth's side. I believed that Mr. Darcy had not been genuine in his intentions. For if he had truly felt so much love for her, he never would have insulted her so. However, in the film, as I watched McFadyen make his confession, I was finally able to see Mr. Darcy's characteristic painful awkwardness through his uncomfortable stance and pained facial expressions, which finally explained the insults—a product of logic and lack of social skills, not of disdain. I was also able to see the genuine desperation and puppy love that Mr. Darcy felt for Elizabeth, and I finally began to understand their love story and root for them being together. In the book, this proposal felt out of place, like a blip in the timeline that had to be atoned for. But thanks to the movie adaptation, I was able to see that this proposal was one of the most characteristic and beautiful expressions of love between two characters that desperately needed to end up together, and that made revisiting the original novel much more enjoyable and easy to process.

Wicked was the first professional show I ever saw, but music has always been my life. My senior year is my seventh singing in choir at my high school, and my third in Bel Canto, an audition-based, all-female choir. This means that four days a week, I spend fourth bell learning music with a beautiful group of passionate young women who want to make notes on a page take flight into a beautiful song. In choir, every voice matters, and everyone has different strengths and weaknesses. One singer has a gorgeous soprano voice, and it’s her job to produce the sweeping high notes that could shatter glass. But maybe this soprano isn’t the best at the low, roaring notes that anchor a choir’s sound. That’s where a powerhouse alto gets her chance to rock. And I’ve always loved this balance, this division of labor catered to the skills of the individual that creates something beautiful. What the audience hears is a magical melody backed by strong, clear harmonies. That in and of itself is beautiful. But what the audience doesn’t see is the work, the collaboration behind the scenes, and the way every member of the choir has to play to their strength to produce the best sound possible. And this balance isn't only found in choir, it's found in musical theatre. My freshman year of high school, my best friend had to push me into the audition room for The Little Mermaid, but I had the time of my life. I fell in love all over again with the teamwork, the camaraderie, the bonding over a shared passion and creating something beautiful, pouring our hearts out for the audience. So when I saw Wicked on Broadway the summer before my junior year, I was in awe. These performers were doing what I did, and what I loved to do, for a career, and that only enhanced the magic of it. The chords were stronger, the blending of voices more powerful, the movements sharper, the actors working even more closely together to make the most wonderful product possible and touch the hearts and souls of the audiences. There was so much power and passion on that stage, and I was completely and utterly overwhelmed by it all. When I heard Mary Kate Morrissey belt Defying Gravity live for the first time (after listening to Idina Menzel's recording for years), I cried in the theatre. And still to this day, Wicked reminds me of the beauty and the power of the arts and the value of performance. Live theatre and live music is a form of magic and a beautiful sort of coming together that can't be found anywhere else, and Wicked holds a special place in my heart as the first time I truly experienced this.

Yellow: Sydney, London, Boston, Chicago: Major Marathons. I'm a big runner, and a marathon is a huge accomplishment and a bucket list goal of mine, so I would have to include a little reminder of/advertisement for running. Green: Fish, Deer, Shrimp, Moose: Animals with the same plural and singular form. I'm a huge grammar nerd, and I love incorporating little reminders of grammar into the world every day. With this connections category, players would either learn or be reminded of a fun little quirk of the English language. Blue: Burn, Satisfied, Hurricane, Helpless: Hamilton song titles. Hamilton is my favorite musical and it has a fantastic soundtrack. I would include these song titles in the hopes that NYT Connections players would explore some of the songs further and get to fall in love with the musical, American history, and get to experience the lives and drama and emotions of these real people rather than viewing history as empty names and dates. Purple: Pen, Wash, Ten, Mass: First syllables of US States. Everyone who lives in a country should be aware of all of the states or provinces within their country, and by including only one syllable instead of the entire name of the state, players are forced to think more deeply and critically, thereby challenging themselves more.

I have always been a hard worker, sometimes to a fault. During my sophomore and junior years of cross country, no matter how tired I was, no matter how much my body hurt, I kept pushing myself. I was determined to be the hardest worker on the team, to never ever let up or rest. It didn't matter if I felt sick, or sore, or if I’d had a hard run the day before, I made it my mission to run with the top girls every day, to stay at their pace. I ran extra miles on top of extra miles until I had higher mileage than almost any other girl on the team. Obviously, this system worked for a short time and then became counterproductive. I was running slower and struggling harder because I'd been overtraining. In this frustration, my coach met me. He commended my hard work, but reminded me of the importance of not overworking myself. He encouraged me to take rest days, to let myself run with slower groups sometimes, to not feel guilty about running extra at the end of every single practice. And he held me accountable for my training, ensuring that I was balancing fast and long runs and difficult workouts with short and slow days and rest. And as I began to incorporate more rest and recovery rather than spending all of my time at max effort, I began to see better results at meets, enjoy cross country more, and physically feel better. And thanks to this coach, I was able to apply this lesson to other areas of my life. I became better at balancing my school schedule, making sure I chose classes rigorous enough to challenge me but also allowed myself time to recover and not be constantly overwhelmed. I learned how to build time into my weeks for rest rather than feeling guilty for not being constantly productive. This balance will serve me well for the entire course of my life. In the workplace, I need to be able to work hard enough to give my best effort, but not so hard that I am no longer able to function at my peak. In my personal life, with my future family, I need to be able to provide fully for them while also still taking care of myself. And now, I understand the importance of balancing hard work and recovery, and I possess the skill set to find this balance.

My senior year is my seventh singing in choir at my high school, and my third in Bel Canto, an audition-based, all-female choir. This means that four days a week, I spend fourth bell learning music with a beautiful group of passionate young women who want to make notes on a page take flight into a beautiful song. Throughout my three years in Bel Canto, I have watched myself grow and improve so much. I have gone from struggling to hear the differences between pitches and breaking down crying during auditions to singing confidently enough to be considered a leader in my section and performing my best during solo auditions and being called back for the second round. But my love for choir is not just about my own growth. In choir, every voice matters, and everyone has different strengths and weaknesses. One singer has a gorgeous soprano voice, and it’s her job to produce the sweeping high notes that could shatter glass. But maybe this soprano isn’t the best at the low, roaring notes that anchor a choir’s sound. That’s where a powerhouse alto gets her chance to rock. And I’ve always loved this balance, this division of labor catered to the skills of the individual that creates something beautiful. What the audience hears is a magical melody backed by strong, clear harmonies. That in and of itself is beautiful. But what the audience doesn’t see is the work, the collaboration behind the scenes, and the way every member of the choir has to play to their strength to produce the best sound possible. Being part of this community for the last three years has taught me how to prepare, how to be confident in myself and trust in those around me, how to adapt on the fly and excel even when plans change, and how to build true, meaningful connections based on more than just a common interest. We're all in Bel Canto because we're wonderful, talented singers with a passion and a knack for music. But we have excelled in Bel Canto because we have bonded as people. We trust each other, support each other through the highs and lows, celebrate together, and take on new challenges together. Because of our common bond and shared work ethic, Bel Canto was able to compete at a higher level this past year than ever before. And even though I'm not the most talented singer in the group, I have been part of a group of powerful, kind women, and breathed life into beautiful music that I would have never been capable of producing on my own.