Example 1:

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     Rippling water, jagged cliffs, darting minnows, and whole-hearted laughter. It was a swelteringly hot day, but the tree canopy brought a soothing, balmy feel as my friends and I trekked through the shallow stream of trickling water. Later, we cut through prickly plants and opened the green gates to a cascading waterfall. As we explored the alluring area, I embraced these people in laughter whom I just met in person less than forty-eight hours ago.  

     Our friendship began soon after I was forced inside my house during the covid-19 pandemic. Nothing to do, nothing new to entertain me, all l I had were reruns of shows I had seen dozens of times, board games with multiple missing pieces, and a new iPhone my parents had just gifted me. I found myself restricted to scrolling on my phone or rewatching every episode of Survivor – which I already watched and fallen in love with – as my parents binged all forty seasons. 

     One day, during my daily scrolling of TikTok, I came across a video with the caption, “Are you a Survivor superfan? Do you wish you could play your favorite game with real people online? Well, here is your chance!” The application required me to tell the hosts what my gameplay would be like, what my daily activities were, and what made me unique. For the first time in my life, I had to reflect on who I was deep down. I knew I would not make the cut writing, “A sixteen-year-old who watched Survivor every Wednesday at 8 o’clock sharp.” Even though I dug deeper, I thought I had a zero percent chance of making the cast. Three weeks later, I was astounded to hear that I was the eighteenth and final contestant accepted.  

     Despite my struggle and placing sixteenth in the first game, a whole new world opened up for me. Hundreds of Survivor fans like me were playing, and I had new seasons constantly popping up, giving me a multitude of options. The game I started February 22, 2021, was the beginning of a new era. I met a group of people whom I bonded with on a personal level through a phone screen. Reese, Addison, Mads, and Cade, and I formed a real alliance. That game resulted in each one of us getting eliminated one-by-one because our competitors saw our unity.  

     After the game ended, we started a group chat with the five of us checking in on each other and informing each other about our daily lives. These daily chats eventually grew to phone calls, and then to FaceTime calls, and then into Zoom game nights. We became each other’s people, knowing everything about each other’s lives, from whether it be who their best friends were, the drama that was happening in their lives, or even what their grades were like in school. Within two years, once an alliance of teens from San Francisco, Chicago, Atlanta, St. Louis, and middle-of-nowhere Illinois, became an extremely close-knit group of friends.  

     As we grew closer and closer, talks of a potential meet up arose, and these plans were set in motion in July 2023. We gathered at Mads’ house in middle-of-nowhere, Illinois. Together, we explored abandoned drive-in movie theaters, watched Paranormal Activity in the backyard hot tub, and paddle boarded next to geese across Lake Jellystone. I learned even more about them that I never noticed over the phone. Mads was more of a devout Christian. 

Reese loved to have one-on-one conversations. Cade was always open to a new activity, no 

matter how scary or weird. Addison was energetic and did not care what others thought about her.  

     When I take myself back to looking at my reflection in that shallow stream during our hike, I examine the four people unexpectedly brought into my life who truly deepened my understanding of the world around me.

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Example 2:

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        I grasped my fingers around the stack of cards - my nerves alive with childlike wonder and apprehension. When I was seven, during one of our card game traditions, my great-grandmother exposed me to her unique approach to mixing cards, directing me to “Slam the cards down on the table and cut with authority. The degree of authority will determine the outcome of your game.” Although, of course, slamming harder did not change the game’s conclusion, it began to alter my perception of its lessons. Suddenly a rush of power overcame me, and my nerves burned with an unfamiliar yearning to define my position. I grabbed the cards, asserted my focus, and cut.

What did my great-grandmother mean by authority? How was I to embody its immense responsibility? Because authority is a multifaceted adult concept, its key elements of confidence and initiative eluded me then, even as they manifested in real life.

        Middle school introduced me to “cooperative learning,” a concept in which I first struggled to discover my authoritative voice. A sixth grader given a group to lead, I interpreted leadership as nothing more than encouragement; thus, I encouraged my group’s members to execute their respective roles. Clearly, this was misguided, as two did not complete their work and another simply redid mine, thus validating my flawed leadership strategy and my failure to stand up for even myself. In retrospect, I began to realize how assertive qualities might have been applied differently, and how - unlike the card slam - I could have changed the outcome, a realization that guided me in developing my future authoritative skills.

        In high school, I began to embrace this powerful mindset through youth-group leadership and camp counseling, sculpting them into catalysts for inspiration. As my BBYO chapter’s President of Service, I used my new skills to positively affect CURE cancer patients through establishing a letter writing relationship. Additionally, as a counselor for younger children, I helped campers face individual, personal fears, as I learned how to establish immediate trust and respect.

However, it was not until my participation in the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society (LLS) Student of the Year campaign that my skills unexpectedly materialized. What I had initially thought to be a school club interview was, in fact, a destined opportunity that tested my character through interpersonal communication and consensus building. After receiving the congratulatory call: “The future of cancer is in your hands,” I was entrusted with leading ten peers to raise $10,000 through corporate agreements, emails, and advocacy. After securing a donor pledge that would double our total donations, my drive for success intensified. To achieve this, I motivated my peers to discover their reasons for participating in LLS, challenged them to make a definitive plan, and encouraged them to amplify individual contribution through action. With this strategy, we soared to $34,000, epitomizing my personal, authoritative growth. I outsmarted the card came; I determined the outcome.

        Ten years later, my great-grandmother's admonition to cut with authority has come to fruition. I realize that having authority means possessing steadfast dedication and acting with unwavering confidence. I now radiate passion and resolve, with an imperative need to inspire, to improve existing conditions, and to use my words as a power source to motivate others.

        Cutting with authority does not guarantee a good hand, but it ensures one of excitement and possibility – a game I am more than happy to lead. So in the face of all future challenges, go ahead and deal – it’s my turn to cut.

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Example 3:

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        The door opens. Welcome to my very own humble abode. My haven, my safe space. Looking straight ahead, you see my collection of instruments mounted on the wall:  my four guitars and two ukuleles. My most prized possessions. These are the props of my childhood that I will forever cherish. For about a decade, my bedroom was my studio where I locked myself within the inspirational, picture-covered walls for hours, sat on the floor, and wrote stories through the strings of my guitar and the poetry through my lips. When finished, I held a concert for my parents, as if they, along with the bundle of stuffed animals I had collected throughout my elementary years, were thousands of adoring fans who had come to see me perform a live concert. Time hasn’t changed. Though I have grown as a writer and artist, I still devote much of my day on my bedroom floor expressing my feelings through the same song book I had when I was seven-years-old. 

        This room is a scrapbook- a collection of pictures, memories, accomplishments and ideas I have collected since I moved here at six weeks old. Full of nostalgia, my room reflects my childhood and adolescence, and as I have grown and changed, so has my room. I’ve learned how to love, how to cry, and how to laugh. My bedroom is where I wrote my first song and strummed my first chord, where I was heartbroken for the very first time. Where countless amounts of memories were made with my friends. My most vulnerable and memorable moments pasted on the walls, like a scrapbook, in the form of images, paintings, and poems. 

My room is a mirror- a reflection of my current thoughts and ideas, both physically and emotionally - of my growth through my journey into adulthood, as well as my personality, and energy. When someone enters my bedroom, they might see the seventeen-year-old goofball dancing as if no one is watching and belting Taylor Swift lyrics at the top of her lungs. 

        When I am in my room, I feel the emotions that I am unable to feel elsewhere. My room is my utopia, and as I grow, my seventeen years of laughs, cries, and memories will forever be pasted into my mind, like a scrapbook and reflected into my journey to adulthood, like a mirror.  

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