Mentor: what do the last three syllables of that sound like? TOUR, a guide, and in the word MENtor, it’s MEN who are guided along for the tour of life: not literal men, people.

I remember it like it was yesterday, the place, middle school, the time, 2009, I was only 11 but, oh, I hear that rhythmic bell blasting right now;

it was the very first day of sixth grade when That final bell rang, it was time to go home!

I had an aide whose job was to help me with everything I needed. We walked downstairs, she at my side, making sure I did not get clobbered by all the rascals passing by me. We ended up “in the clear”. What came next was clear as day, forever seared into my memory…

“I learned more from you in one day than you can ever teach me,” she said. Her name? Ms. Rossi, and at the time. I remember thinking whoever this Ross guy is, (her boyfriend) he is a lucky man, and he eventually put a ring on it!

Anyway, excuse my diversion, As I was saying.. that compliment meant and still means something that even a Picasso painting can explain and anytime I need a jolt of motivational coffee, I envision my 11-year-old self hearing that endearing comment and smiling ear to ear; however, that statement, “I learned more from you in one day than you can ever teach me,” could not have been further from the truth!

A couple of days went by, and my mom’s best friend, a second mother to me, and my Occupational therapist, (OT) came into school for what seemed like an eternity! She taught me how to properly sit in this “special” blue and red chair.

Ms. Rossi did not blink an eye, as she was swallowing it all the instructions given to her up. As for me, I was swallowing it all up, then regurgitating it all right back out. Hey, can you blame me? My OT has a strong tone and after all, she is like my second mother.

I sat there like a flight attendant and only moved when my OT told me to.

She was the one who taught me how to do my daily activities in life which I was ignorant of and would have rather watched paint dry.

When my OT left, I took a deep breath of thank goodness this is over. Then, I remember taking one more breath – this time with excitement because Ms. Rossi whispered in my ear, “I promise you, I will NEVER be as hard on you as she was.”

Let’s just say, it was Ms. Rossi that did not remind me to take my binder to the next class and forced me to go back to retrieve it. That boy who thought her boyfriend was lucky to have her, now saw a different side, a fierce side.

I must say that if we played the Newlywed game, she would know every answer before the questions were asked.

I vividly remember having a gag reflex, and she could tell if it was an itch on my back or because I failed a test; It was like she could see into the future. one day, I was in class without a care in the world and thinking I was disrespected by my other teachers by them not having the same expectations Ms. Rossi did! she whispered in my ear, saying “I know YOU don’t want to have an aide and want to go to college: I don’t want to be an aide; I want to be a Headteacher.

it turns out that that whisper spoke as loudly as anything I’ve heard in my entire life, Propelling me to ignore all the whispers about me not being able to succeed, and not only getting an undergraduate degree but in turn, a masters degree.

As for the now Mrs. Candel, she has two children, she is a Headteacher and yes, it is at that same school, teaching english and social studies.

All I know, whatever lesson plans she has for her students, nothing will EVER compare to the LESSONS she TAUGHT ME!

Photo Credit: MenTOR

Dear Unsealers,

My name is Oswald Perez. I’m a poet and writer that lives in New York City. I’m also a person that has Cerebral Palsy.

I’m thankful to have found this group. It took a bit of effort on my part to take the leap and become a member of the group.

As I happened to be scrolling one night and came across the sponsored advertisement for the group. After asking for the Zoom link for one of the candid conversations, I knew that this would be a new landing spot for me.

I’m in the midst of trying to become my ideal self, or something close to it.

Among my goals in life, I want to become an independent adult and a writer/speaker. Someone tells his story of inspiration to those that need to hear the message. That it’s okay to embrace every inch of yourself and not let the circumstances of the past define who you are in the present moment.

And a person that chronicles everything that he’s doing. His travels, hopes, dreams and ambitions for books, posts on various feeds and videos.

What’s INspiring about me? Before I answer, I want to be clear that this answer is like the chance of Amazon not selling any packages tomorrow, 0% of arrogance!

This question is like asking me to jump on a 24-inch box and land it, ALMOST IMPOSSIBLE!

As a person with cerebral palsy, a physical disability. One might think I’m going to write this grand story about how I “built Rome in ONE DAY”, paraphrasing John Heywood. The truth is: I can NOT tell you what is INspiring about me, others can.

They might say, Jake won a New York State Broadcasters Association Award for a feature he did on Disability Awareness Month, he has his masters degree in Sports Journalism, he was the president of his high school, etc. All that is GREAT; it does NOT hold a candle TO ME compared to EXternal achievements.

EXternal achievements only ASSIST with SELF-SABOTAGE.

To use a boxing analogy, “Your “cornerman” can ONLY LIFT YOU UP, NOT KNOCK YOUR OPPONENT DOWN.” – Jake April

So, to answer the question, I’m INspirational because hopefully, I conveyed the importance of being your OWN “cornerman”, and that comes from the INside!

Dear 2022,

When the clock struck midnight on January 1st, 2022, I had high hopes for you – the upcoming year. I planned to build a new feature on The Unsealed – a pen pal system allowing users to post their content and write to each other. I was hopeful that this would be the “it” factor that would take my company to the next level. I thought I would sit back and enjoy the show once it launched.

Personally, with COVID seemingly becoming less severe, I was excited about going out more and meeting new people. Maybe date someone new – or meet some new friends in Miami.

Per usual, the year didn’t go exactly as planned. Just like every other year, there were some challenges I didn’t foresee. My mother had a cancer scare, and I lost a friend at 40 years old to brain cancer.

It was tough, but I continued to march forward as I always do.

When I launched our Pen Pal network, I quickly realized that we were helping people and had something special. However, I also realized that we laid the foundation but still needed to build the house. There are elements we need to add. We still need to figure out a flow and a clearer user-generated experience.

Outside of work, I have met new people – some were lessons, while others have been a whole lot of laughter.

While 2022 didn’t lead to everything I wanted, I feel closer to all that I desire. I evolved personally and professionally. I have a better idea of who I want in my life and what I need to do to realize my dreams.

While my hopes for next year are similar to those from last year, I am thankful for a journey filled with amazing people, passion, and purpose.

It’s been real. Thanks for the memories, 2022.

With gratitude,

Dear Unsealed Community,

When I was 19 years old, I knew exactly what I wanted. I wanted to chase my dream as a sportscaster. In pursuit of that dream,  I started working at the NBA. I commuted two hours from Columbia University to New Jersey, three days a week, because I was committed. I wanted to network with people who worked in sports. I wanted to hone my writing skills and learn more about the broadcasting industry. This job was supposed to be the first step to the rest of my life. But it nearly took me off course, and everyone, except me, thought I should be thrilled.

While working at the NBA, I met someone. He was my co-worker. We had the same schedule – or so I thought. I found out later that he was coming to work when he wasn’t scheduled to spend more time with me. We got along so well. We could talk for hours and hours about anything and everything. Soon after meeting, we started dating, and our relationship escalated quickly. Within a year, he left the NBA and began working in finance. We moved in together in an apartment in New York City and got engaged. I was only 21 years old – still a senior in college. He treated me well. We had no drama – no lying, no cheating, no bullshit—just two young people who genuinely enjoyed each other’s company.

He checked every box.

My parents were happy. My friends thought I was so lucky. And in society’s eyes, my life was going very well.

The only problem was that I was miserable. I was not ready to be someone’s wife. I didn’t want to sacrifice opportunities for my career for a relationship. My ring felt like a handcuff, chaining me to a life I didn’t yet want.

I stayed in the relationship for four years because, logically, we made sense. According to society, this relationship is what I should want. But I was so unhappy which led me to question myself more times than I could count.

“Why don’t I want this relationship?”

“How come I am not on cloud nine?”

“Isn’t this is what I should want?”

“Is there something wrong with me?”

Ultimately, it took every ounce of strength I had to end the relationship. It was one the most difficult decisions I have ever made, as I had to hurt someone I loved – someone who never would have hurt me.

However, I knew, long term, it wasn’t fair to either one of us if I stayed in a relationship that I didn’t genuinely want. In the days, weeks and months following our breakup, I felt a sense of relief and freedom. I pursued my career, moved out of New York, and I have since chased every single dream or goal I’ve ever had.

To this day, people still think I was crazy to end the relationship – especially since I am now 36 and single. But I have never had any regrets.

Looking back, I learned that sometimes we doubt ourselves when our desires differ from the expectations the world sets for us. But deep down, each of us know what we want, and all we need is the courage to pursue it relentlessly.

Be who you are – not who others expect you to be.

A poetic/fictitious mixed short about greeting your melancholy with kindness and making your mind into a nice place to call home.
—–
The autumn flush bashfully comes in during this time of year. Traces of red and orange line the green just enough to give the sense that it might actually get colder than fifty, but it never does. Most of the homes in Tomales are farm-style. Less greek revival, more horse and buggy. Wrap around porches hug the treeline rooftops parallel to an unneeded chimney. Hummingbird feeders hang nectar on every doorstep like there might be a modern day Passover. I once even heard someone call their laundry closet an ‘alcove.’ The neighborhood is literally so pretentious and inviting that you can practically taste Grandma’s cookies underneath a family timeline of Stanford cap and gown photos.

Houses like that are meant to be shared. Mine is just for me.

There was a Victorian on the hill, half a mile south of the city limits. There were rumors about it. Ghost stories that were best left dismissed. With fresco painted ceilings and a view of the bay, I’d blindly bought in. The previous owner even left behind an old piano. I called it a steal.

Economically sound: the only type of echo I’d ever considered when buying the house. The first creaky floorboard fell through while I was carrying in the dishware. Termites. And if that wasn’t enough, the flip of the switch fried the chandelier’s circuit in one go. Ridiculous of me to expect the house to do more than look like the photos.

“Goddamnit.” I collapsed onto the piano bench for the first time. All of my boxes were just inside the hall. The air was stifled by thick humidity. I could feel myself getting sick in the first breath. Nobody had lived here in years. Perhaps no one was meant to.

I’d left the city to learn more about myself. My friends found it a bit extreme: “You’ll be all alone up there, away from the city.” Their voices carry through the thirty-two miles in between us. But, I’d never been alone before. Truly alone. There was always the buzz of life swarming me into a perpetual FOMO. And in some manic-state, I decided to discover the sensational melancholy that William Wordsworth wrote all of those poems about.

On the first night I’d been on the air mattress. That was when I decided that the air quality might be getting to me. Around one in the morning I woke up to the sound of my own floorboards giving in fours. The sounds of a horse. I thought myself to be crazy – exhausted from moving. But, when I peeked out the bedroom door into the hall – I saw it. A ghost-white Shire tiptoeing across the fragile wood.

The next morning, there were the slightest indentations in the floor. So faint, that suggesting a horse might be responsible was insane. Still, I called my mom to tell her the news. She suggested a hallucination remedy, a new brand of air filters, and sent over a list of psychologists – just in case.

Still, the horse visited me. New air filters and all. Nineteen hundred pounds creaking through the halls on four legs. Sometimes when we made late-night eye contact, the horse would spook and kick hind legs into the air. If it weren’t for all of the holes born in the walls – I’d pass it off as delirium. Too frightened to unpack and settle in, and more afraid to abandon the purchase: I’d tell myself one more day. I can do one more day here. And for days, the house remained as it was. Empty and unusable. Every night brought new holes in the hallway walls.

The ninth day, something changed. Call it boredom or insanity, but I went for a walk. The cookie cutter houses allured me in their simplicity. Transformation of a new perspective. With flower beds lining their white picket fences and patio furniture I felt a sense of inspiration to decorate my own lawn. Wandering down the street further, I found myself at the market.

“A single potted plant and a carrot?” The cashier chuckled briefly before a glance at the dark bags sunk under my eyes.

I set my plant up on the porch that day. The only unboxed item in two-thousand square feet. And while the house had a long way to go, it was something pleasant. Something small.

That night I set the single carrot outside my door, in hopes to soothe the fear of the Shire. And to my surprise, I slept through the night. Full of rest, my feet found the floor next to my air mattress and when I opened the bedroom door, the carrot was gone.

In a burst of unwearied energy, I unpacked the first box. Dishware. Some cups and plates chipped from the move, but the functionality remained in tact. I organized them neatly into the cupboard. At the bottom of the box was a glass vase, sized perfect for the window sill in the front hall. After placing it there, I left the house for another walk, this time hunting for the perfect flower.

There weren’t many wildflowers left, especially in such a domesticated area. But, I found one. Maybe nothing more than a weed. Yet, it looked like a daisy to me. It would do just fine.

That night I put the carrot further down from my room, closer to the front entrance and I went to bed, sleeping through another night peacefully. Many days went on like this – another box unpacked, a new plant adorning a canny corner, the horse reappearing at night to come and go. By what means – I do not know. Furniture was arriving. I was off the air mattress and into a real bed by the second week. The tent for the termites came and went – more affordable than I’d predicted. I wrote the check at my window, foliage draped over the glass in a perfect frame.

Yesterday on the phone with my mother, I accidentally called this place home.

It’s late October now. “Finally settling?” I read on the phone screen once more. I woke up early these days, in a routine to water my back porch plants. They’d become more like friends to me. And there the white Shire was, grazing through the green yard. My body paralyzed at first – remembering all of the fear caused. Besides, I’d almost finish patching the holes in the halls. Inching towards the creature, I held out my hand in a white flag.

I stroked the muzzle once. Then again.

***

You finally rested your head on my shoulder, and I named you Casper.

Our moments were never filled with fear again. We understood one another. You ruled acres of land and I had the Victorian. There were still the occasional spooks. Mangled hair and disagreements. But, I no longer lived alone.

Even if I never had to begin with.

***

A year has gone by now. It’s Halloween. And I’ve got Trick or Treaters. Football-sized ghosts and miniature princesses making the long haul up my driveway. The only monster in the house is inflatable, peering out the window next to the vase. The kids love it. So do I.

I baked for them this year, a recipe from Ms. Arnett. She lives in one of the homes off Kennedy – widowed at twenty-nine. We met through our gardens. Nicknamed ‘The Greenhouse’ my plant collection had grown into a jungle. Dutch bulbs lit up the yard in frenzied patterns. I coined myself Queen Wilhelmina, but the kids don’t quite get that one. Ms. Arnett stopped by to chat about an idea she’d had for her tulips. We forgot to finish that conversation, two pots of tea later. We’re always forgetting, it seems.

Casper’s dressed as a reindeer this year. The kids feed her carrots I picked up from the market and she takes them tamely. Gratefully even.

When the night grows late I find myself candle-lit at the piano. A new thing I’m learning. With my shadow dancing off-key to my chorus, I remind myself that I’m learning.

I really am.

Being a Black Man and an Actor and Filmmaker, people sometimes tell me I should be happy when I see a Black person in a movie cause I am being “Represented.” Yet, I try to explain that I am not. My Family is from the South, particularly Louisiana and although I was born in Cleveland, Ohio, I have more of the personality and attitude of someone from Louisiana. Which means I do not see myself as less than a White person and nor do I listen to whatever music I am told is preferred by Blacks. I date women of all backgrounds and won’t mention my crazy ex who was Blonde and Jewish cause that is a whole ‘nother story. I’ve yet to see myself in any movie or film or TV show. A Black man in a Cinema has to be poor and struggling or a criminal or even if he is a good guy, he is locked in a box that people believe is Black. Recently a White friend of mine told me, I should not speak with an accent when doing business presentations. It is sad when you are constantly told what music to listen to, how to speak and that you need to act “BLACK.” People refuse to acknowledge that there are “Different Shades of Black” and just because you see someone Black in movies and TV, that does not mean We are being Represented.

Representation is portrayal, and we are all actors writing and rehearsing scripts. We commit to characters or even just characteristics. We are imposters until we’re able to depict these things effortlessly. With the right amount of practice, passion and intention- representation is an art, it’s powerful. It’s a message we give or a picture we paint. It’s a responsibility that is not to be taken lightly. It requires dedication and integrity in the moments where circumstances are unfavorable.
Four years ago, I found myself in a nasty custody battle. I had been physically abused for five years and had finally decided that starting over with nothing was better than staying in a toxic situation. My son was four at the time, and he was terrified. I had accepted my fate, that one day his dad would just kill me. But seeing my son physically shaken and living in fear in his own home is what drove me to leave. He deserved better. I decided I’m not going to be the mom that raises my son in an unhealthy environment just to be able to say we don’t have a broken home. I’m not going to normalize these abusive behaviors and continue the cycle. I am a better mom than that. I will do better.
At our first hearing I wanted to be as fair as possible. I was advised to be fair because the system doesn’t care if you are abused, as long as the child is not abused physically. My mistake was not fighting. My son was terrified when he had to leave with the person that he was supposed to call his father. He was harassed and terrorized and even neglected some days. I went back to court and asked to amend our order. Even with him telling the judge he didn’t want to exercise his parental rights; the judge forced us to continue on with our shared custody. Every other weekend. He made it clear that he did not want to be a parent because I “chose to be a single mom.” As much as I wanted to lose my character, I had to bite my tongue and conform to the systems standard that “every parent has to be involved because they have rights.” See, the system loves to force these standards on us, but they fail to go below the surface. They also don’t enforce them. That’s why one parent can make excuses and owe thousands in child support while the other has to figure it out without missing a beat. That’s why the system thinks an online parenting class is going to give a parent the mental and emotional capacity to raise healthy children. Failing to take advantage of his every other weekend became a consistent blessing, and issue. Sometimes weeks would go by, and our lives would be peaceful. Others, we were harassed by drunken phone calls, aggression and stalking. If I’d let the order be, he had an opening to remain inconsistent and show up whenever he was bored with his life. Claiming he was sorry and that he wanted to “try” to be a good parent. I made the mistake of suggesting things he could do to bond with my son and in his twisted corrupt mind he used that to try and control me. He knew it’d hurt me to have to make excuses for him, because all I wanted was for my son to have two parents. He’d purposely mistreat or ignore my son for attention. He’d tell me, “Well you’re the one who wants me to have a bond with him. Try harder.” Even thinking about it makes me skin crawl. The world is infested with people like this, but I refused to allow my son to carry on that trait.
At our third hearing, I finally lost it. I was representing myself, and my son. I needed to advocate for him and his well-being. He did not deserve to be treated as a game, he is much too important and his health too valuable. Doing my best to hold back tears and keep my vocabulary decent, I told the judge, “You want me to continue to give him chances at being a parent when we have been in and out of this court room for the last year. My son is four, it does not take four years to be an active parent. I don’t get to make excuses, I have primary custody and I do not ever make excuses, nor can I rely on him to assist in anything regarding my son. He is not consistent because he doesn’t care to be. He can deny the abuse all he wants, I’m not here to get justice for myself. I’m here because I have my son’s best interest at heart and it’s clear you do not. All this evidence in front of you is to show you that I have tried. I’m damaging my son in the process and I’m damaging his trust in me because I am who keeps him safe. What kind of a mother would I be to continue to let this go on? He doesn’t care to be a parent, he’s here only to make my life miserable because he’s upset, he no longer has a punching bag. I promise you I will be back here in a few months because this is not a game to me. I will keep coming back because my son is not safe with him, and he is not comfortable. I will not normalize for him to always live in survival mode, paranoid about what is going to happen to him. I will withhold him because I have valid concerns and it’s my right to defend them here in court.”
In every moment, I represented myself and my son. Although I knew that in the judges’ eyes, I represented just another case in family court. I represented “bitter” baby mommas. In that court room, I was a victim that “clearly suffered from delusions and was projecting them onto my son.” I was dramatic, I needed help, I was stupid for being in a relationship like that to begin with. I was another teen parent who didn’t know what the hell to do. And I was not going to let any of those discourage me. I needed to fight because children deserve happy and healthy lives. Thankfully, my argument was taken into consideration, I was granted sole physical custody.
I realize now that my reason for fighting so hard was because I know what it’s like to be a child in a similar situation. I was only a year old when I was removed from my parents and placed in the system. Even years after the adoption was finalized, did anyone care to look into the life of this little girl who had been ripped away from the life she knew? Who didn’t understand why she couldn’t see her mommy and daddy every day? Sure, they investigated to make sure the new home would be safe. It looked good on paper, roof over my head, clean clothes, three meals. There is so much more that goes into raising a child. Especially a child that has been through something traumatic. You would think that mandatory parenting classes and therapy would have been a part of the adoption process. But the system only cared for their numbers. Place a child in a home and you can sleep better at night. Never mind the trauma or the child’s mental/emotional needs. It’s almost as if the system is made up of people who have never successfully raised a child. I hope I’ve explained well without going too much into detail. I hope you can understand who and what I was representing. I hope there are others out there who advocate for children, who have integrity and don’t treat children’s lives as a game.

To The Unsealed Community,

When I was ten years old, I was in love.

I grew up in the 1990s, and like most other girls in my generation, I thought Jonathan Taylor Thomas, aka JTT, was my future husband. He played Randy on Tim Allen’s Home Improvement. I had posters of him in my room, and I listened to love songs imagining the two of us on long walks in the park.

Ahead of my eleventh birthday, my father asked what I wanted as a gift.

I told my Dad, “I would like to meet JTT.”

My Dad chuckled and said, “What’s your second choice?”

I said, “Dad, there is no second choice. That is what I want.”

He told me he didn’t have that kind of power. So, I said fine and told him I would figure it out myself.

Later that week, I went on the internet and started searching. I knew there had to be a way to meet my crush. It wasn’t long before I stumbled across a charity event for Audrey Hepburn’s charity for children. The event hosted movie premiers, fashion shows, and after-parties with child stars in New York City, forty minutes away from my home. The list of child actors had to be one hundred deep: Mara Wilson, Michelle Trachtenberg, Rider Strong, Devon Sawa, and, sure enough, Jonathan Taylor Thomas.

Tickets for events were cheap – $10 -$40 per event, per person. So, for my birthday, my mother and I got a hotel room in the city, and I attended JTT’s premiere of the movie Wild America. I manipulated my way to the front of the crowd and befriended JTT’s security, who arrived at the theater a half hour before JTT did. As luck would have it, like every other man in the world, the security guard had a crush on my mother. I ended up in the elevator with JTT and got a picture and a kiss on the cheek. And then, he sat right behind me in the theater. I swear there were moments when he leaned forward, and I could feel him breathing on my neck. The next day at the fashion show, the security guard snuck us backstage. I met nearly every star there, and my 11-year-old self was in heaven.

One of the qualities I love most about myself is I go after what I want. I don’t take no for an answer. I believe I was born with this relentless and determined spirit.

Whether it was meeting JTT at eleven years old, becoming a sportscaster in my 20s, or starting a business in my 30’s, I have never taken “No” for an answer. No has always just meant, “Find another way.”

Through the years, the stakes have increased, and the challenges are sometimes even more unrealistic. But without looking back, I have continued after whatever I have wanted in life.

Even if some days are hard, I live life with no regrets, no what ifs or would have, could have, should haves.

And while I may not have married JTT, like I once planned. Going after him, along with all the other things I love in life, has made me love myself and all that I am even more.

Representation to me means the whole entire world and takes on a whole new level when you weren’t born the so-called typical way and your body doesn’t fit the mold. I have a form of Cerebral Palsy known as Spastic Diplegia which translates to both of my legs being affected resulting in difficulties moving around. I use all different types of things for mobility aid ranging from leg braces, a walker and occasionally a wheelchair for longer distances. A little bit of a back story. I’m a triplet as a result of in vitro we came into this world at thirty weeks so when you come to think about it my family and I are truly blessed as things could have been a whole lot worse. Under no circumstances does that mean I’m not deserving of being seen. I have so much to offer this world but don’t have as nearly as many audiences to show as I should. All throughout my years of elementary, middle and high school I had something called an individualized education plan which had my specific needs documented such as extra time on tests and so on including the therapies I received physical and occupational. I have fine motor difficulties however they are not as prevalent as my gross motor ones. There will never be a time when I don’t need physical therapy. I attend an intensive place bi weekly and at the end of every session I feel so proud of myself. It can be absolutely grueling at times but it’s so worth it. Another thing I had in school was a one on one aide to help in making sure I navigated from place to place safely. Fast forward to after high school graduation and I no longer have either of those things. I in a sense fell off the face of the earth. There is literally nothing for me now as all my life I have been told I fall in the middle somewhere or am too high functioning, but then again keep in mind things can be too advanced for me as well. A number of programs I have reached out to don’t even bother responding I shouldn’t have to experience what I do on a daily basis boredom beyond measure because I have very few things to occupy my time which is off the scale frustrating because not to toot my own horn but I am very smart I just need a different approach than most. For example when I was in eleventh grade I was inducted into the world language honor society and took it a step further and filled out an application to become an officer ultimately becoming the secretary. I have a love of learning but regular college run classes have never been suitable for me as I get extremely overwhelmed with the pace. I have had six surgeries to date and the uncertainty my life presents can be paralyzing some days but I will never ever give up and do not let anything stop me. I have gone rock and boulder climbing reaching the top both times thanks to my amazing friends who to say I’m lucky to have would be an understatement. This applies to my family as well. A support system goes such a long way but now it’s time we reach the highest grounds and soar. I also did adaptive skiing, zip lining, a flying trapeze and will be looking into adaptive surfing for next summer. I get a lot of enjoyment riding my adaptive bike too. Another thing I am working towards is ice skating. In preparation for this I have been practicing in therapy by ambulating with scooters under my feet. Life has thrown me a bunch of curveballs so I want to remind everyone of this, you truly never know the depth of what someone may be going through so in a word where you can be anything just be kind. Here’s a bonus: being kind doesn’t cost a thing plus it’s a two way street you will begin to reap the rewards too trust me on that. I don’t know what job path I would like to go down just yet but I do know one thing for sure: I want to spend all of my life using my voice to help others. This was fueled more so than I could have ever imagined back in 2019 when I became a volunteer suicide mental health hotline operator. It’s fully online through texting. It lit a fire in my soul that I never saw before and I don’t plan to ever stop feeding that passion of mine. When you’re in tune with your own voice you have the power to move mountains, and that is my exact mission in life to do just that, envisioning the best possible future for all. After the conversation you have with the person they have an option to anonymously write something if they want to, like feedback of how we did. They are all very nice but one in particular made the happiest tears flow out of me and I will never forget it as long as I live. It changed my view of literally everything. They called me an angel saying I saved a life today and that I should be proud of what I do. I have every reason to be. That statement leaves me utterly speechless miracles happen in our everyday lives if we look hard enough. To tie back to the theme of this letter representation I always say to myself if someone was in my shoes or anyone with challenges it would be a different story as they would see where I’m coming from. I will always use my voice for all especially those who can’t voice their thoughts to ensure that those with physical challenges on all degrees can have just as much visibility as everyone else I think it’s absolutely wonderful that when it comes to cognitive disabilities like autism and Down syndrome that the world recognizes it as that’s how it should be however we should be represented just like that I hope for this to go viral and be seen by as many possible those in the higher education field would be an ideal start.