"Educational Autobiography"

Since I’ve been young, I’ve loved school. Being reared in the familiarity of a small Montessori school whose administration consisted primarily of my aunt, grandmother, great-aunt, and my own mother, going to school was akin to an educational sanctuary. Perhaps it was the comfort of my intellectual environment, or just a genuine interest in academics, but I have always taken pleasure in learning. However, as I got older, this love of learning became tarnished by an anxiety about a career path; I knew I was certainly not destined for accounting or engineering but I grappled with what I could foresee myself pursuing. I loved to write, and communicate with people, but I didn’t want to be an author; I had zero interest in following my mother’s footsteps as an educator; I wanted to help people, and share my ideas, but I could not envision a field of work that would allow me to do so. One night in July, the summer before my senior year of high school, my vocation came clear on what remains the most exciting, inspiring, and enriching night of my life thus far.

I enter the party from inside the house before making my way out to their big green lawn. I have never seen a home so beautiful; herringbone brick floors grace the foyer, gold-framed photographs of family line the walls, and potted ferns taller than myself border the hallways. I walk through the large French door into the backyard. The smell of burgers on the grill wafts through the warm July air. I sit timidly at the checkered picnic table fiddling with my bracelet. Unsure of what to do with myself, I dig into my burger. Chowing down, I remember the etiquette rules my mom has instilled in me for so long; now seems an appropriate time as ever to deploy them. Napkin on lap, check. Straight posture, check. And her most important rule, smile at everybody.

He seemed relaxed during our conversation, interested in my life, family and hobbies.

This was no ordinary Fourth of July barbeque, however. As a seventeen-year-old girl walking through the West Gate of the White House, I did not think I would have much in common with the President of our country. Leaving the party, walking out the West Gate the same way I did mere hours ago, I realized we share more than meets the eye: we both had rather weighty decisions to make regarding our next four years, the outcome lying primarily in the hands of others. More significantly, I realized we both have the greatest privilege of all, and one that too many lack: we had a choice. We had the means and agency to choose how we want to approach the next four years of our lives. For him - whether to run for reelection, for me - where to go to school, what to do, what to study, who I wanted to be. And while I couldn’t recognize it at the moment, the weight of choosing where to apply to college was an immense gift. Ironically enough, feet from the White House, my goal felt suddenly obvious: I wanted to use politics to expand choice and opportunity. I realized the cumbersome choice before me was in fact my own educational calling, and the culmination of my intellectual interests.

This moment was extraordinary for me, not just because I had met the most prominent

figure in American politics, but also because it was then that I realized how I hope to change politics: I want others to have the same luxury of opportunity and choice that I do, and I want to even the playing field of possibilities for those who are deprived of them. That said, this realization has been gradually evolving and crystallizing over the years, as my interest in government and social justice developed early in my childhood. This interest has only been galvanized as a young woman who has lived through two starkly different presidencies, and witnessed the volatility of democracy. Yet although I have since immersed myself in several

political endeavors, I have routinely felt perplexed as to a framework for my objective. That night, my responsibility became abundantly clear.

However, inspired as I was - that night I also recognized this goal is an arduous and ongoing one. As I stood conversing with the Commander in Chief, I felt overwhelmed by gratitude and inspiration, accompanied by a twinge of sadness. I entered the party feeling painfully incongruous and left with a surprising sense of similitude, but also indebtedness. Experiencing such a surreal moment gave me great perspective, and the impetus to use my academic passion to help create a world where people have the same luxury of choice that I do.