"Bluntly put, moving in high school was difficult..."

Bluntly put, moving in high school was difficult. I remember waving good-bye to my best friend through tear-filled eyes. I remember staying up the night before the first day at my new school, dreading having to eat lunch alone. I remember crying on my birthday. Most of all, I remember hating how my life had become a movie cliche, how I had seemingly been reduced to a shell of myself by relocating 399.2 miles south.

Resolute in my desire to restore some semblance of normalcy, I started running incremental exploratory missions on this alien planet. I joined Science Olympiad, finding comfort in the companionship of fellow biology geeks. Fulfilling a longtime goal, I joined a volunteer station and became an EMT, loving the urgency of working in an ambulance and the unique satisfaction of saving a life. I spent countless hours reading papers about spinal cord stimulation, temporarily forgetting my social isolation with academic collaboration. I learned to drive, much to my parent’s chagrin.

Though I still had the occasional bad day (as do we all), things were looking up. Reluctant optimism replaced hopeless despair as I became more confident in my abilities and less reliant on the context in which I applied them. Moving compelled me to meet different people, try new things, and succeed in an environment I hadn’t grown up in. The result was resilience, a firm belief that with hard work, a willingness to diversify, and a little self-deprecation, no situation was impossible, no crisis un-manageable.