From the trailer parks of Ypsilanti Michigan, to the suburbs of Rockville Maryland, the communities I called home have taught me to understand a diverse range of life experiences. Along the way, I have witnessed and lived Mexican American culture in New Mexico, Mormon culture in Utah, Michigander culture in Ypsilanti, French culture in Paris, and New York culture in the City. This statement is a testament to those I met along the way, to those who helped shape who I am today.

In Ypsilanti, my family and our neighbors got by with very little. Most of those around us would come and go periodically, leaving and returning to the trailer park according to need. This led to an ephemeral community, where childhood friends would inevitably vanish into memory. As the years rolled on, my time to leave came, and we set off for Salt Lake City for a more stable, prosperous situation.

In my first weeks after moving to Salt Lake City, Utah, in the summer of 2000, my neighbor Thomas invited me to go rollerblading with him in the adjacent church parking lot. As we skated and talked about the upcoming school year, I told him my fear of starting class not knowing any of my classmates. He reassured me that it would be okay, and invited me to join his family for dinner. His family welcomed me warmly, and invited me to attend church with them on Sundays. I hadn’t grown up with a religion, and accepted their offer without prejudice or hesitation. I was introduced to a caring group of people who encouraged me to participate in community events. That year, I helped to set up our neighborhood’s Halloween ball, and enjoyed Christmas in the company of the many friends I had met along the way. Though I hadn’t converted to Mormonism, I had come to appreciate the power of belief to unite communities and create a comfortable home.

Two years after that summer day, I said goodbye to my friends, and set off for Los Alamos, New Mexico. In my new classroom, I found myself surrounded by an incredible diversity. The friends I made during games of kickball and outside of school came from families with roots in both nuclear physics and Mexican American culture. Much in the same way I experienced Mormonism for the first time, I went over to my friends’ houses after school without expectation. The food and families that welcomed me were incredible, and I left wanting to go back. Little did I know that, in coming years after leaving New Mexico, the faces, smells, and tastes would continue to dance in my memory.

When we set roots in Maryland, I became part of a community that was starkly more affluent than any I had experienced before. My mother and I shared a one-bedroom apartment, but the majority of those around us had spent their entire lives in a culture of high expectation. For the first time, classes were run with the assumption that each student would graduate and move on to college. At their core, my friends and neighbors in Rockville were no different than those I had made in New Mexico, Utah, or Michigan. Beliefs still brought people together, and diversity still afforded us an incredible range of experiences to enjoy. Yet wealth allowed the majority of my new friends to live without concern for affording basic necessities, or for whether they would go on to higher education.

In my journey, I have seen a large section of our country’s socioeconomic spectrum. My belief that each of us has within the ability to succeed and to progress comes from having glimpsed the common humanity that thrives in us all; my acceptance of different communities and separate viewpoints comes from the respect I have developed by living in and of these perspectives. In each transition, from Ypsilanti to Utah, from Utah to New Mexico, and from New Mexico to Maryland, I have been obliged to look my friends in the eye and to say goodbye. But I know that their stories live on inside my own, and that their stories will continue to follow me in each step of my journey to come.

During my first weeks in the country, I met my neighbor, Victor, who came from a background largely dissimilar to my own. Born in a small city, Châlon sur Saone, his interest in my experience could be matched only by my interest in his. What started off as a casual acquaintanceship soon grew into a close and caring friendship. Given the opportunity to meet his colleagues at ESCP Europe, one of France’s top business schools, I was able to integrate into a francophone community that allowed me to absorb French culture through osmosis. In the coming months, I received countless questions about the country and culture I was part of. Why were Americans so willing to allow their people the right to own firearms? Why is American culture so centered on the individual? What are the clichés that Americans hold of the French? Each of these questions forced me to reflect on the culture that I came from, and I found myself debating the merits of my culture with those who perceived it from the outside. In return, I was able to ask the same questions about my new experience. Those I was with were infinitely able to help me as I learned to express myself in different ways, and they served as an important source of knowledge with respect to French history, politics, and literature.