The story of how I let go of one dream and made space for another.

Part 1: Driving down dirt roads.

Before I dreamed of engines screaming in anger across the globe, I grew up to the sound of wind rolling across Kansas fields. Growing up in Kansas, you can see everything for miles. I’ve always chased things that can’t fully be explained—only felt. Even back then, something in me craved fast-paced energy—the kind that shook windows or echoed through an engine block. The only thing I didn’t know yet was what I was chasing.

Born on March 24th, 2004, the first and only daughter of two large families, I had two parents unprepared for a girl who came out chasing things no one could quite catch. I wanted to learn everything about my interests. My first love was the beauty and destruction of tornadoes and storm chasing. The fact that no matter how advanced science has become, we still don’t understand the perfect ingredients behind a twister fascinated me. Its indescribable power and speed pushed me to fall in love with the unknown. The faster the world moved, the more I felt like I belonged in it.

While I’m still my family’s meteorologist, my passion has evolved over the years.

The hunger for knowledge would eventually lead me to find my dream. But long before I ever saw my first Formula One race, I was chasing a different kind of target.

Part 2: Growing Up Competitive

One thing I undoubtedly got from both sides of my family was my competitive ambition. My mother grew up as a soccer player—disciplined and strategic. My father, a jack of all trades in athletics, taught me to appreciate the art of sports and their impact on the world. I took strengths from both of them and used them to fuel every ambition I had.

From a young age, I was always in a sport. First, it was soccer. In my family, we all start there—it’s almost a rite of passage before we find our own niche.

As a Midwesterner, my dad was a hunter for as long as I can remember. He introduced me to that world through shows like Duck Commander and Buck Commander. One of them would end up shaping nine years of my life and becoming the catalyst for my journey into archery.

When I was six, my dad bought a hunting bow. And like the strong, independent little girl I was, I immediately followed his lead. My first bow—a birthday present when I turned seven—would be the first of many expensive pieces of equipment I used during my competitive career.

By the time I was ten, I was regularly winning state championships. It was time for my first national tournament. The only way to win my division was to never miss the 5 or X ring—something I had been training toward for years. Every arrow felt like the slow release of an anxious breath. Each time I hit the target, I scanned it with eagle eyes, checking to see if my championship hopes had survived the shot. With each round, I inched closer to the silver bowl.

All I had to do was stay consistent for 120 arrows—and I had a chance.

By the end of Day 2, I was tied with one other girl. It came down to a shoot-off. After the dust settled, I was the national champion.

For the next six years, my life was a mix of success and much-needed pauses—moments where I stepped back from the constant demand for perfection. But those years taught me how to focus, how to push myself, and how to walk the thin line between pressure and performance.

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Part 3: The Transition – Letting Go of Competing

In March of 2020, COVID hit, and the world shut down. Tournaments disappeared, social calendars were wiped clean, and I had more free time than I ever knew what to do with.

One afternoon, I came downstairs to find my dad watching a random Netflix show. I stayed—only because I was promised control of the remote afterward. But those 20 minutes would change my life.

The show was Drive to Survive.

I was instantly hooked. My dad and I tried to watch the first race of the season, but it was canceled. So instead, we dove into the archives—virtual races, historical footage on the F1 app, and funny WTF1 videos with Matt and Tommy.

One day, we watched a video about Max Verstappen’s journey to Formula One. He talked about passion—that without love for your craft, you can’t sustain the work required to be the best. And I broke.

The sport I had pushed myself to love for nine years wasn’t something I could sustain anymore. I told my coach and my family. They convinced me to take some time and give it one more try.

One month later, I went outside to practice. The first shot landed off to the left, so I adjusted. I took a deep breath and released the next arrow—everything felt perfect. My form. My aim. My rhythm. And yet, it was still off.

That’s when I knew. It wasn’t the shot that was off. I was.

I set the bow down and walked away, knowing it would be the last arrow I’d ever fire. My nine-year journey had ended. And I was finally okay with that.

Part 4: Finding Formula One

Letting go of archery allowed me to find not just Formula One—but myself.

For most of my life, I didn’t know what direction I was heading in. Was I going to be a professional archer? A bakery owner? Just someone working a job that offered a sliver of happiness?

But on a weeknight at 10 p.m., I was researching careers in Formula One. At first, I fell in love with the strategy—the data and precision that could make or break a race. But the more I explored, the more I stumbled onto something unexpected: Public Relations and Journalism in F1.

It was a field I’d never heard of. And somehow, it described me.

It felt like the final jigsaw piece locking into place. I ran to tell my mom—and was promptly told to go to bed.

But the fire was lit. All I could do now was find the path forward.

Part 5: Creating the Change

Originally, I had planned to go to MSU or Michigan to continue my archery career. But now, everything had changed. I had a new goal—and a big question to answer:

What is PR, and where can I study it?

I bought my first PR essentials book and started researching schools. Thankfully, I was only two hours away from Kansas State University, which had a well-accredited PR and Advertising program.

All I had to do was apply—and get ready.

As I continued to search for hands-on experience, I joined the Public Relations Student Society of America. At my first meeting, I learned about the Communications Department for K-State Athletics. By the end of the meeting, I had submitted my resume and a message filled with enthusiasm.

I was hired immediately. And since then, I’ve loved every single game over the past three years.

Part 6: Embracing the Journey Ahead

This journey is something I’ve been dreaming about for four years. And now, graduation is right around the corner. Life is on the other side of the door—and all I have to do is open it.

I won’t lie. I’m scared. So I decided to write this blog to show who I am—and to hopefully inspire other girls who are forcing themselves down a path they don’t want. You can break out. You can find the missing piece of your puzzle.

This blog is a space to explore the sport that helped me fall in love with my future—and a reminder that listening to your heart doesn’t mean inviting failure. Sometimes, it means finally finding freedom.