Most children grow up with a burning passion to hold a particular occupation or to achieve something amazing with their lives. My friends knew from a young age what they wanted to be in the future: doctors, scientists, or–as is the case of one friend, even a dinosaur. As crazy as their ideas were, they knew who they wanted to be and what they wanted to achieve with their lives.

After six long days of driving from Fort Worth to Minneapolis under a hot, dry sun, the Plano Academy Solar Car Team–composed of fourteen high school students, including me–was shocked to learn we won our division. Our car had powered us nearly 230 miles along the way–less than a mile further than the second place team.

I grew up in the suburbs of Lancaster County where I spent my childhood riding my bike down to the creek, catching lightning bugs, and playing late-night games of kickball with the neighborhood kids in the cul-de-sac. On Wood Lot Lane, my dad taught me independence and problem solving, and my mom taught me patience and creativity.

A teacher points to the blackboard and asks emphatically: “What is an email?”. She wants her students to answer using Jakobson’s communication model, a topic they just learned in class. On the other side of the classroom, four of the eight students who attend La Ciénaga, a rural school on the border between Argentina and Bolivia, were trying to draw the “@” symbol on their notebooks.

Many who are wrapping up their final year of undergrad are uncertain of where life will take them next. Expecting to eventually take over my family’s business, I did not have this uncertainty. Then 2008 happened.