In 2005, my mom told me that someone was coming to stay at our house for a while to help with her non-profit organization, eHomemakers. She explained that our guest was a “fellow” completing a “master’s degree.” At eleven years old, neither of those terms meant anything to me.

All I knew was that a twenty-eight-year-old woman named Stephanie walked through our front door. She was well dressed and she had long hair. She was kind, intelligent, and carried herself with confidence that I quietly admired.

From the sidelines, I watched Stephanie work. She spent hours on her laptop before laptops became commonplace in our home. I listened as she and my mom discussed proposals, grants, strategy, and community development. Every now and then another name would pop up in conversation.

“Iain.”

I had no idea who Iain was, but he seemed to be involved in everything.

To an awkward, glasses-wearing, pimply eleven-year-old who was regularly bullied at school, Stephanie seemed impossibly accomplished. She represented a world I didn’t yet understand – but desperately wanted to be part of. When she left, I remember turning to my mom and saying, “One day, I’m going to get my master’s degree.” I still didn’t know what it was, but I knew I wanted one because Stephanie had one.

Over the next few years, more fellows came through our house. Maria. Julia. Mariko. Melissa. Different people, but somehow they all shared something in common. They were curious. Intelligent. Passionate about making the world a little better. And somehow, Iain always seemed to be involved.

Eventually, the fellows stopped coming. But the impression they had on me remained.

As I grew older, I found myself drawn toward community projects of my own. Growing up around the nonprofit world shaped the way I saw people and the possibilities of creating change. I studied anthropology for my bachelor’s degree, followed by a master’s in sustainable development. Then, as part of my practicum with the School for International Training, I found myself looking for a field placement.

That search eventually led me back to AP. Twenty years after Stephanie first walked through our front door, I found myself becoming the very thing I had admired as an eleven-year-old.

An AP Fellow.

Now I’m the young woman with long hair who spends her days typing on a laptop, talking about strategy, proposals, grants, and community development. I still hear Iain’s name regularly – except now he’s the person I’m in contact with instead of the mysterious name I overheard from the next room.

Looking back, it feels as though every experience throughout my teens and twenties quietly prepared me for this fellowship. Every volunteer project, every community initiative, every class, every country…. they all pointed here.

These past twelve weeks have been more than just a practicum for me. They’ve been a reminder that sometimes we become the people we once looked up to without even realizing it.

Somewhere, eleven-year-old me would probably think this is pretty cool. And I think she’d be right.