Special Projects

In contrast, at the student bar, friends made unprofessional toasts to my many, many final round interviews. Toasts were also made to my rejections. They were also made to my offer letters, as few and far-between as they seemed to be. My inbox was a constant back-and-forth between former supervisors, consulting firms in the midst of recruiting season, the occasional NGO, and the oft automated denial. At the very least, I knew that I wasn’t closing out the year with nothing: I could always return to an internship I had before or a part-time job I held at the college, if only to set more bullets down on my resume.

The end result of these cycles was that, throughout that final spring semester, I was always chasing a finish line. Chasing the morning matcha latte, and then chasing the end of the week, and then chasing that next stage of my capstone study, and then chasing the end of this interview round and that interview round, and then chasing this final term paper, and then chasing the end of semester, and finally, chasing the end of college. Perhaps it was more like a spin class in that it felt neatly chopped up into intervals, rather than one, long, mad dash.  

I’m more partial to spin classes where the instructor announces their plan in advance. For similar reasons, I was constantly itching to know what was coming next: even if my “next steps” were going to suck, at least I would have a sense of security.

Perhaps because of this, when Nia Atkins ’23 (the Fellow at Year Up United at the time) assigned me a case study for the final stage of the interviewing process, I took it in stride. I was almost ready to make a whole slide deck for the data that she had given me– of course, the one-pager I ultimately made was more appropriate. Within that same week, I was offered that position: a paid, data and research-focused fellowship at a leading nonprofit that was contracted out to July 2025. I decided to go with it.

Now, two years later, I’m out at the other end of it all, with another two years of growth to come.

I think it’s plain to say that I’ve experienced a lot of growth in the fellowship: it’s clear as day now that analytics much more aligns with my interests, talents, and motivations (and the whims of the job market). I had thought differently back in 2023, being under the impression that data analysts led infinitely more boring professional lives than we do in actuality. My time at Year Up United has shown me the ways in which data specialists are able to enact real change in their organizations, allowing me to shorten that gap between “insight” and “impact.”

Yet I don’t think I should discount the talents that I had brought in: a willingness to learn, a drive to demonstrate what I already knew, and the competency to combine the two where needed. My supervisor never failed to mention that, in a twist of irony for a nonprofit fellowship, my corporate experience made me stand out clearly among their candidates. In my mad scramble to figure out what was going to be “my thing” right after college– and I suppose “my thing” well after college– I had forgotten to adequately congratulate myself for finding that “thing” at all.

In recent weeks, the bog-standard gold-standard of program evaluation has wormed its way back into my head: the “randomized control trial.” The general premise is that you compare a population that has received a treatment (be it Universal Basic Income, a particular UI layout, or Year Up United’s programming) with one that has not over a given period of time, the latter thus becoming the “control group.” 

In that way, in my own, personal RCT, I exist as the treatment case. A purely hypothetical alternative, fellowship-less self exists as the control case. It’s not a very good RCT: the intervention effect is nigh impossible to measure, and “groups” by nature should contain more than one person.

Despite that, I feel like I’m staring at a difference-in-differences charted out, my trajectory having accelerated upwards after this two-year long commitment. Part of me worries that this is just sunk-cost fallacy: at least in a monetary sense, two years spent in the nonprofit field is more-often-than-not an opportunity cost relative to a for-profit position. Then again, it is arguably this experience that has earned me a full-tuition merit scholarship at Carnegie Mellon for the otherwise onerous cost of an advanced education in the United States. It is arguably this experience that has made me prepared for graduate education, and all the personal challenges that come with it.

As I move onto graduate school, relocation to Pittsburgh, and a continued analytics career to follow, I’ve come to appreciate the fellowship for what it was and what it is. Societal structural issues run deep, two years is often shorter than one thinks. Yet I know that I have made change, and that I have led it. I am not only a potential social impact professional: I am a data-driven and proven social impact leader. My experience as a fellow was not perfect— it never could have been. Though if I can’t work in the nonprofit space forever, I’m glad to have worked in it now. 

In the meantime, I’ll enjoy the summer I have left in New York with family and friends and food. My supervisor once put it this way: “Avery, your 80% is more than some people’s 100%.” After two years, I’ve realized that I should take that comment to heart. In contrast to that breakneck final semester, I’m finally learning to take it slow, treating each and every day in the sun as a blessing. 

Whatever the industry I eventually land in, I refuse to leave my passion for social impact and the common good at any corporation’s door. It will be forever and always my guiding star. I’ll carry one fundamental value from Year Up United with me: lift as you climb. I invite every fellow, prospective, current, or alumna, to do the same.

Besides directly impacting students and visitors with workshops and programming, my special projects have also aligned with the Museum’s mission “to inspire a lifelong love of science in everyone”. From planning our High School Science Series events, a free field trip opportunity for high schools, to assisting in the translation of new exhibit spaces, my projects were tailored towards adapting the Museum to be a more inclusive space. I learned that creating a space that makes everyone feel comfortable starts with listening. As part of the MOS en Español team and DEAIB Committee, listening to all the voices that step into the Museum to understand how we can meet them where they are at has been one of the most crucial steps to maintaining a welcoming environment. 

These past two years have taught me how impactful informal education is; through these various mediums, I have been able to work with over 25,000 individuals. The anecdotes from students and community members further emphasize the welcoming environment that has been built at the Museum of Science that allows them to effectively learn and thrive. 

All these wonderful experiences throughout my time as a FAO Schwarz Fellow have solidified the passion I have for empowering the next generation of youth and building community. I am ecstatic to be staying at the Museum of Science after my fellowship where I will be a Bilingual Education Associate and will continue to do the inspiring work that I do now, while taking on more of a leadership and mentor role. I look forward to working alongside the same amazing people, plus the next FAO Schwarz Fellow, Delaney, who we are so excited to have join us! 

My time as a fellow has been exceptional, from growing more confident in my skills as an educator to creating lasting connections with other FAO Schwarz Fellows, and I am extremely grateful for every opportunity that came out of this fellowship. 

I’ll be candid in saying that the past 18 months or so came with more turbulence than ease. I began my working life commuting daily (per an HR mandate) to an empty, often dark, office in Midtown, trying to make sense of my role in an organization that was still reeling from the impact of the COVID-19 pandemic. Staff reductions had left the NYC office largely vacant, and the few remaining NYC staff members were all working remotely. In those early months, I felt burnt out and idle all at once. I found myself not only navigating a new professional environment but also grappling with major losses in my personal life, witnessing significant layoffs at work, and feeling the emotional toll of a news cycle and global politics that grew increasingly demoralizing. My day-to-day life felt more and more distant from the vibrant, purposeful rhythm of student life I once took for granted as a college student. Worse, the interest in policy and advocacy that had initially driven my commitment to my organization became obsolete, with the Policy and Government Relations team dissolved during that first period of layoffs at my organization. 

At first, I settled into the idea that this was just the reality of adulthood. People always reminisce about their college years with such fondness—maybe this is why. Maybe the real world really is just… awful. After sitting with this for some time, though, I decided that I had more autonomy than it felt like. As a political science student, I remember learning about critical junctures—moments when a single decision or event can significantly alter the course of the future. I realized I didn’t just need a shift in mindset, but a change in action. These post-grad growing pains would be my critical juncture.

I started by adjusting my wake-up time to 5 AM. I’d always been a morning person, and it became clear to me that I needed time to work on personal goals before the work day began. This also gave me an opportunity to run in the mornings, which became an incredible outlet for stress relief, planning, and reflection. By the time I began my workday, I felt energized—bubbly, even—and ready to put my best foot forward in both my work and relationships. Investing in workplace relationships was the next facet of my renewed approach. I saw my organization’s restructuring as an opportunity to step up and take on new responsibilities. I asked about capacity gaps and figured out where I could step in. 

As I took on new responsibilities, I quickly found myself involved in a range of projects that both challenged and inspired me. By supporting our funding operations and serving as a reliable set of eyes on grant applications, I became reconnected with my love for close reading, writing, and analysis (an experience that ultimately affirmed my growing interest in pursuing law school). Simultaneously, I grew into my role in community engagement. A new Community Engagement Manager joined me in the New York office, and together we built a program from the ground up. We cultivated new partnerships, led teams of passionate volunteers, and became confident presenting our early literacy work to corporations, community organizations, and parents across all five boroughs. More than that, I was able to serve in parts of the city I’d never even seen before, connecting with community members in ways that deepened my appreciation for the city I grew up in and honed my ability to serve as a successful advocate. While things began to fall into place, an amazing new cohort of fellows started their first year at their respective organizations, bringing fresh energy and incredible talent. That’s when I realized: I had finally entered a new season. 

As I prepare to attend law school this coming fall, I carry with me the strong sense of camaraderie and resilience cultivated throughout this fellowship. It has been a time of discovery—clarifying my passions, strengthening my ability to build meaningful relationships, and learning to navigate challenges with grace. Let my experience serve as a reminder that growth often comes from stepping into turmoil, and that we have more control over our paths than we might think. I’m forever grateful for the lessons learned, the friendships formed, and the foundation laid as I prepare for my next season.