Title: The Art of Perspective

By Thea Tanton

Perspective—it can shift in an instant.

Speed painting is a fascinating art form. Whoever first imagined it must have had a brain worth studying. Seriously—who looks at a blank canvas and thinks, “I’m going to create something meaningful in under 90 seconds, upside down, and in front of an audience”? And yet… here I am, the person who attempts exactly that at every pageant I compete in.

As wild as it sounds, speed painting is more than just a test of skill—it's a demonstration of trust in the process. You’re racing the clock, unsure if the chaotic smears of paint will ever come together. And then, in one dramatic moment, you flip the canvas—and everything falls into place. What looked like a mess suddenly reveals a masterpiece. The collective gasp from the audience always tells me the same thing: the shift in perspective changes everything.

Art has a funny way of mirroring life. Just like a speed painting, life often feels confusing, unformed—like we’re trying to make sense of a chaotic mess with no clear image in sight. We search for clarity, desperate to connect the dots, and feel alone when we can't.

When I was 18, I worked as a lifeguard at a waterpark. On June 25, 2023, I performed CPR on a six-year-old boy who, despite every effort, tragically passed away. The days and nights that followed were heavy with grief and guilt. I kept searching for answers, for a reason, for some kind of picture that could explain the pain. People told me, “Everything happens for a reason.” But that phrase rang hollow. What reason could there be for tragic loss? How could anything good come from something so heartbreaking?

That experience taught me that grief is not something you overcome—it’s something you carry. And without a shift in perspective, it can weigh you down entirely. I couldn’t change the past. I couldn’t undo what happened. But I could flip the canvas.

So I did.

I began visiting classrooms, teaching children about water safety. I partnered with organizations and schools to educate communities. I used social media to amplify the message. I stopped seeing myself as a failure in that moment, and started seeing myself as someone with a purpose—someone who could help prevent another tragedy. I chose to honor that little boy’s memory by ensuring his story could save others. Slowly, the picture started to come together. What once looked like a series of disconnected brushstrokes began to form something bigger. Something meaningful.

Perspective matters. It’s not about erasing the past—like paint on a canvas, some marks are permanent. But it’s about choosing how you see it, and what you do with it. When life feels like an abstract mess of pain and confusion, maybe it’s not that the picture is broken—maybe you just haven’t turned the canvas around yet.

So the next time you're faced with something that seems senseless or impossible, consider this: all hope is not lost. Sometimes, all you need is a shift in perspective.

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Thea Tanton is the current Miss Missouri River (SD). You can follow her on her Instagram. You can see her speed painting talent on the Miss SD stage here. 

This is her first guest blog for Section 36 Forevers.

The Stage Where I Couldn’t Breathe

By Caitlyn McTier

“Congratulations to our preliminary winners! We can’t wait to see everyone back here tomorrow when we crown Miss New York 2025.” That was the last phrase I remember before everything went black–or blurry–or honestly, I’m not even sure what. All I know is that my heart was beating out of my chest, and something wasn’t right.

Time started melting together. The next thing I remember, I was collapsing into my mother’s arms during visitation after the final night of preliminary competition. Within minutes, I was ushered to a back room where a kind hostess brought me a hot tea, a cookie, and a comforting hug.

“Oh honey,” she said. “These are all the things I like when I have a panic attack.”

A panic attack.

A panic attack?

Was that what was happening? I had never felt anything like it before.

About 30 minutes passed with just my mom–who I might’ve given her own panic attack just from how emotional I was–until I eventually rejoined the group. I took photos, spoke to little girls, smiled for the cameras. Then somehow, I woke up the next morning and competed in the finals for Miss New York. And big surprise…I lost. But my best friend won. And in that moment, I felt overwhelming joy for her. I also felt the most physically depleted I’d ever been, after a long week battling not just the mental but also a sinus infection.

One of the hardest parts of pageantry is the unspoken expectation to always be “on.” The judges don’t know what’s going on behind the scenes. They’re judging what they see in 90 seconds of talent or a 10-minute interview. And that’s their job. But sometimes, no matter how much you prepare, life happens. And I believe in divine timing–sometimes the door doesn’t open because it’s not meant for you.

After Miss New York week, I made appointments with both my physician and my therapist, trying to make sense of what had happened. Turns out, a big contributor was that I had recently gone off a medication that negatively affected my health. On top of that, I was dealing with personal challenges I’d been pushing off with a “deal with it after Miss New York” mindset. I hadn’t listened to my body in the weeks leading up to competition. I was so focused on the goal that I completely neglected my health. That moment made me question if I even wanted to return to pageants at all.

I’m what some might call a Miss America enthusiast. I’ve competed since I was 13 in the teen program, and let’s just say I’m now 26. I’ve never missed watching a Miss America pageant. My mom was a dressing room mom for Miss Alabama throughout my childhood, and I grew up wanting to be just like the pretty girls on stage. I’ve even been around long enough to have competed during the swimsuit era.

So it was hard–really hard–to imagine my pageant journey ending on such a negative note, with no closure. I knew I wanted to come back, but I had to get over my fear of stepping back on the stage where I last couldn’t breathe.

I waited. And waited. Until the very last day to apply for my local title: Miss Manhattan.

But I did it. I applied. And yes, I was still scared.

Spoiler alert: I won the pageant.

To some, it may have looked like just another crown.

To me, it was proof that I had faced a fear head-on–publicly–and refused to let it win.

It’s been almost a year since my first major panic attack. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that mental health doesn’t get fixed overnight.

In the first seven months that followed, I had more minor episodes. Some days, getting out of bed felt impossible. Being the “girl boss” everyone expects me to be? Even harder. I lost friendships–people who didn’t understand what high-functioning anxiety or depression looks like, or who didn’t know how to support someone who isn’t always smiling. That was hard to accept. But I’m also grateful for the people who stayed–my family, my friends–who lifted me up when I was literally on the ground. Who helped me laugh on the days I felt too sad to speak.

I often think about Cheslie Kryst and the pain she must have felt leading up to her death in 2022. Pageants can make us feel like we’re being authentic—but the truth is, many of us are hiding a lot.

I’m writing this because whether I win Miss New York or not, I want to show up authentically. Even though a part of me is scared–scared that a judge might read this and decide I’m unfit for the job–I’m telling my story anyway. Because being a titleholder isn’t just about the next crown. It’s about using your platform to help even one person feel less alone.

“Far too many of us allow ourselves to be measured by a standard that some sternly refuse to challenge and others simply acquiesce to because fitting in and going with the flow is easier than rowing against the current.” – Cheslie Kryst

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Caitlyn McTier is the current Miss Manhattan (NY). You can follow her on her Instagram.

This is her first guest blog for Section 36 Forevers.

The J.O.Y. Project

By Olivia Jarrell

Confidence isn’t something we’re born with, it’s something we build. It starts by being honest with ourselves: knowing our strengths, our values, and even our fears. When you understand who you are, you stop trying to fit into molds that don’t suit you. That self-awareness becomes a quiet, steady foundation. Real confidence doesn’t need to be loud; it just needs to be real.

One of the biggest obstacles to confidence is the inner critic, the voice that questions your worth or abilities. That voice might always be there, but it doesn’t have to lead. Confidence grows when you take action in spite of fear. Each time you speak up, take a risk, or try something new, you prove to yourself that you’re capable. Even when things don’t go perfectly, the fact that you showed up counts more than you think.

Building confidence also means surrounding yourself with the right people, those who support, challenge, and remind you of what you bring to the table. Prepare when you can, ask for help when you need it, and give yourself credit along the way. Confidence isn’t about perfection or pretending; it’s about showing up as yourself and trusting that’s enough.

The J.O.Y. Project: 

The mission of The J.O.Y. Project is to empower individuals by equipping them with a skill set of self confidence, perseverance and authenticity to navigate life’s academic and personal challenges. 

Through community-building, mentorship, and personal development tools, the project encourages young adults to embrace the journey of growth and rediscover the joy that comes from living true to who they are.

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Olivia Jarrell is the current Miss Greater Columbus (OH). You can find her on her title's Instagram.

This is her first guest blog for Section 36 Forevers.

Happy Hearts

By Megan Kerl

Heart health has been part of my story from the very beginning. I was born with a Ventricular Septal Defect which is a hole in the wall between the heart’s lower chambers. Due to my heart conditions, I spent most of my childhood going to regular check-ups. At 13, I underwent open-heart surgery to repair the defect. That life-changing experience taught me the value of early diagnosis and consistent care. Most of all, it inspired me to help others feel less alone when facing heart-related challenges. 

That’s why I created “Happy Hearts”, a community initiative focused on heart health awareness, education, and advocacy. I want people to know that heart conditions don’t have to be scary or isolating. With the right information and support, lives can truly be changed and saved. 

Through Happy Hearts, I’m working to spread this message across my community and partner with groups like the Children’s Hospital, UNMH Child Life, and the New Mexico Heart Walk to share my story, raise awareness, and listen to others share theirs. Every conversation helps me grow, not only as an advocate but as a lifelong learner in the space of health and wellness. I also recently became CPR certified so I can help in emergencies and take my advocacy one step further. 
To reach more people, I’m sharing heart health tips and personal insights. My content focuses on cardiovascular wellness, fitness, and healthy habits, topics I’m passionate about and that truly align with the mission of the Miss America Organization. 

Miss America champions both physical and mental wellness through partnerships with groups like the American Heart Association. I’m proud that Happy Hearts helps carry that message forward. Whether I’m volunteering in the community or posting tips online, my goal is to show that heart health starts young, and every heartbeat counts. 

Happy Hearts is more than just my story, it's a movement. A reminder that with knowledge, compassion, and early action, we can all take better care of our hearts and help others do the same.

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Megan Kerl is the current Miss Santa Fe (NM). You can follow her on her Instagram.

This is her first guest blog for Section 36 Forevers.

She Is Her Own Hero

By Ashley Cetnarowski

When I was in 2nd grade, I thought failure meant missing the basket in gym class. My cheeks would flush red, tears welling up as I realized my missed shot meant my team had to start over…again. I began to dread gym class, convinced that one mistake made me the weakest link. I got used to being picked last.

In 11th grade, failure looked like scoring below 75% in a class. I was dual enrolled, taking college courses while still in high school, and anything less than a C meant no college credit. I passed, but only by 2%. On paper, it was enough. In my mind, it wasn’t. 

By 12th grade, failure was not making the singles spot on my tennis team. My last chance to play singles, and I lost by two points in a single elimination match. I walked off the court with my brand new racket in my hand and tears in my eyes, haunted by the loss for the rest of the season as I returned to doubles.

But none of those moments compared to what came at 19: failing out of my dream college. The dialogue that I had become all too familiar with swooped back in. I’m not good enough. I’ll never be able to do this. I am a failure.

It’s taken time, distance, and growth to see things differently. I’ve come to realize: failure isn’t the outcome. It’s not the missed basket, the final score, or the GPA. Failure is letting fear win. Failure is not even trying. Failure is letting yourself be defined by your setbacks.

And that brings me to something I wish I had known all along, something I’ve come to believe deep in my core:

She is her own hero.

Despite all the fairytales, there is no knight in shining armor. No perfectly timed rescue. No one coming to put the broken pieces back together or rewrite the story for you.

It took me five years to understand why: because that person could only ever be me.

The realization hit me like a ton of bricks.

At the time, I was working as a long term substitute teacher with 6th and 7th graders. One day, I was asked to plan and execute a lesson on setting goals and rising from failure. I pulled together stories of well known figures who had faced setbacks, such as Walt Disney, Henry Ford, Lucille Ball, and Michael Jordan. Icons who had failed publicly, yet pushed forward anyway.

As I taught that weeklong lesson, something shifted in me. Talking to my students about “failing forward,” I realized I wasn’t just teaching them. I was teaching myself, too. I opened up to them, admitting I was still learning, still figuring it out; something no adult had ever done to me before. Together, we created SMART goals, shared our setbacks, and imagined the futures we wanted to build.

Just one month later, I found myself living what I had taught. I enrolled full-time at Saginaw Valley State University. As a nontraditional, first generation college student, I knew from my experience that it wouldn’t be easy. But I also knew, thanks to that lesson and my students, that it was possible.

 
I finished my first semester this past April and found myself on the President’s List with a 4.0 GPA. To me, this was more than an academic achievement: it was a personal victory. It was proof that the girl who once believed she wasn’t good enough, who thought failure defined her, had reclaimed her story. I chose to no longer be defined by my failures; instead, I am defined by my perseverance. 

I became the hero I was looking for.

Once you realize your strength, once you see what you’re capable of, you don’t stop there; you start reaching back to help others see it in themselves. With this realization over the course of the semester came a new mission: to help others see that they can be their own heroes, too. That fire, that fight, that belief is not just for me anymore. It’s for every person, young or old, who feels like they’ve fallen too far, failed too many times, or been told they’ll never make it.

That mission to remind others of their power is what I now carry with me every day in my work as Miss Heart of Michigan.

And make no mistake: the work is just beginning.

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Ashley Cetnarowski is the current Miss Heart of Michigan (MI). You can follow her on her title's Instagram.

This is her first guest blog for Section 36 Forevers.