Becoming: Summary & Key Insights

I was born and raised in a modest apartment in Chicago’s South Side, in a neighborhood full of pride but also hardship. My father worked at the city water plant, showing up every day despite the slow progression of multiple sclerosis. My mother stayed home when we were young, managing our tight household with humor and diligence before returning to work once we were older. Our family didn’t measure wealth by money; it was measured by discipline, love, and a firm belief in the value of education.

My great-aunt Robbie lived downstairs, where I first sat at her piano learning scales and lessons far deeper than music. Robbie was tough—she demanded excellence. I learned early on that expectations matter, and that effort earns respect. At home, my parents reinforced this lesson every day. Our two-bedroom apartment made for closeness; my brother Craig and I shared space, time, and laughter. Dinner conversations revolved around the idea that we could make ourselves through choices—the choice to study, to care for others, to never quit.

Growing up on the South Side, I internalized an early awareness of race and class. As the neighborhood changed and families moved away, I saw segregation’s impact firsthand. Yet, what endured for me was pride—pride in community and pride in identity. My parents’ insistence on education became my foundation. They believed I could achieve anything if I worked hard—and even more important, they showed me that my success meant nothing if I didn’t bring others along.

When I began attending Whitney Young High School, Chicago’s first magnet school, I was thrust into a world beyond the familiar streets of my neighborhood. There, amid students driven by ambition and surrounded by the hum of opportunity, I understood what competitive excellence meant. I pushed myself relentlessly because achievement felt like the most secure path forward. Yet, I also grappled with the invisible tension of being one of the few Black students from the South Side—of constantly proving I belonged in spaces that weren’t built for me.

At Princeton University, this reality deepened. I carried the legacy of South Side values with me but found that the Ivy League world could be isolating. Race wasn’t something I could forget, especially when classmates were openly surprised by my confidence and intellect. I learned to be unapologetic about who I was. Princeton gave me not only an education but also a clearer understanding of systemic inequality—the quiet ways institutions preserve distance. Still, I worked tirelessly, sometimes to the point of exhaustion, determined to make my parents’ sacrifices worthwhile.

These years shaped my belief in self-definition. I realized that belonging is never just granted—it’s cultivated. And while ambition took me far, it was empathy that kept me grounded. I began to see success not as climbing alone, but as building ladders for others to climb with me.