Trusting the Process

Four years ago, I graduated high school in California and prepared to move 1,400 miles away to Texas. Little did I know, that was the first time that I would unintentionally trust my gut and just go with it.

As I close in on college graduation and look back at the last four years, I realize how often I’ve trusted the process of my life and I’m so grateful that I did. There are so many small moments that have come together to create the life and goals I have now. All because I rolled with the punches, even if I did so begrudgingly sometimes.

When I chose Baylor, a faith-based institution in the south, as my dream school, I didn’t know why. I had never been to Texas. I wasn’t at all in touch with my spirituality or rooted in any religion, but something drew me to it.

I used to say that I chose the school because it was easy to apply to and research. Everything was in a video format and there were no essays. Looking back, I realize that it was more than that. Call it what you will; God, the universe, whatever, but it definitely wasn’t as simple as “being easy.”

Coming to Baylor changed my life in more ways than one. It was the beginning of me trusting my process and accepting that sometimes (most of the time) my plan wasn’t going to be what actually happened.

As a freshman, I decided to major in psychology and eventually own my own practice. Half way into my first semester, that changed and I’ve never looked back or second-guessed my decision.

One professor, one program and one lecture changed my course.

Could this have happened at another university? Sure. But something in my gut tells me it wouldn’t have. It took that class, that professor and that program to make me realize that psychology wasn’t my calling.

After that I changed my major to journalism and realized that writing was what I was supposed to do with my life. I didn’t end up doing the Baylor in New York program that I felt so compelled to do freshman year, but switching to journalism opened so many doors for me.

I was in a smaller department where professors and my department head knew me by name and face. I was able to build relationships with professors and students that went beyond academia. Everyone in the department was so willing to help me with anything and everything I needed.

Naturally, I was pushed to intern and continue to do as many things to boost my resume as possible. That’s how I eventually got to New York, even if it wasn’t by way of the program I thought would take me there.

After countless applications and emails sent, I was offered 6 internships at equally reputable and respected publications. Two positions paid, the rest unpaid. One of the paid positions was in Los Angeles and the other was in New York.

I ended up taking both, a paid and unpaid position, in New York and it was simultaneously the worst experience and best decision I could’ve made. I’ve had big city dreams since the moment I made the decision to be a journalist. Nothing could’ve convinced me that I wasn’t meant to be in New York, other than actually being in New York.

Upon arrival, I was told that the company which had offered me a paid position no longer had the budget for an intern. I was left on the East Coast with no income and no plan. Luckily, my dad was there so housing and food was covered, but as far as my bills in Texas and other expenses were concerned, I was S.O.L.

Naturally, I wanted to go back home, either to California or Texas, both of which were in my comfort zone. But, I stayed and I know now that I couldn’t have made a better decision. I trusted the process.

Had I ran home, I wouldn’t know that journalism is not “my thing.” Am I good at it? Yes. Is writing my passion? Yes. Are writing and journalism synonymous? Not exactly.

Had I ran home, I wouldn’t know how much New York depresses me. I wouldn’t know just how much a beach and nature are necessary to my happiness.

Had I ran home, I wouldn’t know how much things, other than my career, mean to me. I wouldn’t know how much I don’t need anyone, but God to lean on.

Had I ran home, I wouldn’t know how important it is to trust the process and let things fall into place.

All that to say, that when things don’t go as planned, it’s okay. Life isn’t over if you fail a class or don’t get into med school or don’t get offered your dream job right out of college. There’s a reason it didn’t happen. Just stay prepared and it will happen. If it doesn’t, better things will.

Life will take us where we need to be. We just have to trust the process.

My Experience With Race Relations in the South

When I was researching colleges in my junior and senior  year of high school, I never looked at schools in my home state of California. I wanted the full college experience and for me that meant getting out of state and being completely independent. I never really set my mind on one region of the country or another, I just ranked schools. My top contenders wound up being in Texas, New York and Illinois. I chose Baylor, a christian university in Waco, Texas.

I had never been to Texas, let alone Waco, but I knew I was in for a huge change coming from California. The first time I visited the school was in late July for orientation. The campus was beautiful and the people were nice, but at the peak of summer, it was hot, humid and I couldn’t figure out why squirrels in Texas weren’t afraid of people. I accepted my fate and in August packed and moved to start my college career.

Orientation may have prepared me for the heat and made me somewhat familiar with campus, but nothing other than experience could have prepared me for the radical change in views I would experience in my time as an undergrad. Not only has  my college experience been the first time I regularly used y’all as opposed to you guys, or the first time someone approached me and asked to pray for me, but it has been the first time in my life I’ve been racially conscious.

I’m not naive enough to think that we live in a post-racial society where everyone can really join hands and respect their neighbor regardless of skin color, but never in my life have I been more aware of that fact that I’m black.

I went to a pretty racially diverse high school. I saw a variety of races on campus and it wasn’t weird to see them intermingle. I never disliked someone because they were white or Mexican or Asian. If I disliked someone it was because of a personal issue with that individual. In California, I’d never felt discriminated against or unwelcome because of my race. When I described someone it didn’t matter that they were white or black, there were other distinct traits that made them who they were. Before I moved to Texas, I never had the bitter conversation: “He’s dating who? Oh, is she white? Of course, that makes sense!”

In Waco, Texas at Baylor University, my whole experience changed. Very rarely do I see students of different races regularly hanging out. Every time I describe a person, race is one of the first distinctive characteristics. I hear friends say things like “I can’t stand white people,” or constantly voice their discontent with interracial relationships. I was completely taken off guard one day when my room mate was telling me about a family situation and added, “doesn’t your family just hate when they bring home white girls?! Like, you just don’t like her because she’s white.” I didn’t even know how to respond to that for a second. Of course, people in my family bring home women or men that we  don’t agree with, but never has it been because of their race.

I knew the south had this negative stigma regarding race relations, but I would’ve never guessed it to be this pronounced. It’s so far from the progress I feel other parts of the country has made. But just like anything else, America is only as strong as its weakest link. It doesn’t matter how far the rest of the country progresses in race relations, if the south is left behind, we’ve only come as far as it has.

What I find the most disturbing was how easy it is to fall into that behavior when it’s what’s surrounding you.

As I said before, I’ve never been the type to discriminate against someone based on race or be offended because a black man was dating a white woman. I never tried to make excuses to justify an interracial relationship. I never saw color. In high school when I walked into a classroom I saw people. I remembered names and faces. In college I see races. I remember if they were in a predominately white sorority or not.

Since I’ve become aware of what I’ve fallen into, I do my best to mentally check myself and remember how I was brought up. Hate only perpetuates more hate. From personal experiences with friends, I know that some black people believe that white people aren’t open to them. Maybe this is true, but maybe you’re not open to white people either. In order for people to be open to you, you have to be open to them.

I’d like to believe that one day, maybe not soon—but one day, we can live in a post-racial society. However, places that harbor hate and judgement based on the color of someone’s skin are slowing down progression. I took for granted the fact that I was blessed enough to live in a place where I could walk into a room and be completely oblivious to color and feel that the people around me felt the same way. I only appreciate it now that I feel like race is the most relevant thing about a person in the minds of most people here.

Living in a post-racial society is a long process, but it starts with simple steps on the individual level. Stop making assumptions about a single person based on broad generalizations you have about their race— stop making race the first thing you notice about a person in the first place.  Be open to others and watch as they become open to you.