Billy Joel once said:
“Slow down, you crazy child
You’re so ambitious for a juvenile
But then if you’re so smart
Tell me why are you still so afraid? Mm
Where’s the fire, what’s the hurry about?
You’d better cool it off before you burn it out
You’ve got so much to do
And only so many hours in a day.”
Aside from Mr. Joel’s inspiration, I’m inclined to say that growing up, I was never really academically gifted. I’m not embarrassed to admit this simple fact. So the prospect of going to college after a very abysmal high school record was something I did to appease those around me… ya know, keep the status quo. What could I do? I almost didn’t make it through my senior year. I mean, hell, I was taking three math classes just to pass.
While the rest of my classmates were getting their acceptance letters and worrying about FAFSA, I was kind of… well, stuck. It was humiliating and heartbreaking. I had built up this image of myself in my head as I approached my teens—a life of fun, college somewhere nice and airy where I would meet friends, maybe meet partners—but I just felt I wasn’t worthy enough, and a shadow crept over my life. Sure, I got accepted into some colleges, but I wasn’t ready for them. And I knew that.
It’s not like I didn’t want to go to college. I needed to leave Jacksonville, and I spent countless nights crying myself to sleep and sending teary voice notes to my friends as I watched another graduating senior from my class post about their first semester, thinking that it was destined for me to stay in my hometown. For a year, I thought it was true—I thought I would still be living with my mother by the time I was 30 (though, looking at the current market, this could still be true) and running a McDonald’s like the Navy.
But now, as I’m writing at the Her Campus at Howard chapter, it has not come to be.
I’d never thought I belonged academically, but I took a shot in the dark at Florida State College at Jacksonville (aye, shout out Kent campus). I stumbled my way into second chances and found myself in rooms I never even thought I belonged in. I became a leading voice, pushing through insecurities that had held me back for years, and daring to believe I could be more than that kid who almost flunked out. I met new friends and didn’t have an entirely traditional experience, but it was good enough. My friends at this time made it what it was. Instead of late nights at the dorm café, it was driving around after shifts at work and eating in our version of Blackburn Cafeteria — aka my friends’ car in a random parking lot. I am forever grateful to those friends who made it what I had always dreamed of, even before I reached my current dream.
So, I entered this new phase of my life—Dean’s Lists, presidential meetings, and writing (god, so much writing) — but the nagging voice in the back of my head, though no longer negative, said only one thing: “You can do this.”
I knew I wanted to transfer out of FSCJ, but at that point, I told people it wasn’t necessary (a blatant lie — I don’t even know why I said that). I applied to many schools and got rejected by most of them. I thought it would be a walk in the park, and I was very wrong.
I told my past supervisors that the plan was always to transfer to Howard. I said it just to say it at the time — it held no weight — but how wrong I was. I applied about a week before the application deadline. It was a chance I was willing to take, and Howard was far from my top school.
I applied to the NYUs and Northwesterns of the world, knowing I wanted to go into journalism. It was actually my family that wanted me to go to Howard. It wasn’t my top choice while NYU and Northwestern were. But then came the rejections, the waitlists, and the rejections again.
And then, when it seemed all hope was lost and I kept myself fairly disillusioned, it was seven in the morning on July 15, 2025 (though the letter had been sent the day before). I was coming into work, sitting in my office, not feeling particularly great. That same day, I was thinking of calling off to maybe catch up on homework, and then… the great ding was heard.
I saw the email — anyone who has applied to school has dreaded this — and as I opened the application portal, I was met with confetti and the shocking words: CONGRATULATIONS.
The rest is pretty much history — besides the stress of finding out I got accepted about five weeks before the school year started and having to figure out my financial situation and living situation until then (another story for another time, trust me).
Around this time, I was excited and scared. This was the big leagues — an academic power school that accepted (if they even looked at my high school record) an “academic nobody” who had peaked in community college.
It was surreal. And still, when I walk up to Founders, study in Douglass, and reply to chants with a “you know,” it feels the same — but I deserve it.
I waited for my Vienna. I waited for my time. I never rushed, and I stumbled and fell hard many days, but I made it. I cooled off and (mostly) never burned out.
So I implore you to wait for your time. You deserve everything you worked for. And for a while, it was hard for me to figure that out (though I’m still a work in progress). But as I talk to industry leaders, plan internships, and explore this city and its people, this is work I’m willing to do.
That voice is still there: “You can do it,” over and over — when I brush my teeth, when I have the courage to raise my hand in class, when I take the Metro.
I know I can do it, and if you ever feel like you can’t…listen to Billy.
Slow down. Cool off. Vienna waits for you. I promise.