When I arrived in Springfield, MO, after my release, I didn’t just see a town. I saw potential. Potential for change, for collaboration, for community. Re-entry is not a solo mission—it takes a village. My journey from incarceration to advocacy has shown me one simple truth: the strength of a community can transform lives. Here's how local partnerships can be a catalyst for better re-entry outcomes, including my own.

You’ve been through some tough times. Life has knocked you down, and the weight of doubt, fear, and hesitation lingers. That little voice in your head whispers negativity, teasing you with words like, "You can’t do this. You’re not good enough. You’ll fail just like before." But here’s the truth—that voice is a liar.

When we think about success, it’s easy to picture the big goals—earning that promotion, owning a home, running a successful business. Social media often reinforces this, bombarding us with success stories that make it seem like these achievements happen overnight. But here’s the truth no one talks about enough: the real victories, the ones that build a better life, come from small wins.

Walking out of prison isn’t just about crossing the threshold from confinement to freedom. For many, the real challenge starts after the release. I know this because it was my story. After years locked away in a federal prison, stepping back into the world wasn’t simply about adjusting to the physical changes; it was about reshaping my mind, my habits, and my future.

Life is full of moments where we stand at a crossroads. These moments often demand choices that can either steer us toward growth or hold us captive in hesitation. What if, instead of remaining stuck, we chose to ask ourselves a powerful question, "Why not?"

Re-entering society after incarceration is no small feat—every step forward can feel like climbing a mountain while carrying the weight of societal judgment and self-doubt. When I walked out of federal prison and into Springfield, MO, in 2010, the odds seemed to stack up against me. The label of "felon" felt crushing, and the path ahead appeared riddled with insurmountable obstacles.

When I walked out of federal prison in 2010, I carried only two things—a grey sweat suit and a question that would come to define my life: “Why not?”

Imagine standing at the edge of a massive, uncharted path. Fear grips you. Doubts flood your mind. The question, "What if it doesn't work?" plays on repeat. Now flip the script. Instead of "What if it doesn't work?" ask yourself, "Why not give it a try?"

Recidivism — the tendency of an individual to re-offend after release from prison — is more than just a statistic. It’s a mirror reflecting the effectiveness, or shortcomings, of the criminal justice system. Behind every number is a real person, a family, and a community impacted by cycles of incarceration.

Have you ever found yourself waiting for a meeting that never begins? Your schedule cleared, your time reserved, but all you’re met with is silence? I recently found myself in this exact situation. Frustrated at first, I quickly realized this was less about the inconvenience and more about an opportunity to reflect on the deeper meaning of professionalism, especially in the digital landscape we operate in today.

What if the only person you needed to compete with was the version of yourself from yesterday? I’ve found that life changes profoundly when you shift your focus inward, measuring growth not against others, but against yourself.

What defines us isn’t what happens, but how we choose to respond. The hallmark of growth isn’t success; it’s character. After spending five years in federal prison, I emerged not just penniless but also hesitant about my future. What I did possess, though, was a purpose to rebuild with honesty, gratitude, and humility — values that could transcend even the hardest circumstances.