I still remember a moment from middle school that stayed with me longer than I ever expected.

It was career day at my predominantly Black school. We were handed a paper that said, “Be realistic. We all can’t be models, NBA stars, or recording artists.” On the surface, it sounded like practical advice. But sitting there, surrounded by Black kids, it felt like something else entirely. Not “have a backup plan,” but “know your place.”

What we were really being taught wasn’t about statistics—it was about expectations. What made the moment even heavier is that most of the kids in my middle school lived in the projects. 

Over time, those expectations show up everywhere. In what careers are encouraged. In which dreams are called “too big.” In which ambitions are labeled “impractical.” The message is quiet but consistent: aim for stability, not visibility. Safety, not greatness.

For a long time, I carried that with me. But then something happened that challenged every version of “be realistic” I’d ever been given.

I wrote a book.

Not just a book that sat in a drawer or lived in my notes app—but a book that was published by a top-notch company. A book that was favored, supported, and taken seriously. A book that proved my voice didn’t need permission to be heard.

And in that moment, the middle school paper lost its power.

Because here’s the truth no one wrote on that career-day handout: Black kids don’t just survive—we create, we lead, we innovate, and we break into spaces we were told weren’t meant for us.

My book wasn’t just a personal win. It was a quiet rebuttal to every limit that had ever been placed on my dreams. It was proof that “realistic” doesn’t have to mean “small.” It can mean bold, disciplined, and determined.

I think about how many Black children are taught to prepare for making a living instead of making a mark. To plan for getting by instead of breaking through. And I wonder how many stories, songs, inventions, and books we lose when imagination is clipped too early.

So this is my reminder—to myself and to anyone who needs it:

Dreams don’t need to be approved to be valid.
Ambition doesn’t need to be justified to be worthy.
And “realistic” should never mean off-limits.

Because sometimes, the most realistic thing a Black kid can do is believe they belong everywhere their talent can take them.