Most people think the most important decision in college happens when you pick a major. For me, the most important decision happened when I chose a school that matched who I was—culturally and mentally. The place you plant yourself matters. Your environment matters. For Black students, it matters even more. I needed a campus that wouldn’t treat my identity like a variable. I needed a place where being Black wasn’t something to push through or defend. It needed to be normal. It needed to be the ground I could grow from.

I grew up in Baltimore, where my entire early education was at Saint Catherine’s—an all-Black Catholic school. That shaped my foundation. The rooms were familiar. The faces were familiar. The tone of the environment mirrored my world at home.

Then my mother moved me to Pasadena, Maryland—the suburbs. That shift was sharp. The student body was mostly white. I had white friends and navigated fine socially, but internally I still felt most grounded around the few Black students who were there. Academically, I didn’t connect. I was bored. I failed eighth grade. I barely passed high school. College didn’t feel like something that belonged to me or my family. It felt like something other people did.

My plan was simple: get a job, move to Hollywood, and become an actor or director. That was the dream. My best friend decided to try community college, and I figured I’d enroll too. The schedule was flexible, and the classes were spaced out in a way that worked for how my brain processed information. I took acting, theatre, and weight training. I earned B’s—sometimes an A. I started to believe I could actually succeed academically if the system supported the way I learned.

Then came the moment that shifted my direction again. A white theatre instructor referred to me as “a colored actor.” I wasn’t offended—it just felt outdated. That moment made something crystal clear: I needed an environment where my identity was current, present, and seen. Not historical. Not footnoted. I needed an HBCU.

I visited Howard, Bowie, and Coppin, but Morgan State felt right. It was close to my home church in Baltimore and close enough to keep my job at the Naval Academy in Annapolis. It felt like a place where I could grow upward without losing my footing.

Morgan felt different. Morgan felt like Baltimore—rooted in Black progress and possibility. It had real academic range: engineering, architecture, journalism, business, communications, theatre, and Black studies. These weren’t niche programs—they were nationally recognized, with proven track records of excellence. You feel that the moment you step on campus.

I started in theatre. Professor Dunlapp changed my relationship with the craft. His teaching spoke directly to who we were as Black creatives. I learned African Studies. Diaspora Studies. I met people whose lived experiences mirrored mine. For the first time, I saw myself in the curriculum.

I switched majors several times—Theatre, English, TV and Film Production—before finally landing in Communications with a focus on Public Relations and Promotion. My job at the U.S. Naval Academy became my internship. I created real promotional work and applied what I learned immediately.

Morgan wasn’t just about identity—it was about execution. It taught me structure, follow-through, and professionalism. It taught me how to walk into a casting room or a boardroom and carry myself with confidence. How to prepare. How to communicate. How to show up. Those skills are what allowed me to build the career I have now.

I graduated in 2006 and moved to Los Angeles a few weeks later. Today, I work as an actor and sought-after photographer. My client list includes Netflix, Meta, IGN, Pepperdine Law School, and countless working actors and creatives. My work has impact. It’s visible. It matters.

Morgan State University didn’t save me—it aligned with who I was. It gave me structure that fit me. It made me feel capable without apology. It made higher education feel possible and earned.

I walked in as a student who once failed eighth grade. I walked out as a man who knew he could build a career in entertainment on the other side of the country.

That’s why I chose Morgan. It was the place that allowed my identity and my ambition to make sense—in the same body, at the same time.