Bet On Yourself: An Unusual Guide to Life

You graduate college full of hope. You’ve done everything right—picked a major you loved, landed internships, maybe even launched a side hustle. You followed the blueprint. You thought you were ready.

Then reality hits.

The jobs aren’t there. Or they are, but not for you. Not unless you have 3–5 years of experience for an “entry-level” role. Not unless you already know the tools. Not unless you know someone. Suddenly, everything you worked for doesn’t seem to count.

I know, because that was me.

I graduated with a business economics degree—something I was both passionate about and good at. I interned. I even started a company in college to apply what I was learning in real time. I did the work. But when I entered the job market—one of the worst in the past decade—I hit a wall. The degree didn’t open doors. The job market didn’t care.

I moved back in with my mom after a stretch of van life. We shared a small studio apartment. I slept on the floor without a mattress, using a cardboard box as a desk. I sent out applications from a beat-up laptop. No network. No family connections. Just rejection after rejection.

That’s when I found a book—What Color Is Your Parachute? I was searching online for anything that could help. It didn’t solve everything, but it gave me something I desperately needed: structure. A way to think clearly about what I wanted, where I was going, and how to move forward. It helped me ask better questions:

What are you good at?

What do you want?

What value can you offer?

Even with that direction, the hardest part remained: showing up every day without knowing if any of it would work. The fear isn’t just failure—it’s the idea that you’ll be stuck while everyone else moves ahead. That you’ll be left behind, quietly forgotten while your peers figure it out and move on without you.

But that fear wasn’t new to me.

In high school, my mom pulled together everything she had to send me to a college prep school. She believed education was our ticket to a better life. Suddenly, I was surrounded by classmates with doctors, engineers, and professors for parents. They had tutors, private coaches, college consultants. Every advantage.

I remember visiting one classmate’s house—more like a mansion—and being in awe of how different their world was. Another time, I asked a different friend's parent what the difference was between a house and an apartment. I honestly didn’t know. That’s how far removed I was from the world I had suddenly found myself in.

In the South, driving means freedom. It’s how you get a job, see friends, live your life. When I turned 17, I wanted that freedom too. I woke up at 5 a.m. for driver’s ed, passed the written test, did everything right. But I couldn’t get my license. My mom had only recently gotten her license herself—at almost 50 years old—and didn’t have enough driving experience to sponsor me. I had followed every rule, done everything in my control, and still came up short.

That’s when I started to understand: doing everything right doesn’t guarantee success. It just gives you a shot. And I didn’t feel embarrassed or hopeless—because I knew I had done everything in my power. I knew that when I turned 18, the issue would resolve itself, because I had already put in the work. The timing just wasn’t right yet. But that didn’t mean my time wouldn’t come.

I learned these lessons before I ever heard the proverbs that try to package them neatly. Like the saying, "You can do everything right and still not see results right away. It doesn't mean you're failing—it just means you're still in the waiting room, not the wrong room." But I wasn’t living by quotes. I was just figuring it out, one small step at a time.

But none of those quotes hit me as hard as one moment that changed everything.

Senior year. As part of our curriculum, our senior class had to volunteer off-campus. The location was far from home. One afternoon, after our shift, I stood outside waiting to be picked up. My classmates drove away one by one. I stood there, pretending to check my phone, hoping no one noticed I was still waiting.

A girl I had a crush on offered me a ride. I told her my stepdad was on his way.

But I wasn't sure. I waited. Then more. Still nothing.

And then it hit me:

What if no one is coming?

What if it’s just me?

I realized that in that moment that I had complete control of my destiny. I had two healthy working legs. I knew the direction back home, and all I needed was to point myself towards the direction that I wanted to go and start the journey. So I started walking. Didn’t matter if it was long. Didn’t matter if it was along the highway.

Because here’s the truth: no one is coming. Not a mentor. Not a job offer. Not some perfect opportunity that suddenly makes everything click. If you're waiting for someone to give you permission to start your life, you'll be waiting forever. You don’t need to be rescued—you need to move. Even if it's one small step. Especially when it’s hard.

That’s not meant to discourage you. It’s meant to empower you.

After college, I faced that same feeling. No job. No connections. But I remembered that moment. Start walking. So I did.

I spent what little money I had on online courses, business ideas, anything I thought might work. Most of it didn’t. But I learned. Slowly, I stopped chasing the next big thing and started building from what I already had.

Economics.

Not in the academic sense—in the lived one. I understood incentives. I understood how people and systems respond under pressure. I understood how data helps you make better choices. That became my foundation.

I stopped asking, “How do I get rich?” and started asking, “Where is the need—and how can I meet it?”

And with each step, I moved forward.

Here’s what I know now:

Always bet on yourself.

Not just when things are working. Bet on yourself when they aren’t. When it’s quiet. When it’s hard. When it’s uncertain.

Because even if doing the right things doesn’t guarantee instant results, they still move you in the right direction. And sometimes, that’s all you need—momentum. The timing might not be right today. But that doesn’t mean your time isn’t coming.

Here’s what I’ve learned:

• The system isn’t fair—but you still have a shot.
• School teaches theory. Life rewards action.
• Perfect conditions don’t exist. Move anyway.
• There are no shortcuts. But there’s always a path.

If you’re feeling stuck—graduating into uncertainty, stuck in a job you hate, wondering if it’s too late—just remember:

You don’t need a miracle. You need direction.

Start walking.

Even if it’s slow.

Even if it’s messy.

Even if you have to do it alone.

Always bet on yourself.

Time will take care of the rest.