I never imagined that being faced with a question by a fifth-grade student would have such a profound impact on me. As we closed the last tutoring session of the school year, an inquisitive look overtook his young, beaming face. He proceeded to look up at me and asked, “How can I be like you?” I had gone several months without fully grasping the extent to which I could impact the Black children I was mentoring in the Breakthrough after-school program; but at that moment, the magnitude of my responsibility became unequivocally apparent to me. When I moved to San Francisco for a full-time role after college, I felt obligated to be more than just another transplant who migrated to the coast for an elite role in tech. My college experience was enhanced by immersing myself in my local community, and I knew that taking a similar approach to life in my new home would be mutually beneficial to me and those I chose to serve. Providing educational support to underprivileged children is one way I have given back, likely influenced by my own journey as a public school kid that received a scholarship for a stronger high school education. The children I have worked with at Breakthrough are highly talented but lack the opportunities that their peers at more affluent schools have. It is also evident that the sixth-grade boys I mentor have had little exposure to Black male role models in academic settings. When I began tutoring my small group, I surprisingly found myself frustrated with my inability to maintain their focus on assignments and activities during our sessions. I knew my students were capable, however, and that I could somehow refine my approach to be more effective. Soon thereafter, a pattern emerged in our interactions – they were intrigued by and would ask questions about my life and background. They were much more interested in who I was as a person than what I was responsible for in my role as their tutor. We shared lived experiences, and I discovered that our likeness could be used as a mechanism to meaningfully engage them for the sake of their learning. Henceforth, I became significantly better at motivating them by leveraging our affinity to express the various ways that education could also make them successful in life. Their favorable response to this new method not only improved their work habits and earned them recognition in the program, it also built trust and deepened our relationships. By showing up for these students, I have helped to reverse the adverse effects of our inequitable education system. I do this in hopes of having a tremendous influence on economic mobility for the African American community throughout my career. The strength of my inclination to contribute comes from imagining just how incredible that influence can be – perhaps powerful enough to increase the chance that underprivileged Black children have a fair shot to “be like me” if that is what they desire. ------------------- Without pushing myself to take a refined, strategic approach to my career investment, I wholeheartedly believe that I would not be attending law school this fall, let alone a competitive one. To achieve the outcomes you desire, you must first learn and master the game, which requires being disciplined in mechanics and seeking knowledgeable mentors that are willing to coach you. My introduction to the law school application process came when I participated in an intensive pre-law program during college. I quickly learned that the profession could be just as demanding as it was rewarding – the first hurdle being the LSAT. After struggling on my first few simulated tests, it was evident that I would need to dedicate more effort to studying than anything I’d ever endeavored to do in my career. Simply practicing questions would not suffice. I needed a regimented study plan to execute against, including repetition of entire exams in testing conditions. This was novel for me and took a relentless commitment. I studied mornings and nights around the hours of school and a summer internship, often squeezing a corporate workday and full exam into the same day, for five months. Meeting my score goal required short-term sacrifice for delayed gratification, and maintaining this mindset was a conscious choice I had to make until my goal was achieved. With the LSAT behind me, I moved on to writing my essays. In sharing the first versions of my personal and diversity statements with professors and friends, I received unequivocal feedback that they were inadequate. They lacked cohesion and did not contain enough substance to showcase my caliber to admissions committees. This was extremely disheartening. I went through several iterations of my statements to get them in what I thought was pristine condition before I gathered feedback and surely did not expect a need to completely rewrite them. I reluctantly but humbly accepted this feat and took a professor’s suggestion to connect with three law students that had success in their respective application cycles. Their guidance ultimately allowed me to craft a compelling narrative about my leadership experience as a Black student body president and how it drew me to a legal career. Being coachable made me both a more adept writer and a better law school applicant. While the law school application process was not the first time I encountered the insights of “working smarter” or seeking dynamic mentorship, it was the first time I practically witnessed how tangibly these things could transform my career if I implemented them with intention. Because the process specifically presented access and resource challenges as a Black applicant with no personal connections to attorneys, their importance was heightened for me to become a competitive applicant. Becoming more strategic about my work habits got me into law school, and I plan to repurpose this model to also aid me in conquering law school and my legal career, hopefully with a degree of success even greater than I have yet achieved.