Over the Edge, On Purpose
How a first-gen leap changed my life—and why I’m taking another one now
👋 Hej! I’m in Stockholm this week for the Future Talent Council Summit. After 29k steps sightseeing Monday, I’m looking forward to 2 days of learning at the intersection of education, work, talent, and technology. And sitting down for a while 😆 More soon!
I’m writing because education wasn't designed around students but we can improve the learner experience through design. I share stories, tips, and work in progress weekly.
Why it matters:
First-generation students don’t just need access to college—they need guidance, connection, and confidence to find their way. I know because I was one. And I’m committed to helping others rise (while I “fall,” gracefully I hope!🤞)
Go deeper:
I’m not sure when I first heard the term “first-generation college student,” but I remember the complicated feelings of pride and discomfort realizing I was one.
It was true. Still, by 13, I’d already seen what college looked like, thanks to family weekend at my older sister’s college. I wandered the gym and quad between bounce houses and concerts, caught a nasty cold, and spent the weekend with my head under a towel, face steaming over her Richard Caruso molecular hairsetter.
My parents hadn’t gone to college, but it was always the expectation that I would. We visited campuses all over the Northeast. I had a glimpse of the opportunity ahead, but no real understanding of how to navigate it.
The Shift That Changed Everything
I was an unremarkably average student (note the redundancy): middle of my class, mostly uninvolved. I ran track to check a box, played alto sax in the band since middle school, played in a HS rock band, and spent weekends and summers working for the landscaping company and helping out at the local newspaper where my mom sold classified ads. I worked to pay for stuff I wanted, mostly guitar pedals, amps, and gas for the Civic I bought when I could drive.
But something shifted after visiting Roger Williams University. The campus was beautiful. Clubs and student orgs were everywhere. It felt alive in a way that stirred something in me.
When we got home, on the back patio of our house in Rutland, Massachusetts, I told my mom I was going to run for freshman class president. To this day, she jokes, “who was that kid?”
I didn’t know what the role involved, but I wanted in. I recruited a running mate at Orientation. By move-in day, I was so eager I convinced my family to drop me off a day early, assured by my three roommates who had already arrived from their long-distance travel that “the room was ready,” (to the great surprise of the RAs).
Mentorship and Momentum
That eagerness permeated everything about my arrival.
I threw myself into campus life—leadership programs, RA applications, Delta Sigma Pi, and yes, my role as a class officer. With it, I got connected with my first real mentor, Chuck, the advisor to the Inter-Class Council.
Chuck saw potential I hadn’t yet claimed. He encouraged my ideas, challenged my thinking, and helped me build confidence with the kind of clever and quick-witted “northeastern” teasing that makes you feel connected, supported, and known.
Summers, I stayed on campus—working orientation, leading service events, even getting cast in a production on the impacts of sexual assault called Drawing the Shades. My interest in higher ed took root through my involvement. After an uninspired year as a marketing major I declared my psych major with a clearer sense of what I wanted to do, and a plan to “sit on the other side of the desk” in those advising conversations on campus.
And while I hadn’t done it consciously, being involved gave me the inside track: how campus worked, who to ask for help, and what it meant to belong. I started to see my involvement as a fast-track for career learning, so the campus was my classroom. I kept that same motivation and engagement into my graduate studies, seriously considering the kind of experience I wanted to be exposed to in higher education to add context and range to my knowledge. Work opportunities were everywhere, because they were campus. I didn’t have to manage a commute, balance family priorities, or work outside of my work-study and other campus jobs as a student leader for Orientation or in Residence Life.
First Gen and Fortunate
I know how fortunate my first-gen story is. Not every student has access to the mentors, jobs, and inside knowledge I stumbled into.
That’s why I’ve dedicated my career to helping students succeed, especially those forging new paths for their families to build the connections, clarity, and confidence they need to thrive.
That mission has taken several forms over the years from advising students directly, to improving retention and graduation rates through advising tech, to leading a coding bootcamp, to redesigning programs and experiences across institutions, I work to make sure more students can find their way, faster.
This past week I’ve been talking with students, alumni, faculty, staff, and employers about career preparedness for today’s first gen students and the stories leave me reflecting on my own experience and how fortunate my experience was I was able to find my way.
Lately in interviews with students, employers, faculty, and staff, I’m hearing about students’ lack of belonging, connection, and willingness to ask for help or “take initiative” that comes with imposter syndrome and the feeling of being a stranger in a strange land and the challenges with confidence that come with it. ‘
In mapping out the mindsets → behaviors that often manifest and I’ve been testing the relationships below for resonance and it seems to have captured some part of the experience. There’s some great insights surfacing around this conversation on Linkedin too.

As I see it now, the key will be the balance between offering structure and guidance, community, building trust and connections without removing students’ self-direction to discover those capabilities for themselves. It’s a delicate balance, and this will be the challenge for the design team in the months ahead.
Either way, I’m committed to being part of the solution.
This summer, I’m going Over the Edge.
Literally. I’m rappelling 29 stories down the Grand Hyatt San Diego to raise money for Reality Changers—an incredible organization that helps San Diego youth become first-generation college graduates and agents of change in their communities.
This cause is personal. As a first-gen college grad, I’ve lived the power of education and I’ve seen how a single opportunity can change everything. That’s why I’m proud to support Reality Changers, and to invite you to join me.
My goal is to raise $1,000. Your support provides free tutoring, mentorship, college readiness training, and professional development for underrepresented students and families.
👉 Donate to help me reach my goal—and help more students start their journey with support that will help them be successful.
And yes, a crowdsource appeal: If every one of my subscribers on Substack and Linkedin donated $1, we’d surpass it!
Our team name? Mission: Possible. I’m not Tom Cruise. But we can create opportunity for first-gen students to successfully launch into their future.
Help send someone over the edge—me—and make a real impact.
Learning is better when it’s social.
If this post moved something in you, tap the ❤️, pass it along, or join the conversation on LinkedIn—I’d love to hear what it sparked.
I love this post. I can’t believe we worked together for several years and I don’t know some of these fun facts about you.