“Every night before I sleep, I see it: a stage, bright lights, and thousands of faces waiting for a word that might change their lives.”

That is my dream to become a motivational speaker. Not for money, not for fame, but to use my story to remind people that resilience is possible, that failure is not the end.

But dreams don’t always pay the bills. Today, I work as a licensed nurse in Oklahoma City. I care for patients with compassion, but my heart longs for a different calling. Nursing puts food on the table for my children, but it is not where I want my story to end.

I live simply, almost ascetically, because I want my life itself to be an example. I do not drink. I do not use drugs. I avoid fast food because I believe discipline begins with the body. If I want to stand on stage and tell others that self-control, persistence, and vision are possible, I must first embody those truths myself.

From Silence to Voice

I was not always this focused. When I arrived in the United States from Cameroon at age 30, I could not speak English. My first jobs were exhausting, and my first attempts at business collapsed. I lost hundreds of thousands of dollars. I endured divorce. I sat in classrooms with students half my age, ashamed each time my accent betrayed me.

More than once, despair tempted me to quit. But in 2020, I achieved the goal that had carried me for decades: I earned a doctorate in sports psychology. That degree was not just a credential. It was proof — for my children, for myself, for every outsider watching that the finish line is still possible, no matter how late you start the race.

Why I Write for Outsiders

My latest book, Masai Ujiri: The Outsider, tells the story of the Nigerian-born president of the Toronto Raptors who defied the odds to lead his team to the 2019 NBA championship. But it is more than biography. It is a mirror of what I believe: that being born outside the system does not mean you cannot lead it.

Too many international students and immigrants come to America with hope only to be undone by loneliness, cultural barriers, and relentless pressure. Some drop out. Some give up. Some do not survive.

I know that darkness. I carried it myself. And that is why I now write and speak: to tell them they are not alone, and that their struggle can become their strength.

A Different Kind of Success

When I look at my children, I do not want to be remembered as a man who simply worked to pay bills. I want to be remembered as someone who showed them that perseverance, faith, and authenticity can change lives. I want them to see that you can arrive in this country with no English and still write books, earn a doctorate, and stand on a stage before thousands.

That is why I live with discipline. That is why I refuse shortcuts. That is why I continue to write, to publish, to prepare for the stage I know is waiting for me.

Because to be an outsider does not mean to be invisible. It means you carry a light the world has not yet learned how to see.

And one day soon, when I step into that spotlight, I intend to shine it for every immigrant, every student, every dreamer who has been told they cannot belong.

A Lesson Worth Sharing

The most valuable lesson I have learned is deceptively simple: stay true to your dream. When I chased money or imitated others, I lost both. When I pursued my own vision, even though failure, I found purpose.

Greatness is not defined by never falling. It is defined by refusing to let the fall have the final word.

I may still speak with an accent. I may never blend seamlessly into the American story. But perhaps that is the point. My voice was not meant to disappear into the crowd. It was meant to rise for those who, like me, have been told they do not belong.

I write and I speak for my dreams.