Some days I want to be a professor, other days I want to be a filmmaker, and on other days, a creative director. But most days, I just want to be alright.

I was kicked out of a fellowship program because I worked when I wasn't supposed to; when I signed a contract explicitly stating I wouldn't. I can be honest and upfront about it. My research was on segregation in Baltimore today - with the development of Port Covington - and segregation of the past, and how the media - Black/White - covered the different topics. My research dealt more with Black politics, both electoral and cultural.

I refused to commit my life to struggle again. I am not the exception to the rule either. A colleague of mine had to quit their job. We were both in the same type of friction, having to choose between a working life and a temporary internship. I work a good job that makes well above minimum wage with benefits and good stable hours, something a lot of my peers aren't able to have; I was not going to leave my job to lose all that I worked so hard for.

One thing I need Black academics to do is to not pretend they don't understand struggle. While discussing my dilemma, I was describing very real things, but the response to my story was full of abstract concepts like integrity and respect and whatnot. When I tell you I'm paying my credit card debt, student loans, and taking care of myself - please don't tell me about integrity as if I'm really concerned about that. I did not kill a person. I did not roofie someone's drink. I did not cheat on an exam. I did not egg a car.

Throughout the struggle of keeping my fellowship, the issue of fairness often came up. My opinion was this: don't lecture me on fairness. That battle is better fought elsewhere. If you choose to talk about fairness, take it to the police departments that extrajudiciously kill Black people. If you choose to talk about fairness, I would rather see some proposed legislation or a letter to a state congressperson about raising the minimum wage. If you want to engage in conversation about fairness, let's talk about how unfair it is that we normalize poverty for kids and then hate them when they grow to be unproductive members of society. If we not talking about that, let's not talk at all.

Where the Black professional class seems to miss - is that the tide that lifted their boat may not have lifted their neighbor's. Not all waves are the same height, or the same strength. Black academics who treat struggle like some abstract need to connect themselves to a community and realize that these things are realer than words in a dissertation.

I violated a contract and that was dishonest. My mission towards honesty should've started before I confirmed my space in the program. But, with a great job and a great opportunity, which one do you choose? Why do you have to choose? Why does the world punish balance? The world said choose, but I didn't, got caught, and got kicked out. I couldn't believe I was being kicked out of a program I thought would be the bridge to academia. When I found out, I weeped outside the office, harder than I had in years. I went back to my dorm, exhausted and tired taking a nap absorbing the entirety of the situation. I was thankful I lived just a few miles down the road. Otherwise, I would be stuck figuring out a way home.

I am now home. I do wish I was back at campus, whirling away at my computer studying modern day segregation in Baltimore with the discussion and development of Port Covington. But I also have access to ProQuest, where I can continue my research and my educational journey. Immediately after receiving my aunt's affirmation, I felt a wave of peace. I started packing the little that I had, and before the night was over, my room had been all packed. I moved out Friday afternoon, picking up my check shortly after.

The funny thing about all of this is, I was able to give myself back to my community more once my time in the program was over. I participated in a rally/march downtown for Alton Sterling and Philando Castile, where I would've been restricted to writing on campus that evening had I been in the program. I began volunteering at the Freedom School again, where I approached the building on my first day, not even being able to open the door before one of the kids screamed "BABA JEREMY!".

There is a place for "the work" in the academy. Study is an important part of understanding Black struggle, freedom, and justice. But the academy isn't the only place for labor. It is important we take that understanding of things and bring it to the real world. I also believe there's a future for me, as I continue my research independently of the program.

In the end, learned some things don't work. But, sometimes they do. Like many people have said, "What the devil meant for bad, God meant for good." Or in today's terms, like the true Beyonce fan I am, I took lemons and made lemonade. Sweet, sweet lemonade.