I was sixteen years old when I was incarcerated with a twenty-year sentence. At that age, twenty years doesn’t even feel real. It’s not something you can wrap your head around. It just feels like forever. I wasn’t thinking about the future. I never really had. I grew up poor, and even though I was always a straight-A student, higher education wasn’t something I thought about. It didn’t feel like something that was meant for me. So, when I got incarcerated, I was just trying to get through each day. That’s about as far ahead as I was thinking.
Eventually, I got into classes. At first, it was just something to do, something to break up the routine. But it didn’t take long before it started to matter more than that. Math, especially, stuck with me.
I’d sit in my cell with a pencil and a piece of paper, working through the same problem over and over. Sometimes I’d think I had it, then realize I didn’t, erase everything, and start again. There’s no shortcut around that. You either figure it out or you don’t. But when it finally clicks, you feel it. Those moments started to add up, and for the first time, I had something that felt like real progress. But beyond that, I started to feel like I had value, something that was difficult for me to feel while inside prison. I was ashamed of myself for being there, but when I started to learn and then share that knowledge with others through tutoring, I felt like I could still have a positive impact on the people around me.
That mattered in a place that’s full of distractions and noise. Guys yelling, TVs on, people moving around constantly, and I’m just trying to stay locked in on one problem and figure out where I fit into the world. It forced me to slow down and actually think, and over time, that changed the way I approached everything.
Around that same time, I started reading everything I could get my hands on, and that’s when I found Richard Feynman. His books hit me in a way I didn’t expect. He didn’t treat math and physics like they were out of reach. He made it feel like something you could understand if you were willing to stay with it. He became a hero to me, not because of what he accomplished, but because of how he thought. That idea stuck with me.
While I was inside, I earned three associate degrees: an Associate of Arts, an Associate of Science, and an Associate of Applied Science in Electrical Technology. It didn’t happen all at once. It was one class at a time, just staying consistent, even on days I didn’t feel like it. Over time, it added up and changed how I saw myself. I wasn’t just someone doing time anymore. I was someone who could learn, improve, and build something for the future.
With good time and educational credit, I was released in just under twelve years.
When I came home, I didn’t feel like I was starting from nothing. I had a foundation. I knew how to sit down and work through something difficult and stay with it until I figured it out. I went on to earn a bachelor’s degree in mathematics, and that opened the door to a career I never would have imagined when I was sixteen.
I started as a data analyst and worked my way into managing a team. Along the way, I also got involved in software development, building data pipelines, APIs, and projects that solve real problems. The same way I used to sit in my cell working through math problems is the same way I approach technical challenges now. Break it down, stay with it, and figure it out.
But beyond the career, it gave me something even bigger. I’ve been with my wife for fourteen years, and we’ve owned our home for twelve. I’ve built a stable life, something that didn’t feel possible at one point. None of that happens without education, and it definitely doesn’t happen without access to education while you’re inside.
That’s why programs like the Prison Math Project matter. There are people sitting where I once sat who are capable of far more than their current situation, and they just need the opportunity.
For me, math wasn’t just a subject. It was something I could hold onto when everything else felt uncertain. It gave me a way to move forward, even when I couldn’t physically go anywhere.
It gave me a future I couldn’t see at sixteen.
Header image by famingjia inventor on Unsplash.
