Jack Johnson

I wandered around, fulfilling many destinies

I wandered around for 22 years to reach the outlook I bring to LSU. That is, I see life today as a series of cause and effect. This has given me insight into the reason behind my past decisions, my present choices, and where the path can take me. Seemingly unrelated events segued into one another—keeping me within the only 5-mile radius I had ever known—and then abruptly launched me to LSU, where I haven’t looked back since.
High school and the life before it were nice. My time playing soccer took me down every dirt road in Texas, then to Europe and back. I had friends in every grade and of every mold. I wasn’t actively involved in any organizations except the teacher-appointed “Natural Helpers,” a peer counseling group. My grade point average didn’t land me near the top of the class, but the school voted me “Mr. AHHS.” I’m telling you this so you might understand how ill-prepared I was to be in a place where no one knew my name: college.
My first stint at Texas Christian in Fort Worth, Texas, did not go as planned. I quit playing soccer and lost my competitive outlet. I spent most nights playing piano in the empty lobby of my dorm, looking for proof of UFOs, or writing in my blog—my last tie to the past I’d abandoned. Two years of those habits and I was fresh out of a scholarship. To me, no money meant no schooling—so I dropped out.
Rejected and doubting myself as college material, I was saved by the grace of my uncle, who is an entrepreneur and USC graduate of film. During the rebound year I lived with him, he recognized in me an aptitude to digitally edit audio and film. I suppose it comes with being a Millennial. He had just finished shooting his first feature-length film and asked for my help. I was lucky enough to finish editing, write narration for, and create from scratch a “behind-the-scenes” documentary on the project.
The film contained many allusions to my at times enigmatic family. As an editor, I was literally piecing together, like a puzzle, the deep-seated, kindred storylines that until then were shrouded in mystery. It was a wonderful experience. Many hours of many nights, the monitor was the only source of light I had, and it’s interesting what those times taught me about myself. The meaningful, introspective issues kids should contemplate when they get to college are what distracted me from the actual academia. The resulting fallout left many questions unanswered, but my uncle was instrumental in helping me connect the dots.
My work extended to include his developing business ventures, but before I became too entrenched in that work, I slipped out the back. I couldn’t let someone else, no matter whom, so quickly sell my fate. What was I supposed to do? That was the question I spent the next 12 months deciding.
I was still a drop-out, but my own beat was relievingly easy to march to. Literally, because by that point, I’d accumulated the equipment and learned the methods necessary to pursue a new ideal: that of a hip-hop producer. I had been composing most my life and found I could add a unique sound to an industry I felt needed some musical integrity. Looking back, I suffered delusions of grandeur—the ocean is large, and it is cutthroat—but today I remain no less confident in the chips I’ve been holding. It’s still a gratifying hobby and holds indefinite promise.
While exploring those musical avenues, I was living with my three best friends. We were all misfits by definition, whose paths crossed by chance, and spent the year making up for lost time. It was a small, tight-knit apartment complex. The village elder was an insane, 70-year-old man who, as fate would have it, was my final employer before winding up in Baton Rouge.
His name was Pat, and he’d lived in Fort Worth all his life. A construction guru, inventor, and self-proclaimed polymath, Pat was in his own prison. He had just played his final card, cashing in on family property, and needed some help appropriating the funds. The Depression “warped him” he said, and although we tried using this money to realize the dreams of a younger Pat, the whole situation succumbed to those skewed ideologies. What does any of this have to do with me? It gave me many new stories to tell, and convinced me that my job on Earth is to tell them. This was another enriching apprenticeship, but keeping up with his quixotic will often left me feeling like Sancho Panza.
At some point during my tenure with Pat, my grandmother offered to pay my tuition at any college that accepted me. This proposition arrived not a moment too soon. Pat was almost out of money, and apathy was threatening to consume the household I worked so hard to secure. I had emerged from a necessary world of relative accomplishments and finally realized that I was called to write. After an initial rejection, I convinced LSU to take a chance on me, bad transcript and all.
Spring marked my first semester here, and I made the first 4.0 of my life. I hope to continue this trend in the coming semesters, become a professional journalist, and write a book on the lessons I learned to get here. I have found my voice, myself, and know where I’m supposed to be.