The Dream I Outgrew — And the Purpose I Found Anyway

Little me knew I was meant to use my voice. She just didn’t know how yet.

When I was little, I thought I wanted to be on TV.

Not just in passing. Not just as a fleeting childhood idea. I was serious about it. I either wanted to be a news reporter — polished, composed, and articulate behind the desk — or a talk show host like Oprah Winfrey.

I was drawn to the power of conversation, the influence of storytelling, and the presence of women who could command a room with their words.

I even put it on my vision board when I got older.

There was something magnetic about the idea of communicating with the masses — of informing, inspiring, and shaping perspective in real time. Words felt powerful to me from a very young age. The ability to tell a story that could shift someone’s thinking or uplift their spirit fascinated me.

It felt natural. It felt aligned. It felt like the plan.

But life has a way of gently redirecting you — not away from your purpose, but toward a deeper expression of it.

Choosing Money Over Major — And Why That Wasn’t a Mistake

Earlham College, freshman year. What felt like a compromise was quietly becoming a foundation.

When it was time to choose a college major, I assumed I would study Communications or Journalism. That was the dream. That was the trajectory.

But the school that offered me the most scholarship money didn’t offer either of those majors.

I was raised by my grandmother and my mother — two strong women who shaped me in different but equally meaningful ways. My mom had already sacrificed tremendously to send me to private schools my entire life. She had poured into my education from kindergarten through high school, and I understood the weight of that investment. I knew that her resources were not endless.

So, when Earlham College offered me a significant scholarship package, I paid attention.

I didn’t want to burden my mother with unnecessary tuition struggles when another path was available — one that made financial sense and honored the sacrifices she had already made. Therefore, I chose the school that positioned me to graduate with less strain, and I adjusted my major accordingly.

Since Communications wasn’t an option, I pivoted.

I chose Business and Non-Profit Management.

At the time, it felt like I was letting go of something. Now I see that I was building something. That foundation in business would later support every entrepreneurial move I’ve made. What felt like a detour was actually preparation.

Purpose often hides inside practicality.

Raised on the News — And Tired of the Blues

My grandmother — our family’s anchor, constant, and strength.

My grandmother was always present. She was our family’s anchor, our babysitter, our constant. The television was often on, and the news played throughout the day — morning segments, midday updates, evening recaps.

And if you’ve watched the news long enough, you know the rhythm.

Crisis. Tragedy. Fear. Conflict. Repeat.

Kanye West once said, “'Cause ain’t nothing on the news but the blues.”

He wasn’t wrong.

And even as a child, I felt the truth in that statement. The news was heavy. It was rarely hopeful. If there was a positive story, it lasted less than a minute — tucked neatly at the end after an hour of devastation.

Over time, I realized how deeply that energy affected me. It made me anxious. It made me fearful. It made the world feel unsafe and overwhelming.

So, when I went to college in 2001, I made a decision that felt radical at the time.

I stopped watching the news.

Not because I wanted to be uninformed. But because I wanted to protect my spirit.

I began paying attention to how what I consumed shaped how I felt. And how I felt shaped how I showed up. I didn’t want to move through life from a posture of fear. I didn’t want my nervous system constantly activated by negativity.

That awareness changed everything.

When the Dream No Longer Fit

Clarity doesn’t come instantly. Sometimes it comes after deep internal recalculation.

As I maneuvered through life, I questioned the original dream. Did I truly want to report tragedy every night? Did I want my career to revolve around crisis? Did I want to carry the emotional weight of other people’s worst days?

The more honest I became with myself, the clearer the answer became.

"NO" was my truth.

Journalism is a noble work. It matters. But I knew my temperament. I absorb energy deeply. I am sensitive to tone, atmosphere, and emotional undercurrents. And I realized that I didn’t want to live immersed in heaviness.

It wasn’t that I didn’t care about the world’s problems.

It was that I didn’t want to amplify despair.

If I loved words, I could use them differently.

If I loved storytelling, I could tell different stories.

If I loved communication, I could communicate hope.

So, I made another intentional decision. I began reading self-help books almost exclusively. I submerged myself in growth, faith, leadership, healing, and personal development. I intentionally filled my mind with goodness to counterbalance the unavoidable realities of life.

It wasn’t about denial. It was about discipline.

A Full-Circle Moment at BET

From my grandmother’s television to standing in the same room.

Years later, in 2016, I was working at BET, helping orchestrate Louis Carr’s 30th wedding anniversary celebration. The room was filled with executives, celebrities, and leaders. As I scanned the space, I saw a familiar face.

Cheryl Burton.

She was one of the anchors my grandmother watched regularly. Seeing her in person stopped me in my tracks. By then, my grandmother had passed, and standing in that room — now a professional myself — looking at someone who had once been a fixture in our living room felt deeply symbolic.

It was bittersweet. She represented a childhood dream and a cherished memory all at once.

We connected instantly. She was warm, kind, and gracious. A Capricorn Christmas baby, just like me. She loves purple, just like me. There was an ease in our conversation that felt natural.

In 2021, she was featured in WayMaker Journal, and I was assigned as her onsite talent manager. This time, I had more space to ask what I had always wondered.

Not reporting the story — helping shape it.

“How do you report such sadness all the time? Does it affect your well-being?”

Her response was simple and profound.

She said she is intentional about reading positive things daily. She surrounds herself with uplifting material so she doesn’t get trapped in the heaviness of her work. She guards her spirit carefully.

I was amazed.

Not behind the anchor desk — but fully in my purpose.

Here was a woman who lives in the very space I once thought I wanted — and she must actively counterbalance it to remain whole.

In that moment, I felt confirmed.

I am on the right path. My path.

Same Gift. Different Expression.

I didn’t become a news reporter.

But I did become a communicator.

From television dreams to written impact — the platform changed, the calling didn’t.

I use my words every day — through blogs, coaching, mentoring, and storytelling. I help people reposition their careers through powerful résumés. I encourage Executive and Personal Assistants to lead with “Grace Under Fire.” I host honest conversations about relationships through podcasts like Real Talk in Jeans.

Listen on Spotify, Apple, or YouTube — and join 8.7K+ others in our Real Talk in Jeans Facebook community where the conversations continue.

Different platform. Same calling.

The dream evolved, but the gift remained.

Sometimes what we think is the final vision is simply the first draft. Purpose refines it over time.

The Discipline of Choosing What Feeds You

Choice is power.

At some point, I realized something empowering: we all have a choice.

We cannot control everything happening in the world. But we can control what we consistently consume. We can choose the conversations we engage in. We can decide which voices get access to our spirit.

I choose to engage in conversations that feed me. I am thirsty for positivity and transparency. I like to speak life into people. I like to encourage others to trust their gut and pursue what feels aligned.

That doesn’t mean I ignore hardship or pretend life is perfect. It means I refuse to marinate in negativity.

Energy transfers. If you spend enough time around chronic complaining, it becomes normal. If you spend enough time around bitterness, it starts to shape your tone.

But if you immerse yourself in light, hope, growth, and sincerity, that becomes your baseline. And people feel it.

They feel your steadiness.

They feel your joy.

They feel your groundedness.

Not because you are loud — but because you are intentional.

You Don’t Have to Save the World

Crystal Marshall Certified — where intention meets execution.

I don’t try to save the world. That’s too heavy for one person.

But I do try to be an example. An example that you can pivot without shame. That you can choose peace over prestige. That you can outgrow a childhood dream and still honor the gift beneath it.

Sometimes you are not meant to be the one delivering the headlines. Sometimes you are meant to be the one reminding people there is still hope beyond them.

You can shine bright like the sun.

And when you do, something beautiful happens.

Others begin to believe they can shine too.

Not because you forced them. But because you modeled it.

I didn’t sit behind an anchor desk.

But I anchor conversations in hope.

And for me, that is exactly where purpose lives.

But let me also say this.

On my latest vision board, Oprah still remains. So does the calling.

Outgrowing a dream doesn’t mean I buried it. It simply means I released my grip on how it had to happen.

I believe in delay instead of denial. Just because something doesn’t unfold when you imagined — or in the way you once pictured — doesn’t mean it won’t unfold at all.

If God still intends for me to be on television in some capacity, I welcome it.

I am not turning purpose away.

I am not rejecting opportunity.

I am not ignoring alignment or preparation.

I will continue to build.

I will continue to refine.

I will continue to use my voice — wherever it is needed.

And if one day that voice reaches through a camera lens instead of a keyboard, I’ll be ready.

Because purpose isn’t about platform.

It’s about preparation.

And preparation is never wasted.