The night was sticky with the kind of Alabama heat that clings to your skin like a stubborn memory. I was sprawled on my couch, sipping a glass of iced tea that had long since sacrificed its chill to the unforgiving summer air. My phone buzzed against the chipped coffee table—a moment I almost ignored. But something about the way it trembled, urgent and insistent, made me pick it up.

“Hey, Carrie—it’s Dr. Stevens.”

Now, don’t get me wrong; phone calls in the age of texting are about as rare as snow in Montgomery. Usually, they mean bad news—a blown tire, a gossipy aunt with too much time on her hands, or an awkwardly timed telemarketer. But this call? This one changed everything.

When a Call Feels Bigger Than You

Dr. Stevens was one of my grad school advisors, a man so buttoned-up he once lectured for an hour with a fountain pen in his shirt pocket... that had been leaking. His voice was steady, but there was a thread of something electric in it that made me sit up a little straighter.

“I have a number for you,” he said, like the world’s least exciting game show host.

I squinted toward the ceiling fan, waiting for him to elaborate.

“There’s a woman at the Alabama Humanities Alliance—Dr. Betty Campbell—who’s heading up a new oral history project. They’re looking for someone to help dig into untold civil rights narratives. I thought of you immediately.”

Now, let me level with you. Grad school had left me frayed at the edges, patchworked together by late-night coffee and an ever-rotating playlist of sad folk music. I’d taken my job at the local museum because it was stable, predictable, safe. But this? This chance to leap headfirst into real-world storytelling? It felt bigger than me.

I imagine this is how some of us feel in moments of connection—whether it’s picking up an unfamiliar number, following a gut instinct to say hello to the stranger across the room, or daring to send that risky first message. There’s a flutter of possibility, yes, but also a thousand sharp-edged doubts. Who am I to say yes to something like this?

Yes Is a Risk—But It’s Always Worth It

Spoiler alert: I called Dr. Campbell the next day. It wasn’t some polished, put-together moment either. I spent half the night rehearsing what I’d say, only to stammer through my introduction like the human equivalent of a buffering YouTube video. But here’s the thing—I didn’t have to be perfect. My enthusiasm spoke for itself.

That call led to a whirlwind year of road trips through the South. I sat in the kitchens of women who baked cornbread the way their mothers had done, their voices laced with strength as they recounted stories of sit-ins, marches, and quiet acts of defiance. I listened to veterans of the Freedom Rides detail their fears with a vulnerability so raw it made me ache.

Each call I made, each story I recorded, became its own transformative connection. It taught me how leaning in—however unprepared or scared you feel—turns potential into something real and tangible.

Now, don't get me wrong. Saying "yes" doesn't mean you're about to waltz your way to success. Sometimes the risk ends in heartbreak, rejection, or three months of replaying a bad decision like an off-key karaoke performance. But other times? Other times, you're sitting in a car winding through Mississippi, sharing a bag of peanuts with an 84-year-old man as he tells you about a voting drive he led in 1964. And those moments are worth everything.

Answer the Call—Literally and Otherwise

Life, much like relationships, throws curveballs. The choice to answer—whether it’s a phone call, a DM, or your cousin nudging you toward someone at a wedding reception—can feel daunting. So how can we summon the courage to push through that hesitation?

Here’s what I’ve learned:

  • Drop the Perfection Act. You don’t need a life plan or an elevator pitch to start something meaningful. Nerves aren’t a red flag—they’re a sign of something that matters.

  • Prepare for Rejection. Not every call will become a big moment. Some are just practice for the next opportunity. And that’s okay.

  • Show Up Anyway. You know that quote about how 80% of success is just showing up? Turns out, it works for relationships too. Whether it’s making the call or simply walking into a room with an open heart, half the battle is showing up for the possibility.

  • Trust the Messiness. Honestly, life doesn’t come pre-packaged with instructions. Learning to roll with the unpredictable is part of what makes it beautiful.

It’s Not Just a Call. It’s a Choice.

The tug of regret is quieter than the roar of possibility, but here’s what sticks with me: when you’re on the other side of the leap—after you’ve answered, tried, or risked it all—it almost never feels as intimidating as it did at first.

That call from Dr. Stevens didn’t just shift the trajectory of my career; it taught me how willing we have to be to let life surprise us. And doesn’t that apply to everything? Whether it’s a career change, a first date, or telling someone we love them, the magic isn’t in knowing how it’ll turn out. The magic is in answering anyway.

If someone’s advice had boiled down to “Just answer the call” before all this, I would’ve brushed it off as trite, like a rom-com line that trips over its own optimism. But hindsight does a funny thing to the lessons we resist. Now I say it with conviction.

Answer the call.

It might lead to a new career, a shared laugh, or a story that sticks to you like southern heat. But one way or another, it’ll always lead you somewhere.