It started as just another sticky summer evening in Houston, where the mosquitos work harder than most corporate interns and the heat hangs on you like an overly attached ex. I had just gotten home from teaching a group of high school juniors about the sociological implications of gentrification (light dinner conversation, I know), and I was halfway through reheating leftover red beans and rice when my phone rang.

Now, let me tell y’all — I’ve never trusted unknown numbers. If you’ve survived what I’d call the “extended warranty scam years,” you’d understand. So, I squinted at the screen, trying to remember if I owed anybody money or if some random cousin might be trying to borrow it. But something made me pick up. Maybe it was divine intervention. Maybe it was the fact that my AirPods were already in, and my hands were covered in Tupperware condensation. Either way, I answered.

“Hello, may I speak with Marc Devonte Prince?”

The voice on the other end was pleasant but professional. You know that tone people use when they’re trying to impress you? I put on my best “I’ve got time, but not really” voice. “This is he.”

What followed was a phone call that, quite literally, shifted the entire course of my life.

From Beaumont to Bold Dreams

To explain why this particular phone call mattered so much, we need to rewind, VHS-style, back to my childhood in Beaumont. If you’ve never been, let me paint a picture for you: small-town Texas, complete with Friday night football games and a Whataburger that basically functioned as the unofficial city hall. My family was loving, hardworking, and unyieldingly supportive. Still, it didn’t take a sociologist to know that the deck was stacked against a gay Black boy dreaming of more than the refinery or a nine-to-five grind. But I had hope. Hope and a stubborn streak Beyoncé-level fierce.

By the time I’d moved to Houston after college, I thought I knew what my future looked like. I’d teach for a while, dabble in local activism, and maybe — just maybe — write a thing or two on the side. I loved my students, especially the ones who saw a bit of themselves in my openness and awkwardness. But something inside me ached for more.

Cue: The Call.

The Moment Everything Changed

“This is Ethan from Random House Publishing,” the voice continued, immediately sending my heart into arrhythmia. Y’all, I thought the man was lying. Who just… calls like that? Ethan explained he’d read one of my essays — a raw piece where I exposed my 17-year-old self’s journey to coming out in rural Texas — published online a few weeks prior. The essay had gained way more traction than I anticipated, partly because I’d written it partly as therapy, partly to inspire. Ethan said they wanted to discuss turning it into a memoir.

Now, if Ethan could’ve seen me in my undersized tank top and raggedy sweatshorts, pacing my kitchen like a contestant waiting for the final vote on "RuPaul’s Drag Race," he might’ve reconsidered my “authorial stature.” I remember muttering something like “Oh, wow, um, thank you,” even though what I really wanted to say was, “ARE YOU FOR REAL, MY GUY?”

That conversation lasted maybe 30 minutes. I walked away with about three Post-it notes worth of instructions: “Send the email from our follow-up” and “Start thinking about the broader themes you want to explore.” But when I hung up, I just stood there, completely stunned. It was as if someone had reached across the great, cosmic void, tapped me on the shoulder, and whispered, “Hey, Marc… it’s time.”

Chasing Big Things (Even When It Feels Impossible)

Here’s the funny thing about life-altering moments: they don’t come wrapped in a neat bow. No background music swells; the sky doesn’t open in Technicolor glory. You’re just left standing there, equal parts terrified and thrilled. After Ethan’s call, about 100 insecurities sprang to mind. Did I even have a full memoir in me? Was my story — growing up as a Black gay man navigating the intersections of identity, poverty, and place — big enough? Who was going to care?

Spoiler alert: Plenty of people cared. But it took months of writing, a solid dose of imposter syndrome, and leaning into an incredible support network to get there. It turns out, the scariest thing about living big dreams is admitting to yourself that you’re worthy of them.

A Reminder for the Moments That Matter

Here’s a gut-check for anyone out there waiting for your big moment to arrive: don’t ignore the calls. And I don’t just mean the literal ones from people like Ethan (though definitely pick those up). I’m talking about the tug in your spirit, the sudden pull toward something wild and indescribable. That’s your call. It may come when you’re knee-deep in leftover dinners or swiping your way through Tinder or sobbing over the latest Beyoncé album. But when it comes, recognize it for what it is.

Here’s what I’ve learned since that moment:

  • Say Yes Before You’re Internally Ready. If you wait until you feel 100% prepared, the opportunity will pass. Trust me, even Beyoncé gets butterflies. Probably.
  • Find Your Cheerleaders. Nobody succeeds alone — not even the author of a memoir with a cute media headshot. Lean on the family, friends, and chosen loved ones who see your potential even when you don’t.
  • Own Your Story. All of us have a million tiny moments that, when stitched together, create something incredible. Don’t dismiss the “ordinary” details of your story. Trust me: they resonate.

Life’s Plot Twists

The release of my memoir was a whirlwind and then some. I toured nationally, connecting with people who saw their own experiences reflected in my story. There were book signings, awkward selfies with strangers (it’s harder than you’d think), and even a truly humbling moment when a high school teacher in Atlanta told me my book was being added to their LGBTQ+ reading curriculum. It was the first time I truly understood the power of stepping into your purpose.

But honestly? None of this would’ve happened had I not answered that call. One small decision to trust the universe’s timing — and maybe listen to a literal stranger — brought me exactly where I needed to be.

So here’s your takeaway: the universe has a funny way of handing us opportunities right when we’re least ready. Answer with grace anyway. You never know when a seemingly random moment will change your life forever.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a phone to keep near — and a second memoir to procrastinate on.