The Anthony Reeves Experience

Can you believe I was one vote away from being homecoming king in college? You might hear that and immediately think,  Man, that must have hurt. It didn't. In fact, losing by one vote gave me something far more valuable than winning ever could have. It changed the way I saw myself. I Wasn't That Guy Growing up, I had a very particular idea of the kind of person who ended up on a homecoming court. They were the popular people. The attractive people. The well-connected people. The people everybody seemed to know. And I was absolutely convinced that wasn't me. I still sometimes describe my younger self as the goofy kid from Arkansas with the Coke-bottle glasses and high-water pants. I knew the people who became homecoming kings and queens. I knew the people who seemed destined to be on homecoming courts. I just never considered myself one of them. Nothing about my high school experience had given me a reason to think otherwise. I wasn't nominated for homecoming court. I wa...

We talk a lot about getting to the “next level.” It has become one of those phrases that we use almost automatically. We want to take our careers to the next level. We want to take our businesses to the next level. We want to take our relationships, finances, education, or personal development to the next level. But I have often wondered whether we actually recognize the moment when it happens. Because sometimes the next level does not arrive with an announcement. Sometimes there is no promotion. There is no graduation ceremony. There is no award. There is no moment where somebody walks up to you and says: Congratulations. You are now a different person. Sometimes you only recognize it years later. For me, one of those moments happened during the summer of 1990 at Army ROTC Advanced Camp. I Thought I Knew What Success Looked Like When I returned to the University of Tampa in the fall of 1989, a lot of things in my life were changing. I was 20 years old. I had recently pledged the frate...

There are certain people you remember from college because they taught a great class. Then there are people you remember because they changed the direction of your life. When I look back at my years at the University of Tampa, there are plenty of people I could name who helped me along the way. I had hall directors who watched me grow from a teenager into a young man. I had advisors. I had friends. I had people who offered encouragement at different points during those four years. But when I think about the people who had a lasting influence on me academically, two professors immediately come to mind:  Dr. Jackson and Dr. Punzo. What fascinates me today isn't simply that they helped me. It's that somehow, at a relatively young age,  I knew they were people I should listen to. And I think I finally understand why. I Had Been Trained by My Village My mother used to talk about my generation as one of the last generations that truly experienced the idea that  it takes a villa...

Recently, I had a conversation with a young fraternity brother who was 25 years old and beginning to become active with our graduate chapter. As we talked, I shared my own experience. I told him how out of place I felt when I attended my first graduate chapter meeting at the age of 22. I went to the meeting, sat through it, left—and never returned. It would be another four years before I became active with a graduate chapter. Another brother who was listening to our conversation stopped me and asked a simple question: “Did any brother reach out to you while you were at the meeting? Did anyone engage you or try to talk to you?” I thought about it and answered honestly. “No.” He responded, “That was the problem. You just needed one brother to reach out to you.” That statement stayed with me because it was true. One Brother Made the Difference When I was 26 years old and stationed in the military, I met a fraternity brother who would eventually become one of my mentors. He remains a mento...