I blinked, wondering for a moment if he was actually joking with me. It took me a second longer than it should’ve for me to thaw out and actually return his smile. “Oh, well…would that’ve impressed you more?”
“It would definitely have made you memorable but would’ve ultimately been pointless,” he said.
I placed my bag on the seat next to me. “Why’s that?”
“Because the questions I wanted to ask you don’t have answers you can find in a book or collection of lecture notes,” he explained, leaning back in his own seat.
For a split second, I panicked. I’d mentally prepared for anything he would ask me, from what drew me to his methodology to a more in-depth explanation for why I chose Muller & Co. as my dream company. But now it seemed we’d be going off-script. I hated going off-script.
Then something happened that took me completely by surprise: he laughed.
It was a warm, deep sound that seemed to seep into my rigid muscles and relax them. A genuine sound.
“You don’t have to look so terrified, Miss Price. I promise I don’t bite. You’re tense enough to snap, and if that’s the impact I’m making among my students then I don’t think I’ve been doing a very good job so far,” he said.
I could feel my shoulders slack. His face was open, friendly even. There was no hint of malice or condescension baked into his words. From what I could tell, it didn’t look like I was expected to stand on ceremony here. And for some reason, I trusted what he was saying—screw trying too hard.
“Sorry,” I said sheepishly. “Truth be told, I’m nervous. I was intimidated and wanted to make sure I left a good first impression.”
“You already did.” He gestured to me. “Your willingness to share your thoughts helped launch a much deeper conversation in class. I appreciated that.”
“Thank you,” I said, choosing to just accept the compliment this time instead of trying to swat it away. Coming from him, I had the feeling that he wasn’t super liberal with those, that hiswords held weight. “I guess I was so excited about the topic that I didn’t even think about it that way.”
“I do get where you’re coming from. I wasn’t the most confident in my own ideas and voice back in my student days,” he said.
So last year?I wanted to say to him, and the comeback was something Madison would have had the guts to throw as banter. But I didn’t. Instead I kept listening.
“It comes with experience. Time. That’s something you’ll have to work on if you want to make it in development. The type of people you’ll come across won’t waste a second on someone they think has no faith in their own ideas,” he added.
I hesitated. “I thought my portfolio would speak for itself.”
“In an ideal world, yes. But that’s not the way the industry operates, unfortunately. You need to back up your skills and ambition with arrogance sometimes and believe in yourself even when no one else does,” he replied.
“Is that what you had to do?” I asked, surprised by my own boldness. But Professor Blackwell seemed to have no problem with it.
“Yes,” he answered. “It wasn’t easy. Nothing worthwhile ever is.”
“I was curious…you’re so young. I hope I’m not stepping out of bounds by asking, but how were you able to establish yourself this early on? You speak as though you’ve had decades of experience behind you,” I ventured.
For a brief, heart-stopping moment, I thought that maybe I’d gone a bit too far. But once again, he didn’t seem offended or annoyed. He seemed to actually welcome the observation.
“I graduated early, hit the ground running,” he said, as casually as though it wasn’t half as impressive as it truly was. “Truthfully, I owe a lot of my success to my mentors. If I didn’t have a good support system, I don’t think I would’ve made it to where I am.”
I nodded.
I’d done some research throughout the course of the week. Lucas Blackwell wasn’t just a professor. He’d had the opportunity to work with some of the most prestigious companies in the country based on his own portfolio.
Yet here he was, teaching in New England University’s architecture and development department. If I was braver, I might’ve asked why.
“I just knew what I wanted from a young age,” he added. Then his eyes focused on me, questioning. “What about you? What got you interested in this field in the first place?”
I was quiet for a moment, my brain immediately going into its usual pattern of trying to guess what it is he might want to hear me say. But then I stopped myself. He obviously didn’t care for pretense. He hadn’t judged me so far. This wasn’t an exam hall.
Why did I develop such a strong passion for urban planning?
“I didn’t grow up in a very affluent area,” I began, the explanation weaving its way through my thoughts as I spoke. “That’s actually kind of an understatement. My mom struggled to make ends meet most days and the only place we could afford to live was an underfunded apartment block that took half a paycheck just to get anywhere. And yet, I understand that I still got luckier than many others. If I can make sure that less and less people have to live that way, I’d consider that a successful life.”
He looked at me for a moment, as though we were meeting for the first time. And when he smiled again, it felt like I’d passed a test I didn’t even know I was writing.
