Look for opportunities, look for growth, look for impact, look for mission. Move sideways, move down, move on, move off. Build your skills, not your resume. Evaluate what you can do, not the title they’re going to give you. Do real work. Take a sales quota, a line role, an ops job. Don’t plan too much, and don’t expect a direct climb. If I had mapped out my career when I was sitting where you are, I would have missed my career.

—Sheryl Sandberg, Chief Operating Officer of Facebook, discussing how the modern career is less like a ladder and more like a jungle gym (via moneyisnotimportant)

(via moneyisnotimportant)

• RECOMMEND4K
• TWEET931
• EMAIL
• PRINT

Courtesy of Pamela SoladarBrian Banks holding a paper with the best news of his life. His wrongful conviction of rape and kidnapping was overturned when his accuser recanted.

Oh, and the Kansas City Chiefs called Tuesday, too. And the Miami Dolphins. And they were three days behind the Seattle Seahawks, who will work him out on June 7.

Why are all these NFL teams eager to check out a convicted sex offender, a man who served five years in prison and wore a GPS ankle bracelet for another five?

Because Brian Banks didn’t do it.

A judge in Long Beach, Calif., threw out his kidnapping and rape conviction last week after looking at a videotape of his accuser admitting she lied. After 10 years, he was suddenly a free and innocent man.

“My mouth hurts from smiling so much,” Banks told me Tuesday night. “Unbelievable.”

But on a summer day that year, he and a girl named Wanetta Gibson decided to go make out in a stairwell at school. When they came out, she accused him of rape.

No semen traces in the rape kit. No witnesses. And yet Banks’ attorney insisted he cop a plea, saying his size, age and race would mean a sure conviction of 40-plus years. He said no, no, a hundred times no and finally, reluctantly, yes.

Banks got six years. He served 62 months.

When he got out, he had to wear a GPS ankle bracelet at all times. He had to register as a convicted sex felon. Couldn’t go near schools, parks or zoos. Couldn’t get a job. He was lucky to get a few hours a week unloading docks.

What did Gibson get? A $750,000 settlement from the school.

But then, last year, a chunk of luck fell from the stars. Out of the blue, Gibson, then 24, sent Banks a Facebook friend request.

Banks slammed the laptop cover down and jumped out of his chair. Was somebody playing a joke on him?

He looked again. Amazing. Gibson had typed, “Let’s let bygones be bygones.”

Easy for her to say. She didn’t watch 10 years of her life go by.

“She was adamant about meeting me,” Banks says. “I asked my brother (Freddy), ‘What should I do?’ He said, ‘Whatever you do, make sure you play chess, not checkers.’”

Banks’ first move: To get everything she said on tape. He hired a private investigator and met Gibson in the man’s office, where every conversation is secretly videotaped. The tape recorded Gibson saying, clearly, “No, he did not rape me.”

Was he nervous she wouldn’t say it?

“I didn’t have to get her to say anything,” Banks said. “She came into the room expressing herself. She even came back the next day. The investigator asked her again, point blank. ‘Did Brian rape you?’ ‘No.’ ‘Did he kidnap you?’ ‘No.’”

And why would Gibson meet with Banks in the first place? Was it a trap? Was it guilt? No. Banks thinks Gibson — are you ready for this? — was hoping to get back together.

“You read the texts and that’s the only conclusion you come to,” says a source who worked on the case. “She seems absolutely clue-free about what she did to him.”

“As soon as we met him, we had no doubt,” says Justin Brooks, the lead attorney. “We could see this was a kid who had a big future ahead of him, one that had been lost.”

On Thursday, May 24, in a Long Beach courtroom, Banks got his future back.

What’s the first thing he did, besides cry at the courtroom table? Snipped off the stupid ankle bracelet, the scarlet letter of our age. “Oh, man, when that thing came off?” Banks says. “There are no words.”

Then he went with Brooks’ wife and kids to a place he couldn’t have gone the day before — Sea World.

“It’s so crazy to go from being labeled a monster to seeing your phone light up with all this support and offers and love,” he said. “It’s, really, a little hard to get used to.”

And what does Banks want most now? Retribution? Revenge? Gibson’s head on a serving platter? No. He’s not even demanding Gibson give the money back. While he is suing the state for $100 for each day he was falsely imprisoned, what he wants back most is football.

[+] Enlarge

AP Photo/Nick UtBanks celebrates his exoneration and freedom with his mother, Leomia Myers.

None of the four teams are offering any guarantees for a spot in training camp, nor is Banks asking for any.

“I’ll make ‘em happy,” says Banks, who’s been training non-stop since October. “After all I’ve been through these last 10 years, I can still do some things that will impress you.”

Like … dead-lift 545 pounds, box jump 55 inches flat-footed, broad jump 10-plus feet and run a 4.6 40, all at 6-foot-2 and 245 pounds. NFL trainer Gavin Macmillan, who has volunteered to train Banks for free, says he has a shot. “You see him run and you can see why USC wanted him.”

And if the NFL doesn’t pan out? Banks already has all kinds of job offers. One of them is to “work in the front office and explore other sports opportunities” for the Arizona Diamondbacks.

“I about fell out of my seat when I read that one,” Banks said.

I don’t know about you, but I can’t remember another story that made me want to alternately punch something and hug something like this one. The way Banks has handled himself, without bitterness or bile, with grace and guts, makes you wish he were running the U.S. Senate. If it were me, I’d be stomping around, waving lawsuits and screaming, “I TOLD you I didn’t do it!!!”

“I know my story makes people angry at first,” Banks says. “That’s where I was, too, at first. But where would it have gotten me to stay mad for 10 years? It’s like when you’re a little kid and you cry about having to clean your room. You can cry and cry, but it doesn’t get your room cleaned.”

Brian Banks’ room is clean again. His heart is spotless. He’s holding on to nothing but his dreams. He lost a full decade of his life and now all he wants in exchange is an NFL jersey.

C’mon, Miami Dolphins. Who’s had more “Hard Knocks” than Brian Banks?

The piece below was written by Marina Keegan ‘12 for a special edition of the News distributed at the class of 2012’s commencement exercises last week. Keegan died in a car accident on Saturday. She was 22.

We don’t have a word for the opposite of loneliness, but if we did, I could say that’s what I want in life. What I’m grateful and thankful to have found at Yale, and what I’m scared of losing when we wake up tomorrow and leave this place.

It’s not quite love and it’s not quite community; it’s just this feeling that there are people, an abundance of people, who are in this together. Who are on your team. When the check is paid and you stay at the table. When it’s four a.m. and no one goes to bed. That night with the guitar. That night we can’t remember. That time we did, we went, we saw, we laughed, we felt. The hats.

Yale is full of tiny circles we pull around ourselves. A cappella groups, sports teams, houses, societies, clubs. These tiny groups that make us feel loved and safe and part of something even on our loneliest nights when we stumble home to our computers — partner-less, tired, awake. We won’t have those next year. We won’t live on the same block as all our friends. We won’t have a bunch of group-texts.

This scares me. More than finding the right job or city or spouse – I’m scared of losing this web we’re in. This elusive, indefinable, opposite of loneliness. This feeling I feel right now.

But let us get one thing straight: the best years of our lives are not behind us. They’re part of us and they are set for repetition as we grow up and move to New York and away from New York and wish we did or didn’t live in New York. I plan on having parties when I’m 30. I plan on having fun when I’m old. Any notion of THE BEST years comes from clichéd “should haves…” “if I’d…” “wish I’d…”

Of course, there are things we wished we did: our readings, that boy across the hall. We’re our own hardest critics and it’s easy to let ourselves down. Sleeping too late. Procrastinating. Cutting corners. More than once I’ve looked back on my High School self and thought: how did I do that? How did I work so hard? Our private insecurities follow us and will always follow us.

But the thing is, we’re all like that. Nobody wakes up when they want to. Nobody did all of their reading (except maybe the crazy people who win the prizes…) We have these impossibly high standards and we’ll probably never live up to our perfect fantasies of our future selves. But I feel like that’s okay.

We’re so young. We’re so young. We’re twenty-two years old. We have so much time. There’s this sentiment I sometimes sense, creeping in our collective conscious as we lay alone after a party, or pack up our books when we give in and go out – that it is somehow too late. That others are somehow ahead. More accomplished, more specialized. More on the path to somehow saving the world, somehow creating or inventing or improving. That it’s too late now to BEGIN a beginning and we must settle for continuance, for commencement.

When we came to Yale, there was this sense of possibility. This immense and indefinable potential energy – and it’s easy to feel like that’s slipped away. We never had to choose and suddenly we’ve had to. Some of us have focused ourselves. Some of us know exactly what we want and are on the path to get it; already going to med school, working at the perfect NGO, doing research. To you I say both congratulations and you suck.

For most of us, however, we’re somewhat lost in this sea of liberal arts. Not quite sure what road we’re on and whether we should have taken it. If only I had majored in biology…if only I’d gotten involved in journalism as a freshman…if only I’d thought to apply for this or for that…

What we have to remember is that we can still do anything. We can change our minds. We can start over. Get a post-bac or try writing for the first time. The notion that it’s too late to do anything is comical. It’s hilarious. We’re graduating college. We’re so young. We can’t, we MUST not lose this sense of possibility because in the end, it’s all we have.

In the heart of a winter Friday night my freshman year, I was dazed and confused when I got a call from my friends to meet them at EST EST EST. Dazedly and confusedly, I began trudging to SSS, probably the point on campus farthest away. Remarkably, it wasn’t until I arrived at the door that I questioned how and why exactly my friends were partying in Yale’s administrative building. Of course, they weren’t. But it was cold and my ID somehow worked so I went inside SSS to pull out my phone. It was quiet, the old wood creaking and the snow barely visible outside the stained glass. And I sat down. And I looked up. At this giant room I was in. At this place where thousands of people had sat before me. And alone, at night, in the middle of a New Haven storm, I felt so remarkably, unbelievably safe.

We don’t have a word for the opposite of loneliness, but if we did, I’d say that’s how I feel at Yale. How I feel right now. Here. With all of you. In love, impressed, humbled, scared. And we don’t have to lose that.

We’re in this together, 2012. Let’s make something happen to this world.

My Idol