When people search for information about going to prison, they usually find videos about gangs, violence, and chaos. That’s the story that gets clicks. But it’s not the whole story. It’s not the story I want to tell.
My name is Michael Santos. I served 26 years in federal prison. I was arrested when I was 23, sentenced to 45 years, and began my journey in solitary confinement. I wasn’t a violent offender. My charge? Leading a cocaine enterprise—under Title 21, Section 848, known as the Continuing Criminal Enterprise statute.
I didn’t understand the system when I broke the law. Like many young people, I thought that if I didn’t touch the drugs, I couldn’t get charged. But the government saw it differently. They proved I supervised five or more people. They listed overt acts—like renting cars or booking hotel rooms. And they said I made “substantial” money. That was enough to convict me.
🧱 VALUES-BASED LESSON
Be the CEO of Your Life—Even If You’re in the Penitentiary
From the day I was arrested, I faced a choice. I could focus on the time and sink into despair, or I could focus on who I could become.
In solitary confinement, I didn’t have visitors. The woman I loved left me. My grandparents stopped speaking to me. I had no money, no education, and no direction. But I made a decision—I would be the CEO of my life.
That meant I had to:
- Stop blaming the system.
- Stop waiting for someone else to change my life.
- Start building a pathway to dignity, meaning, and freedom.
The system told me I’d die in prison. My unit manager told me, “Mr. Santos, these penitentiaries were built for people like you.” But I refused to accept that. I created a three-part plan:
- Educate Myself
- Contribute to Society
- Build a Support Network
I measured every decision—what I read, where I worked, who I associated with—based on whether it moved me closer to or further from that plan.
✅ ACTION STEPS
Here’s what I learned—and what you can do:
1. Define Your Goals
What do you want to become? For me, it started with earning a degree. That opened doors to mentors, income, and influence. Define your endgame.
2. Measure Every Decision
Is what you’re doing right now bringing you closer to your goals? If not, don’t do it. Period.
3. Don’t Buy Into Prison Politics
People will try to tell you how to survive in prison—“run with your kind,” “don’t let anyone disrespect you,” “just do your time.” That mindset leads to ADX—not freedom.
4. Document Your Journey
Build your profile on Prison Professors Talent. Show the world who you are becoming, not just who you were.
5. Never Let the Past Define You
It doesn’t matter if you’re at a camp or the penitentiary. What matters is how you’re using your time. Start today.
🧱 THE GAYLORD LESSON
You don’t want an experience like the one Gaylord experienced. I spoke about him in the accompanying video. Gaylord served time in the same penitentiary where I began my sentence. He was one of the guys who used to offer unsolicited advice on how to serve time. He’d say that the best way to serve time was to forget about the world outside and focus on the day-to-day living of the penitentiary.
At the time, I was deeply involved in my studies. I kept pushing myself harder, trying to accumulate as many university credits as I could, as quickly as I could. Gaylord used to ask why I was in such a hurry to complete college. With a 45-year sentence, he said, I’d have plenty of time. Besides that, he’d say, getting an education wouldn’t make a difference in my life.
From my perspective, by working toward goals, I’d put myself in position to seize or create new opportunities. That path carried me through decades in prison.
After about 17 years in prison, the BOP transferred me to the camp in Florence, Colorado. The case manager assigned me to a job in the ADX, which was the nation’s supermax prison. While there, I got a good sense of the life inside for people who were serving their terms in the ADX. My job was in the laundry, which required me to wash the clothes and put them into a bin for distribution to the people. I saw the name Gaylord on one of the bags. It was an unusual name, and I could tell he was the same person who had begun serving time with me decades before. He had a release date that was before mine. Yet when I encountered his name at the ADX, I was in the minimum-security camp and somehow, authorities assigned him to the nation’s supermax.
Make intentional decisions in prison and you can avoid a fate that can make your term harder.
