I wrote the original draft of this post leaned back deep, feet kicked up on the seat of a train speeding through the Italian countryside from Perugia, Italy into the chic colossus of Rome.
A few days prior, in between sessions at an international journalism festival, I strolled the rustic, winding streets of an Italian hillside village, headphones full of Carl Hancock Rux’s “Me” and ruminating on the idea of self and the roles art and media play in shaping the public conscious.
A little over a week before that I was touring the MIT Media Lab after leaving a conference where some of the most intelligent, passionate people I’ve met were asking hard questions about media justice and community empowerment. I left a little lightheaded from the collective genius and generosity of my community.
I turned 35 earlier this month and I’d been brainstorming ideas for a birthday post. What poignant, personal, socially relevant prose could this old man pen to satisfy a restless muse (and acquire tons of Facebook likes)? #livingonlinemakesyouvain It was on the post MIT Monday, sipping red wine and discussing media and public image that it hit me: Gratitude. Regardless of the occasional craziness and tribulations, I’m in a pretty privileged space, and before I go any further, I need to take a minute to acknowledge that.
I regularly think about the fact that to, my knowledge, I’m the only dude from the block where I grew up who’s not dead, in jail or at most working a 9-5 McJob. I can bring up the names and faces of folks I’ve known through the years that could easily think, write, speak and dream circles around my flighty ass who, because of various circumstances, never got much farther than their own front porches.
Folks where I’m from usually don’t get to where I’m at. And by no means do I mean that I think I’ve done anything with any lasting relevance (yet), but the fact that I’ve had these opportunities isn’t something to take lightly.
I spend most of my time deep inside my own head. And while it usually works out for the best-and tends to justify my position-it can also result in me jumping from project to project, place to place, person to person without taking a moment to reflect and acknowledge those around me.
So for the record: Thank You. Thank you all. And thank you for all of it.
The list is way too long to list but this includes my mom and my mentors, my fam and my friends, the lovers, the haters, the naysayers and the standbesiders-everyone that’s played a part in my life so far. It could have been anything from recommending me for a speaking gig to talking me down from a depressive episode, being cool when a project took longer than expected or giving me directions in a foreign city, helping me workshop a piece of writing or slipping a few bills into my hand during the brokeasfuck poetry years. Whether you’ve known it or not, whether I haven’t seen you years or we just bumped knuckles yesterday- I appreciate all that you’ve done.
“The point where the observation becomes the obligation”
This quote is from a CNN interview with poet and professor MK Asante and it becomes more and more relevant every day. As I move more into spaces where I’m the only (insert underrepresented voice here) in the room I think a lot about obligations, both stated and unstated. For every trip overseas I know 4 stories of someone not being able to pay their rent. For every new consulting contract I get I can name a couple of people I know looking for work. For every cool new media project I start I can think of several populations that probably aren’t going to be served by it. And therein lies both the observation and the obligation.
During a session at last week’s International Journalism Festival, Juliana Rotich co–founder of Ushahidi, said that the job of the writer/journalist was to complicate the collective narrative-to look at the world as it really is, flesh out misconceptions and tell full, true stories. In other words-good writing puts tha paint where it ain’t.
I think this idea can-and should-be extended to every part of our lives. As someone who fits into and crosses over quite a few distinct classifications, I’m usually seeing things from multiple viewpoints. And as I move through spaces I’m becoming increasingly interested in including those multiple viewpoints, complicating those narratives, and fleshing out those stories-on the page, in my creative work, in my consulting and in my personal life.
What I’m talking about doesn’t have much to do with writing blog posts that community members love and forward on social networks, it’s not about writing stories that some organization will deem worthy of an award, and it’s not about spitting game good enough to land another high profile consulting client.
It’s before all that. It’s deeper. It’s about recognizing the space I occupy, being grateful for that position and using the resources and skills I have to tell a different, more honest story. A more nuanced one that represents myself and personal views as well as the glossed over tales of those before me, those in my community and those who put in work to get me where I am.
I’m working on a lot of projects that are almost ready to be introduced to the world-some media related, some arts focused, some personal and some professional-and I’m approaching all of them with a renewed sense of responsibility and purpose that I haven’t felt this strongly in a while. I’m working under the collective encouragement of friends and fam, ancestors and angels and I wanted to take a moment to say that I take that very seriously-no matter how tongue in cheek the delivery might get at times.
Ase to those who’ve helped to get me this far. We’ve got a long, complicated, passionate, beautiful story to tell. Thank you for helping me write the next chapters.
