Getting Through It: A Postcard From The South

the work of slowing down

if you’re reading this, I am now a resident of the South. I won’t say where because the internet gets weirder and weirder it seems; however, I really do love it thus far.

except these damn bugs. God, what’s good?!

that aside, there is one other thing that I am having a hard time adjusting to…

…the work it takes to slow down.

so much of my life has been a beautiful symphony of striving.

i’ve only known passion through the lens of perseverance and hustle.

what do I really enjoy when the need to be successful is not intertwined with my very survival?

I love writing. I love bringing Black women creatives together. I love capturing beautiful things and moments. I love storytelling. I love character building. I inspiring vulnerability in others through my willingness to share my own experiences.

but love isn’t passion. though they are often confused for one another. passion is uncontrollable. love is bestowed.

i’ve been left questioning what my passion is these days.

i’m not as sure as I once was.

this could be the long travel, packing and unpacking talking but I have a vested interest in doing nothing at all right now. what if…I just…waited it out?

will the world, my world, keep spinning?

where will I derive my sense of self from?

the other night, I thought about a tattoo I have that reads “legends never die,”

for a very long time, everything i’ve done has been about this idea of never being forgotten. to create something(s) that outlives me. aching to etch myself into the fabric of a future that i, maybe, wasn’t sure I’d see firsthand.

please remember me. “promise that you will sing about me.” i was here.

I thought about how that desire is at the heart of a lot of the things we all create from reels to films…the proverbial breadcrumbs we leave as a trail back to ourselves.

do you see me?

where social media is a veneer, art has been a stethoscope.

i’ve tapped on the keyboard to the beat of my own heart hoping to make sense of what’s in my mind.

and you’ve heard me. you’ve all trusted me.

in the now.

so, maybe, the hyper-fixation on what comes after has hindered my ability to appreciate, what I think, I’ve been able to do already.

more to come? surely.

enough to already have left my mark? ahhh, “promise that you will sing about me.”

but either way, thank you all for extending some of your focus to me and these little proofs of life i’ve buried in my work like time capsules.

until passion finds me again, may love keep me afloat.

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have any of you relocated to the South? if so, how’d you adjust?

my artists who no longer create for survival, other than loving what you do, how do you stay motivated?