It’s March 5th, 2022. I’m sitting on a 737, some giant metal canister ripping through the air listening to Tee Grizzley. This giant metal box will drop me off at a place where confederate pride and hipsters run rampant. 30 minutes left to my destination.
The metro of Richmond, Virginia.
It is a place I’ve become indifferent too but always neared nostalgia to me. It’s where I spent from ages of about 4 years old to 14 running around in my off-brand Iversons and where I explored on a variety of bikes and scooters. If I had to pick a “hometown” (I lived in almost two dozen cities and lived in 4 different cities in my childhood), Richmond would be the one. Stylized with a giant red cardinal on my rib cage, to make it official,
Even after I turned 18 and had a choice to stay or leave, I always chose to leave. I know my family and I always had our differences but I always had hoped they didn’t hate me for leaving. Over and over again. Additionally I feel nauseated thinking about it because I didn’t have their feelings in mind, at all. And I knows what I was searching for, I was searching for the experience. I just wanted to feel the way I know I could feel but have never felt before.
20 minutes left until we touch down to John Tyler’s house.
My own community, my own foundation that I chose. It’s not that I don’t value my parents impact on me, thats the paradox; I value it the most! But I know what I needed to grow and reach my fullest potential was to push myself and find a tribe that believed in me. My parents (after uncomfortable conversations) took time to support and love me even as an adult. But I’m their child, and I shrink back into that role a lot around them. And for someone who didn’t swing their arms when they walked and wet the bed until they were 14, it may be a little nerve racking at time.
My family and their family’s showed me how cool it was to have a tribe and build with one another. I loved going to reunions and being with my cousins and aunties and uncles and whoever. But they only hung out with me because their parents made them. Prime example: most never talk to me, even when I hosted our whole family reunion. It reminded we are cordial but they’re not in my ear , holding me accountable, calling and checking in with me. And they don’t have too.
I love them dearly. Oh wait 10 minutes left, let me call Wayne Sr. to pick me up (I would never call my dad by his name). But what am I going to do if I can’t build this thing , apart from The Whiting’s or Crawley’s or Richardson’s or whoever. They’re all in Virginia. I’m in freggin’ Texas. Even the fun fact of me having no Hispanic friends growing up until I turned 26 (now almost all of my friends are Hispanic) shows growth right? Terrible example, I know.
But if I don’t reach my full potential , especially after watching Rock Lee fight Gaara or watching Kanye West’s documentary or reading David Goggins then they’ll be the biggest regret and I’ll die a failure. That is my fear. And that’s not going to happen.
Believe it,
Also why do people clap after a flight is done or get up when the planes land? The door isn’t even open. Okay, I’m out!
