Oh how I used to love writing.

Well let me back track for a minute. When I was little, maybe eight or nine I had dreams of becoming very rich, like any kid does. I would walk around bragging that I was a genius and that I was so smart and that I could remember everything if somebody put some information in front of me. From first to third grade, the only people that knew me school wise were in my class. When I switched schools in fourth grade, everybody knew me, mainly because I wore Jordan’s and rhymed Eminem’s “My Name Is” like a madman (curses and all). I thought I was cool because I was friends with most of the people in the choir (everybody who was anybody at Edgar Glover was in the choir) and that I was given the honor to deliver the class announcement at our elementary graduation ceremony was just the biggest thing in the world.

Yes, I had glasses still and my head was big for my body (still is probably) and I was still a shade less than 5’1” but I still had a big voice and could talk with the best of them. It was also my fifth grade year when we did Annie for a musical and I was Bert Healey (which would lead to numerous plays throughout my middle school and high school careers) but then I thought I was cool. I thought in elementary school that I had reached the social apex.

But no, that went to taller people that played sports (and were funnier and looked better and so on – basically I was cool for short people).

But I still had my dreams of being a big investment banker and working on Wall Street and going to Harvard and getting married in the Harvard Church to the finest black girl that went to Harvard. When I was little I dreamed big – about everything. That I would be rich around 21 and be married at 25 and have kids around 27 and then retire around forty and spend the rest of my life walking the Earth like Caine in Kung Fu. I would go to insane places like Japan on a weekly basis and people would call me for advice about how their lives were going and how could they get like me. And I would be friends with everybody even if I did have to pull some shady things to keep the family together.

I wasn’t a realist then. Not like I’m becoming today but more on that later.

Sometime in the year 2002 or 03, whenever I decided that being an investment banker was not the ideal career move that I picked up a magazine and decided that I was one day going to write for VIBE Magazine and travel the world interviewing the likes of Alicia Keys and Beyonce and somehow let them read some of my goofy ass poetry that sometimes got real deep and then maybe it would drop down into more than just an interview and somehow, someway in some strange trip to Paris I would snag one of them. Well, I moved on towards snagging Alicia Keys since she developed to be way more beautiful than Beyonce in my eyes.

I had everything mapped out for how it was going to go. I would join the newspaper staff at Marshall and then would move on to UH and stay on their staff for a few years and then boom, I would own a blog and write some interesting shit that everybody and their hip-hop crazy brother would read and then I would get shouted out on albums for giving my favorite artists favorable reviews and they would make me famous because I thought highly of the 68 minute CD they put out praising and dissing women but also calling for a change as well as making some music that got you laid and got you amped up about something at the club.*

Unfortunately, spending two years in college has really killed that buzz for me. English was my favorite subject after History because I was allowed to freely write whatever came to my head. Maybe it was the teachers I was asked to pick from but hardly any of them asked me to write something that I felt was deeply personal and something I could sink my teeth into. No, I had to write about the classics and Shakespeare and how everything tied together and a lot of nonsensical bullshit they have force fed to us.

Which brings me to my current career aspiration: music and the life of a radio personality.

I’ve been surrounded by music since I was three, old enough to realize that I shouldn’t touch my father’s records (yes, vinyls baby!) and when I did finally start listening to music my first ever cassette tape was 2Pac’s Me Against the World. I was eight, didn’t know any better and listened to it over and over. After that, I was hooked on music and when the calling came to just burn CDs for a side hustle in middle school and high school, it was all I could do. All I wanted to do was get up early in the morning, burn two or three CDs, make maybe ten, fifteen dollars in a day and call it a wrap. Then I started writing more and had the short lived dream of becoming a decent spoken word poet (don’t get me wrong, I can still spit a mean sixteen) but the music was still there. I had a slight passion for making beats in my freshman year of college when I lived on campus but then my roommate didn’t come back sophomore year and it was a grip to get DJ equipment.

Because that was my job for the rest of my life, I wanted to get on turntables and mix and match and keep a party going until 2 AM or whenever close. And I would come up with some witty comments to girls or women and get them to buy me drinks and tell them I would make them a mix CD one day and then click from there. I mean, it wasn’t the most glamorous lifestyle choice but shit, it was fun to me. It was a job I would personally enjoy and do for the hell of it just because I wanted it so bad.

Maybe I could still write for VIBE one day and still be known as a DJ and some shit talking radio host that clowns your favorite rapper and says some hot lines here and there to get everybody on my side and then finally get an offer from BET but turn it down because its straight coonery involved – but that’s maybe.

But like all dreams deferred, you wonder – will it dry up or will it ever explode?

*at least that dream is still being worked on.