Two Weeks Notice
So, it's officially been two weeks since I graduated from Morehouse College. A quick compilation of the lessons I've learned thus far in the nascent stages of my post-collegiate journey:
1). Timidity and vague, meek behavior is no one's friend -- you'll never get what you want that way. Puff out your chest, get your mind right, and ask those difficult questions.
2). Yeah, you've got a degree now -- so what? The world is not going to come to you. You want something? You're going to have to put in some hard work and make it happen.
3). The first law of nature, at the end of the day, is self-preservation. For everyone. Never forget that the only person who has your unequivocal best interests in mind is you. So hold fast to it.
4). Nice guys don't always finish last, but they rarely finish first. You teach people how to treat you. If you let people fuck with you, they will.
5). Be a beast at everything you do -- it's the surest way to success. Sure, you'll make mistakes along the way, but they won't be from laziness or apathy.
6). Don't take everything so personally. It's not all about you. In fact, more often than not, its about them (still struggling with this one).
7). You are the master of your fate and the captain of your soul -- creating the world you want to live in is first a mental task.
8). The word "friend" is a very liberal concept -- it need not be.
9). Effective communication will take you far -- and help you keep your sanity.
10). Don't just take a chance -- have a plan.
5/31/09
5/27/09
Day 11
Gainful Employment
Lately, I've been reading Russell Simmon's 2007 release "Do You!: 12 Laws to Access the Power in You to Achieve Happiness and Success". I'm not the biggest fan of self-help literature, but so far I'm impressed with Russell's message. Basically, he argues that in order for one to achieve the success and happiness they desire, both professionally and personally, one need look spiritually & introspectively to discern his/her passion and purpose and work stringently toward realizing them.
The concepts of purpose and passion are two things that have been resonating with me the past few days, thanks to Brother Russell. Considering the current economic forecast, I am fortunate to have found employment right out of undergrad. And I'm not talking about just a job, either -- we're talking employment that boosts my professional cred, is within my discipline, and pays me good money. As a new graduate, I feel very blessed to have come across such great opportunities that will allow me to continually advance me toward my ultimate goal of being a public scholar-servant.
However, after reading pieces of "Do You!", I'm left wondering: Am I following the Universe's will for my life? Am I optimally passionate about my current and proposed future endeavors?
Is this what I'm supposed to be doing?
I love politics. I've always had a lot of respect for the ideal of Western democracy, and I feel like there is no more substantial, effective, meaningful, or resounding way to elicit change and herald ubiquitous justice than through the governmental process. As an underclassman I imagined my professional career looking a lot like that of a Dr. Cornel West or Dr. Michael Eric Dyson -- becoming a fierce public intellectual, a bastion of knowledge and social critique and a harbinger of revolutionary, paradigmatic shift. I would spend my days writing, speaking, and teaching the truth as I saw it -- educating the minds of the next generation and preparing the globe to catalyze and receive the new, more just and loving, world order. I wanted my influence to stretch far and wide, so much so that I could begin to ever-so-slightly mold the world into the gem I know it can be -- that it is.
By most people's standards, I'm on track with my dream -- graduate school is a year off, but still very much in the picture. I'm working my way into the local political scene and even flexing my (macabre) influence. Everything is going according to plan. Or is it?
I can't help but think of the dreams of my past -- those apparitions that used to sustain and inspire me, but now drag the bottom of my mind like dregs in a teacup. As much as I enjoy politics, as important I think government is and as much as I want to change the world through public service, I'm not sure if I'm as passionate about these things as I am about those dreams which I've let fall asunder. I wonder if that, was in fact, my purpose -- and, even though I'm seeking to do good through my current trajectory of professional endeavor, I wonder if I'll ever do as much good or be as fulfilled and happy and successful doing this instead of doing that.
Part of my query is born of fear of the road not traveled -- fear of failure, fear of rejection, fear of self-disappointment -- could I even make my dream work? But most of my query is born of fear from of the road already traversed: How can I be sure of what it is that I'm supposed to do? Isn't now the time that I'm supposed to be making those definitive decisions? Is it too late to pursue that latent passion? Can I do both?
How do I know I'm doing what I'm meant to do?
Lately, I've been reading Russell Simmon's 2007 release "Do You!: 12 Laws to Access the Power in You to Achieve Happiness and Success". I'm not the biggest fan of self-help literature, but so far I'm impressed with Russell's message. Basically, he argues that in order for one to achieve the success and happiness they desire, both professionally and personally, one need look spiritually & introspectively to discern his/her passion and purpose and work stringently toward realizing them.
The concepts of purpose and passion are two things that have been resonating with me the past few days, thanks to Brother Russell. Considering the current economic forecast, I am fortunate to have found employment right out of undergrad. And I'm not talking about just a job, either -- we're talking employment that boosts my professional cred, is within my discipline, and pays me good money. As a new graduate, I feel very blessed to have come across such great opportunities that will allow me to continually advance me toward my ultimate goal of being a public scholar-servant.
However, after reading pieces of "Do You!", I'm left wondering: Am I following the Universe's will for my life? Am I optimally passionate about my current and proposed future endeavors?
Is this what I'm supposed to be doing?
I love politics. I've always had a lot of respect for the ideal of Western democracy, and I feel like there is no more substantial, effective, meaningful, or resounding way to elicit change and herald ubiquitous justice than through the governmental process. As an underclassman I imagined my professional career looking a lot like that of a Dr. Cornel West or Dr. Michael Eric Dyson -- becoming a fierce public intellectual, a bastion of knowledge and social critique and a harbinger of revolutionary, paradigmatic shift. I would spend my days writing, speaking, and teaching the truth as I saw it -- educating the minds of the next generation and preparing the globe to catalyze and receive the new, more just and loving, world order. I wanted my influence to stretch far and wide, so much so that I could begin to ever-so-slightly mold the world into the gem I know it can be -- that it is.
By most people's standards, I'm on track with my dream -- graduate school is a year off, but still very much in the picture. I'm working my way into the local political scene and even flexing my (macabre) influence. Everything is going according to plan. Or is it?
I can't help but think of the dreams of my past -- those apparitions that used to sustain and inspire me, but now drag the bottom of my mind like dregs in a teacup. As much as I enjoy politics, as important I think government is and as much as I want to change the world through public service, I'm not sure if I'm as passionate about these things as I am about those dreams which I've let fall asunder. I wonder if that, was in fact, my purpose -- and, even though I'm seeking to do good through my current trajectory of professional endeavor, I wonder if I'll ever do as much good or be as fulfilled and happy and successful doing this instead of doing that.
Part of my query is born of fear of the road not traveled -- fear of failure, fear of rejection, fear of self-disappointment -- could I even make my dream work? But most of my query is born of fear from of the road already traversed: How can I be sure of what it is that I'm supposed to do? Isn't now the time that I'm supposed to be making those definitive decisions? Is it too late to pursue that latent passion? Can I do both?
How do I know I'm doing what I'm meant to do?
5/24/09
Day 7
"I Ain't Got It, Man...": Poverty, Justice, and Bootstraps Theory
For those of you who've been privileged enough to visit my residence, you would know that I live in a -- what we'll call "colorful" -- neighborhood. Just seconds walking distance from my beloved alma mater, my block is a regular motley crew, with ornaments of gunshots that pepper the night air's melody and a parade of female & transgender prostitutes who run their open-air ass market day and night.
All this withstanding, I'm actually quite the fan of my neighborhood -- save the occasional attempted break-in (propagated by punk kinds who don't live in my 'hood, to be fair...), I enjoy the dichotomous convalescence of class/profession/life experience that, ironically, unites us. I'm even friendly with a few of the regular "working gals" -- we trade stories and generally keep a look-out after one another and the neighborhood -- after all, it may not be much, but its OURS. And maybe it's a false sense of security, but I actually feel safe in my neighborhood -- smack dab in the middle of the ghetto.
The one condition of the impoverished experience that brings me the most annoyance (and, conversely, cause for self-reflection) is another element of my neighborhood and germane character of the cast: the vagrant. Don't get me wrong: Atlanta is full of 'em, and five years in the Big Peach has desensitized me to most forms of beggary -- men, women, disabled, even children (sadly). But there's another relationship to vagrancy that manifests when it congregates on your corners, walks your sidewalks, lives on your block, and rears itself every time you come home -- hell, it rings your doorbell and makes a pitch! I'm not arguing for or against the morality or social context of these person's economic condition/enterprise -- moreso, I seek to make a point:
"If we both live in the 'hood, why do you think I got it?!"
Until a week ago, I was a normal struggling college student -- now, I'm a struggling college graduate trying to budget my present expenses for my future expenses by my past expenses. I am in only a slightly better (and even that pronouncement is presumptuous, seeing as some of them are, technically, self-employed) fiscal situation than the one they occupy -- perhaps what they don't have in capital I make up for in student debt. Even still, I probably wouldn't abhor this phenomenon so...abhorrently, if it wasn't such a frequent occurrence. No joke, there are a few "regulars" who live near me that ask me for change every time they see me -- others still who come and knock on my door up to four times a week to request money for some ridiculous task (seriously, you need $2 to ride MARTA...at 1am? MARTA ain't thinking about you). Even still, that's not my biggest challenge, either.
As a conscious progressive and public servant who understands the societal oppressions that create such disenfranchised circumstances, I sit on a very interesting and conflicting proverbial fence. On the one hand, I sympathize with these "children of a lesser God", knowing that it is the same force that socially stymies them that has, more or less, allowed me to flourish. Call it liberal guilt, call it true racial empathy, but I feel like I'm at least partially party to their depressed situation. However, I simultaneously despise the contentment and complacency within which I feel these people operate -- I hate to admit it, but part of me thinks that perhaps their circumstances could be different if they just...you know...TRIED to change them. Are their only options for substantive employment and fulfillment relegated to the underpinnings of the social strata?
In the end, I feel like it is most probably a combination (perhaps not an equitable one, but a combination nonetheless) that creates the unique situation of our resident beggars and contributes to the unique character of my neighborhood. I'm still not sure how I feel about it, one way or the other. And maybe there's another piece to this that I'm missing completely -- one that explains way more about why things are the way they are than race theorists and social commentators can muster. Honestly, I'm more interested in discerning my responsibility to these persons, who for better or worse are still my geographic and human neighbor, and to the plight itself. How much am I warranted to give to fight this particular oppression? To the last corner of my pockets? And if I don't but give in other ways, what is the true integrity of my advocacy and progressive ideology?
As a new college graduate, how has my accountability to the community changed?
I don't have the answers. But until I find them, I guess I'll just keep some quarters handy...if I got 'em to spare.
For those of you who've been privileged enough to visit my residence, you would know that I live in a -- what we'll call "colorful" -- neighborhood. Just seconds walking distance from my beloved alma mater, my block is a regular motley crew, with ornaments of gunshots that pepper the night air's melody and a parade of female & transgender prostitutes who run their open-air ass market day and night.
All this withstanding, I'm actually quite the fan of my neighborhood -- save the occasional attempted break-in (propagated by punk kinds who don't live in my 'hood, to be fair...), I enjoy the dichotomous convalescence of class/profession/life experience that, ironically, unites us. I'm even friendly with a few of the regular "working gals" -- we trade stories and generally keep a look-out after one another and the neighborhood -- after all, it may not be much, but its OURS. And maybe it's a false sense of security, but I actually feel safe in my neighborhood -- smack dab in the middle of the ghetto.
The one condition of the impoverished experience that brings me the most annoyance (and, conversely, cause for self-reflection) is another element of my neighborhood and germane character of the cast: the vagrant. Don't get me wrong: Atlanta is full of 'em, and five years in the Big Peach has desensitized me to most forms of beggary -- men, women, disabled, even children (sadly). But there's another relationship to vagrancy that manifests when it congregates on your corners, walks your sidewalks, lives on your block, and rears itself every time you come home -- hell, it rings your doorbell and makes a pitch! I'm not arguing for or against the morality or social context of these person's economic condition/enterprise -- moreso, I seek to make a point:
"If we both live in the 'hood, why do you think I got it?!"
Until a week ago, I was a normal struggling college student -- now, I'm a struggling college graduate trying to budget my present expenses for my future expenses by my past expenses. I am in only a slightly better (and even that pronouncement is presumptuous, seeing as some of them are, technically, self-employed) fiscal situation than the one they occupy -- perhaps what they don't have in capital I make up for in student debt. Even still, I probably wouldn't abhor this phenomenon so...abhorrently, if it wasn't such a frequent occurrence. No joke, there are a few "regulars" who live near me that ask me for change every time they see me -- others still who come and knock on my door up to four times a week to request money for some ridiculous task (seriously, you need $2 to ride MARTA...at 1am? MARTA ain't thinking about you). Even still, that's not my biggest challenge, either.
As a conscious progressive and public servant who understands the societal oppressions that create such disenfranchised circumstances, I sit on a very interesting and conflicting proverbial fence. On the one hand, I sympathize with these "children of a lesser God", knowing that it is the same force that socially stymies them that has, more or less, allowed me to flourish. Call it liberal guilt, call it true racial empathy, but I feel like I'm at least partially party to their depressed situation. However, I simultaneously despise the contentment and complacency within which I feel these people operate -- I hate to admit it, but part of me thinks that perhaps their circumstances could be different if they just...you know...TRIED to change them. Are their only options for substantive employment and fulfillment relegated to the underpinnings of the social strata?
In the end, I feel like it is most probably a combination (perhaps not an equitable one, but a combination nonetheless) that creates the unique situation of our resident beggars and contributes to the unique character of my neighborhood. I'm still not sure how I feel about it, one way or the other. And maybe there's another piece to this that I'm missing completely -- one that explains way more about why things are the way they are than race theorists and social commentators can muster. Honestly, I'm more interested in discerning my responsibility to these persons, who for better or worse are still my geographic and human neighbor, and to the plight itself. How much am I warranted to give to fight this particular oppression? To the last corner of my pockets? And if I don't but give in other ways, what is the true integrity of my advocacy and progressive ideology?
As a new college graduate, how has my accountability to the community changed?
I don't have the answers. But until I find them, I guess I'll just keep some quarters handy...if I got 'em to spare.
5/21/09
Day 5
There's No Business Like Show Business...and Politics
...everything about it is appealing. Particularly in Atlanta.
I remember one of my best friends telling my about a dream they had a while back: in the dream, he was looking out on to an expanse of all of the promise of his wildest fantasies -- every goal, every wish. As he looked out over the horizon of achievable possibility, he heard a voice. The voice said to him: "I will give you all of this that you see here -- everything you've ever wanted and more."
"What are you going to do with it?"
Five days out of undergrad and I'm well on my way to forging a professional life for myself. And I find myself in a similar situation.
Throughout my senior year, I was working part-time for a state representative as her aide during the 2009 session of the Georgia General Assembly. That gig has led to a "promotion" as her new Chief-of-Staff through next year's legislative session. From that opportunity I've also been extended an offer to work as finance director on a city-wide city council campaign and am quite possibly on my way toward getting hired on one of the local mayoral campaigns. AND I'm slated to start working part-time for a national school choice organization helping them plan their fall conference.
Point: I'm exactly where I want to be, with the tools and faculty to get where I want to go.
However, it would be disingenuous for me to pretend as if it's all clear skies. I mean, can I handle all of this? Do I really have the skills? Am I worth what I say am I? Can I make it in politics?
If nothing else, this past week has given me a mini-crash course in what it takes to make it in this town. Some quick lessons I've learned:
Lesson #1: Never commit until you've thoroughly considered all of your options.
I found myself in an almost-pickle when I committed to working on one campaign (out of sheer thrill that somebody actually wanted to hire me) right before another desirable opportunity came along. I'm still not sure if the latter is going to materialize like I want it to, but at least my options are open so that whatever comes along and whatever I want to do -- I have the freedom to do it.
Lesson #2: You are only as good as your actions.
Certainly we all know (or should know) that a person's integrity is the cornerstone of his/her/their character. What I've come to realize is that your worth is only as worthy what you do -- not what you say. This week I've found myself in a few situations in which I've mildly had to "show and prove". Sometimes I excelled, and maybe a few of those times I fell short. However, as I move forward I know one things is for sure: talk, in this industry, is cheap -- the only things that are important are what you know and what you can do.
Lesson #3: Be Prepared. Always be prepared.
Former Boy Scouts have a heads-up on this one. I've certainly learned the value of being bold this week. The meek and feeble get chewed up and spit out in politics -- if you want something, you've got to be gutsy and go for it, whatever it is. In the words of Jamal Simmons, the only ones without scrapes and bruises are those sitting on the sidelines. The upshot: you've got to know your stuff. When you move, you have to know where you're going, how to get there, and why getting there is important. Otherwise, you'll get lost.
From these lessons (and the bounty I'm sure to learn), I can confidently say that I know what I'm going to do with all that is given to me, and that I'll eventually find out how to get there. But I can't help but wonder:
Do I really have what it takes?
...everything about it is appealing. Particularly in Atlanta.
I remember one of my best friends telling my about a dream they had a while back: in the dream, he was looking out on to an expanse of all of the promise of his wildest fantasies -- every goal, every wish. As he looked out over the horizon of achievable possibility, he heard a voice. The voice said to him: "I will give you all of this that you see here -- everything you've ever wanted and more."
"What are you going to do with it?"
Five days out of undergrad and I'm well on my way to forging a professional life for myself. And I find myself in a similar situation.
Throughout my senior year, I was working part-time for a state representative as her aide during the 2009 session of the Georgia General Assembly. That gig has led to a "promotion" as her new Chief-of-Staff through next year's legislative session. From that opportunity I've also been extended an offer to work as finance director on a city-wide city council campaign and am quite possibly on my way toward getting hired on one of the local mayoral campaigns. AND I'm slated to start working part-time for a national school choice organization helping them plan their fall conference.
Point: I'm exactly where I want to be, with the tools and faculty to get where I want to go.
However, it would be disingenuous for me to pretend as if it's all clear skies. I mean, can I handle all of this? Do I really have the skills? Am I worth what I say am I? Can I make it in politics?
If nothing else, this past week has given me a mini-crash course in what it takes to make it in this town. Some quick lessons I've learned:
Lesson #1: Never commit until you've thoroughly considered all of your options.
I found myself in an almost-pickle when I committed to working on one campaign (out of sheer thrill that somebody actually wanted to hire me) right before another desirable opportunity came along. I'm still not sure if the latter is going to materialize like I want it to, but at least my options are open so that whatever comes along and whatever I want to do -- I have the freedom to do it.
Lesson #2: You are only as good as your actions.
Certainly we all know (or should know) that a person's integrity is the cornerstone of his/her/their character. What I've come to realize is that your worth is only as worthy what you do -- not what you say. This week I've found myself in a few situations in which I've mildly had to "show and prove". Sometimes I excelled, and maybe a few of those times I fell short. However, as I move forward I know one things is for sure: talk, in this industry, is cheap -- the only things that are important are what you know and what you can do.
Lesson #3: Be Prepared. Always be prepared.
Former Boy Scouts have a heads-up on this one. I've certainly learned the value of being bold this week. The meek and feeble get chewed up and spit out in politics -- if you want something, you've got to be gutsy and go for it, whatever it is. In the words of Jamal Simmons, the only ones without scrapes and bruises are those sitting on the sidelines. The upshot: you've got to know your stuff. When you move, you have to know where you're going, how to get there, and why getting there is important. Otherwise, you'll get lost.
From these lessons (and the bounty I'm sure to learn), I can confidently say that I know what I'm going to do with all that is given to me, and that I'll eventually find out how to get there. But I can't help but wonder:
Do I really have what it takes?
5/19/09
Day 2
Spring Cleaning
One of the unfortunate side effects of celebrating your 23rd birthday and college graduation in the same weekend is that your room -- scratch that, your house -- turns into a shitty abyss of mess and trash that would piss of Merry Maids.
So is the current state of my residence: bestrewn with random articles of clothing that God herself couldn't discern between clean and dirty -- littered with the oddest assortment of knick-knacks that, when placed properly, add life and character to the atmosphere, but in their current positions are just shit hiding my carpet, which looks as if it has been on the streets for weeks begging ambivalent pedestrians for change.
Yes, it's time to clean.
It's funny how one's emotion, thought, spirit -- that metaphysical essence that defines oneself -- manifests in the material world that one occupies. Take me for example. Even though I've got a degree and a (loose) plan for what I want to do with my life, right now I'm totally lost in a sea of doubt and confusion. Should I pursue Option A or Option B? And what about Options C & D? And what about rent? Should I move? How? How am I going to accomplish all of this? My life is filled with a mess of questions -- and my room is just filled with a mess.
The good news is that I do have a life vest -- I know where it is I want to go, what it is that I want to do. My problem is that I'm not quite sure of the best way to get there -- or that I can even take advantage of certain avenues leading to my destination. And in the meantime, a brother got bills...
Honestly, I'm not too worried -- I mean, something has to open up for me, right? I'm a firm believer that the Universe will take care of those who position themselves to receive and optimize opportunity. I think that I've taken (or am taking) good care of the latter, so its just a matter of time before I receive the former. Or am I?
Hence, the spring cleaning. I think it's time that I dedicate myself fully to posturing my life for opportunity and blessing. Not in an empty, cliche way -- I'm talking about truly becoming the change in my circumstance that I wish to see. If I'm going to get the kind of job I want without settling because I need the money -- If I'm going to do the kind of work I want to do and make the kind of money I want to make doing it -- If I'm going to be the beast I know I am: I've got to work for it. And it starts with cleansing myself not only of the distracting debris and clutter that shields my aspirations, but polishing my plan and really making it shine -- that way, I know how to work it and what to do when it works.
So, looks like I've got some cleaning to do.
But my room can wait.
One of the unfortunate side effects of celebrating your 23rd birthday and college graduation in the same weekend is that your room -- scratch that, your house -- turns into a shitty abyss of mess and trash that would piss of Merry Maids.
So is the current state of my residence: bestrewn with random articles of clothing that God herself couldn't discern between clean and dirty -- littered with the oddest assortment of knick-knacks that, when placed properly, add life and character to the atmosphere, but in their current positions are just shit hiding my carpet, which looks as if it has been on the streets for weeks begging ambivalent pedestrians for change.
Yes, it's time to clean.
It's funny how one's emotion, thought, spirit -- that metaphysical essence that defines oneself -- manifests in the material world that one occupies. Take me for example. Even though I've got a degree and a (loose) plan for what I want to do with my life, right now I'm totally lost in a sea of doubt and confusion. Should I pursue Option A or Option B? And what about Options C & D? And what about rent? Should I move? How? How am I going to accomplish all of this? My life is filled with a mess of questions -- and my room is just filled with a mess.
The good news is that I do have a life vest -- I know where it is I want to go, what it is that I want to do. My problem is that I'm not quite sure of the best way to get there -- or that I can even take advantage of certain avenues leading to my destination. And in the meantime, a brother got bills...
Honestly, I'm not too worried -- I mean, something has to open up for me, right? I'm a firm believer that the Universe will take care of those who position themselves to receive and optimize opportunity. I think that I've taken (or am taking) good care of the latter, so its just a matter of time before I receive the former. Or am I?
Hence, the spring cleaning. I think it's time that I dedicate myself fully to posturing my life for opportunity and blessing. Not in an empty, cliche way -- I'm talking about truly becoming the change in my circumstance that I wish to see. If I'm going to get the kind of job I want without settling because I need the money -- If I'm going to do the kind of work I want to do and make the kind of money I want to make doing it -- If I'm going to be the beast I know I am: I've got to work for it. And it starts with cleansing myself not only of the distracting debris and clutter that shields my aspirations, but polishing my plan and really making it shine -- that way, I know how to work it and what to do when it works.
So, looks like I've got some cleaning to do.
But my room can wait.
5/18/09
Day 1
It's over.
It's been more than 24 hours since I received my degree from Morehouse College. Commencement has commenced -- and ended. The family has come and gone, the degree has been conferred. Five years of delayed gratification has culminated in one poignant and exhilarating ultimate. And as I sit here, champagne in one hand and a tear-stained cheek in the other, it’s all I can think:
It's over.
College is over.
Morehouse is over.
The late nights laughing it up with roommates when I should have been studying. Conversations & debates with brothers at the Brown Street polis. Drunken nights at football games, house parties…well, drunken nights. Fried Chicken Wednesday. Miss Maroon & White. SGA Spring Elections. Hump Wednesday. Jazzman’s.
Most everything that’s mattered to me for the last five years –
It’s over.
Graduation was nothing less than a celebration for me – no tears, few frowns, and mostly smiles. I was happy that I had finally finished, and even happier that I am now finally able to start the next grand phase of my life’s journey. Now, just a little over a day after I’ve graduated from my alma mater, I am hit with a rush of sorrow and nostalgic sentiment. Not only am I no longer a Morehouse College student, but I will never be a student at Morehouse again. Ever. And while there’s definitely a hint of the recognition of passing time and my own mortality that are informing my present state of mind, what’s making me the most upset – by far – is the emerging realization that my undergraduate years, undoubtedly the best years of my life, are forever gone with little hope of being accurately mimicked – the Morehouse experience is too authentic and unique to be imitated or mocked by any other entity.
As a good friend recently put it, “Morehouse, for better and surely for worse, is home.” I’ve taken my last walk through campus as a Man of Morehouse, with brothers with whom I’ve matriculated that I will very probably never see or hear from again. And now…now I am charged to leave home and pave my own way – a trailblazing path of excellence for myself that my brothers behind me can maximize and the world can optimize.
All I want to do is crawl back in my bed in 305 Brazeal and wait for my chance to experience the magic all over again. But while I realize that I’ll always have the Mystique, I also understand that Morehouse now belongs to the new breed. Certainly, if home is where the heart is, then my residence will always lay at 830 Westview Drive, SW.
With all of its flaws, promise, challenges, growth, fuck-ups and triumphs, I love and will always love Morehouse College. For everything it is. For everything it has made me. The last five years of my life – complete with pain, struggle, joy and victory – have been beyond great. I feel blessed and privileged to have experienced the people I’ve meet, the friends I’ve love, the memories I’ve made and the lessons I’ve learned in this short time. And now…
It’s over.
It’s sad, scary even – to be on the cusp of great change. But I recognize it too as good and necessary. Sure, without change there’s no heartache – but there’s no progress, either. And Morehouse Men are neither stagnant nor mediocre.
So, I’m going to wipe the tears of sorrow from my face and instead raise my chalice in toast to Dear Old Morehouse – my first love, whom I’ll always remember and have a fond place in my heart for. Thank you for making me steadfast, honest, and true. I will never forget your wisdom, your guidance, your legacy or your beauty...
I will never forget I am a Morehouse Man. I’m very much looking forward to the next time I come home to visit my mother and brothers.
It’s over – but the journey has just begun.
It's been more than 24 hours since I received my degree from Morehouse College. Commencement has commenced -- and ended. The family has come and gone, the degree has been conferred. Five years of delayed gratification has culminated in one poignant and exhilarating ultimate. And as I sit here, champagne in one hand and a tear-stained cheek in the other, it’s all I can think:
It's over.
College is over.
Morehouse is over.
The late nights laughing it up with roommates when I should have been studying. Conversations & debates with brothers at the Brown Street polis. Drunken nights at football games, house parties…well, drunken nights. Fried Chicken Wednesday. Miss Maroon & White. SGA Spring Elections. Hump Wednesday. Jazzman’s.
Most everything that’s mattered to me for the last five years –
It’s over.
Graduation was nothing less than a celebration for me – no tears, few frowns, and mostly smiles. I was happy that I had finally finished, and even happier that I am now finally able to start the next grand phase of my life’s journey. Now, just a little over a day after I’ve graduated from my alma mater, I am hit with a rush of sorrow and nostalgic sentiment. Not only am I no longer a Morehouse College student, but I will never be a student at Morehouse again. Ever. And while there’s definitely a hint of the recognition of passing time and my own mortality that are informing my present state of mind, what’s making me the most upset – by far – is the emerging realization that my undergraduate years, undoubtedly the best years of my life, are forever gone with little hope of being accurately mimicked – the Morehouse experience is too authentic and unique to be imitated or mocked by any other entity.
As a good friend recently put it, “Morehouse, for better and surely for worse, is home.” I’ve taken my last walk through campus as a Man of Morehouse, with brothers with whom I’ve matriculated that I will very probably never see or hear from again. And now…now I am charged to leave home and pave my own way – a trailblazing path of excellence for myself that my brothers behind me can maximize and the world can optimize.
All I want to do is crawl back in my bed in 305 Brazeal and wait for my chance to experience the magic all over again. But while I realize that I’ll always have the Mystique, I also understand that Morehouse now belongs to the new breed. Certainly, if home is where the heart is, then my residence will always lay at 830 Westview Drive, SW.
With all of its flaws, promise, challenges, growth, fuck-ups and triumphs, I love and will always love Morehouse College. For everything it is. For everything it has made me. The last five years of my life – complete with pain, struggle, joy and victory – have been beyond great. I feel blessed and privileged to have experienced the people I’ve meet, the friends I’ve love, the memories I’ve made and the lessons I’ve learned in this short time. And now…
It’s over.
It’s sad, scary even – to be on the cusp of great change. But I recognize it too as good and necessary. Sure, without change there’s no heartache – but there’s no progress, either. And Morehouse Men are neither stagnant nor mediocre.
So, I’m going to wipe the tears of sorrow from my face and instead raise my chalice in toast to Dear Old Morehouse – my first love, whom I’ll always remember and have a fond place in my heart for. Thank you for making me steadfast, honest, and true. I will never forget your wisdom, your guidance, your legacy or your beauty...
I will never forget I am a Morehouse Man. I’m very much looking forward to the next time I come home to visit my mother and brothers.
It’s over – but the journey has just begun.
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