I grew up in a suburb of Columbus, Ohio called Groveport where I attended small, predominantly white, private, Christian schools. (As a result, I know a ton about the Bible and the Early Church.) My older brother, Colin, and I were usually the only black kids in every room we entered. I spent my young life trying to be him in every way I could. He gifted me with a love for Incubus, English football and any Nintendo 64 game you can imagine. We watched both of my parents earn their master’s degrees and work tirelessly to provide us with an extraordinarily comfortable life.
I graduated high school about six months early and left for the University of Kentucky while all of my friends were enjoying their senior year. My parents divorced after my first semester and I decided to not return. I left some amazing souls in Lexington that I connected with so beautifully. They have all married each other (seriously) and moved across the country. I often wonder how my life would be different if I had gone back. I’m thankful for social media which allows me to keep a gentle thread around that period of my life that I’m afraid I let go of far too quickly.
I’ve worked every job you can imagine. I’ve sold cell phones, bras, panties, weld-fume extraction equipment, served food to the elderly, hostessed a restaurant, managed the old ladies that pass out samples at the grocery store and much, much more. No matter what job I held or what stage of life I was in, I have always written. Blogs, journals, plays, letters, short-stories, songs, poetry. I have always written. I have always been a writer.
Last year, I realized that I could take the one thing that has always been central to who I am and make a living out of it. And I will never look back. Everything I do, now, is to feed the writer within myself and the writer within someone else.
I promise to give you something to react to. Always.