That moment you realize some of your friends are slowly becoming a thing you despise. In this case, greedy capitalist. It doesn't surprise me one bit. After all, greed is good. Especially in the black community, which can scarcely be called community frankly. (Disclaimer: This blog isn't on some pro black shit, or 'fuck them otha' niggas' shit, I'm just remarking on something I've observed over a stretch of time). How many of us work 12, 14, 18 hour days making money for some super rich asshole in the hope of one day becoming a super rich asshole, or at least a moderately rich asshole? How many of us have aspirations of becoming the next Bill Gates, or Jay Z or whoever the hell, and break our face and put on errs just so friends and family can tout us as such?...How many of us go to college or grad school, or pursue a career and life under the pressure of being 'the smart one', 'the talented one', 'the one that made it out' or 'never got in trouble?' That isn’t to say such accomplishments should be downplayed, dismissed or otherwise unappreciated.
Truth be told I am slightly afraid success. I was afraid of it academically, when it seemed the only thing my family had to say whenever they saw me was "When ya graduratin'", "You got a degree cuz, you can make dat money nah!" or something equally presumptuous. And I was afraid of it financially, with prosperity often breeding jealousy and with leeches coming out of the woodwork. I wouldn’t know who I could trust, especially among family. In their defense they were genuinely happy for me and my accomplishments, but I couldn't help feeling like little more than a circus monkey. A well-trained animal attraction that my parents wanted to parade about and brag on, saying all these wonderful things in public, and then telling me how stupid and lazy they thought I was behind closed doors.
It didn't help when my mother would make declaratives or requests in the form of inane questions, in that way southern black women have: "Don't you wanna take care of mommy when you start makin' money?" Money again. That's what it was all about after all. A job, a car, a house, wife, kids, and keeping the man off your back. All that good shit...forget doing what you love, no money in that. Forget the anxiety that walks hand in hand with the excitement of graduation (not too many of my people been to school, so I can’t blame them for not knowing what that’s like), forget the depression that starts to creep up, knowing this will be the last time you and some of the best friends you've ever had will be in the same room together...you 'bout go get that guap. Don't even trip about them student loans, you gon' be stackin' that bread. Just go get a piece of paper, get ready to devote your life to greed (yours or someone else's), and oh, try to ignore that the Bush administration wrecked the economy something fierce and there are very few dignified jobs left. Plus you live in the bible belt and you were born to a family of reprobates and jesus-freaks that hold on to their ignorance like Whitney when she's down to her last crack rock. So no mom, couldn't have taken care you.
Ok, back from that detour (this rant is turning out longer than I expected). I've never been real keen on money for money's sake. It's a tool, a resource meant to make life a little bit easier. You want food, or a place to stay, quid pro quo. Simple as that. That's all a job ever was to me when I was a kid, my parents left home, did whatever for about 8 or 9 hours respectively, and came back home, got paid friday. It seemed simple enough until I started college. As an undergrad in the early 2000s I was bombarded with all this blather about resumes and networking and marketing yourself. There was something very...impersonal about the whole process I guess. This was the beginning of what would become YEARS of cognitive dissonance in regards to seeking employment. Making myself presentable and sweating bullets, wondering if I said or did the wrong thing...this shit was like dating!
It took me very long time to reconcile with my parents invectives, to come to the realization that I was not lazy, I simply knew what I wanted. I didn't want a 9 to 5 that would consume my day, my life, my spirit. Punch in, do what I'm told, get ready to punch out, get dragged back for 5 more hours, punch out, go home, sleep for 4 hours and repeat. For what? To pay for an apartment I barely spend any time in? To live off processed foods and coffee 7 days a week? Being business minded, clean cut and coloring inside the lines has its upside, but me, I was and I AM just a guy who likes to draw and all I’ve wanted was to make my living doing that. But I am starting to realize that am an island...unless you look through a lens that has dollar signs etched all over it, to them you are blind. Virtually without worth. You are laughable. My roommate is one of the most awesome people in existence but listening to him talk about money and budgets every time we see each other is beginning to stick in my craw....
This thing really got away from me. It felt good to get so much of this off my chest but I don't think I'm anywhere near making my point. I'll touch on it later.
