Look. Anyone who's come into contact with me within the last months has no doubt become aware of my upcoming move.

my travel partner. no, really.

By "move", I mean "not a visit."

...as in, I am not pinpointing a return date.

...as in, I don't know "how long [I] plan to be there."

...as in, stop asking me "What's gonna happen after you get back?"

...because I don't know.

I'm not taking this leap with "and then what?" in mind. I plan to go to spend as much time in Panamá (or elsewhere) as I can. Similarly, I moved to Los Angeles sight unseen, and have managed to avoid perishing in a gang war or picking up a gnarly coke habit, so I figure Panamá won't be so bad either.

Yes, it's the great unknown, a big ass question mark, but that's part of the adventure. In short: my fear is not great enough to affect my excitement.

When you ask, "What are you going to do there?" I will invariably tell you that I want to do EVERYTHING. My one-way ticket means that I don't want to put a time limit on the possibilities. As my trip nears, I've been meeting world travelers with inspiring stories and perspectives, and Panamanians both here and there. It's Through Twitter and people who find this blog, my network is growing. Not to get super preachy, but I truly believe that if you/I put ourselves behind an idea 100%, the universe will conspire to realize it with/for you if that is truly what you are supposed to do.

Yes, I have received a few writing job offers here in Los Angeles recently. But I am up against the prospect of discovering branches and roots of my family's past that are presently unknown to me.

Sure, my college has some awesome new dance classes lined up for the Fall semester. But I will soon be able to continue my ballet training in a foreign country, taking me miles outside of my comfort zone.

Naturally, I was being groomed for management roles at the restaurant, but I would rather do worth that matters. Like teaching English to Spanish-speaking kids. Or volunteering abroad. Sure there are more question marks that certainties about this next chapter, but I can't grow without risk.

It's all coming together.

I hate goodbyes. I like to think I'll keep it together when the time comes to depart, but now I can't be so sure. My mother innocently asked me today, "So, where do you think you'll settle after Panamá?" I had to be honest with her: "Please don't ask me that. I don't know, Mom."

The disappointment in her response was clear. ".......oh."

sigh.

She'll cry, but she must understand. I still don't think she and Dad grasp the magnitude of what's to come. I really am looking forward to being gone for a long time. I welcome the inevitable culture shock and awkward adjustment phase. I want to see the slums in Colón, Panamá. I want to see the geigh-friendly nightlife in Costa Rica. Iguazu falls in Brazil and Argentina. My friend Saphira's family's land in Livingston, Guatemala. And so on...

A friend "joked" that it's as if I'm 'walking away from my Blackness and becoming Che Guevera or some shit.'

........aside from being culturally incorrect and insensitive, I can kinda see where he's coming from.

A place of ignorance. That's where. Look, I've been Black my whole damn life. But who's to say I can't care about the other side? My mother never spoke Spanish to me as a child. I didn't get really interested in Spanish until I grew curious about what my Mom and Grandma were saying when they obviously didn't want us kids to understand them. I'm the only one who's taking an active interest in discovering our past and heritage. Me digging back to 1862 on my Dad's side didn't excite anyone but me. Sure, empanadas, calypso, and fried rice at Grandma's was great, but there's more to us than that.

And I want to know it all.

I don't expect everyone to understand. I've never been particularly apologetic about my actions, whether it's uprooting from VA for NY, jetting here to Los Angeles, growing dreads (mama was not thrilled), liking the menfolk (Dad still has hope), and whatever else. Actually, I get it. Safe = normal. We go to school to get a job with benefits, work 40+ hours a week, spend 30 years paying off a mortgage, and use what's left to enjoy our repetitive lives. Have some babies and do the same shit year in, year out until we die of some avoidable illness. I don't want an annual vacation to Myrtle Beach with moms and pops to be the highlight of my existence. A hair color change should not be my one 'big, exciting, dramatic change" for the year. Why can't I want more for myself than that? A handful of times, in defense of this move, I've had to justify:


Look, someone has to answer the phone in the call center when my T-mobile service is shitty. Someone has to ring folks up in the grocery store. Someone has to dig ditches and pave roads. Someone has to 
count clothes in the dressing room. But it doesn't have to be me.

I just ask that you respect my choices and support me anyway you can. Because I'll need all the well-wishes and positivity you can dish out, my friend.

Here's my plea to you: figure out what matters to YOU, be it losing 50 pounds, relocating across the country, learning to play guitar, having four babies by six men, picking up a foreign language. And damn anyone to hell who tries to get in your way or diminish the shine of your prize. Don't let your mother's/father's/best friend's/husband's/best friend's fear or inability to see YOUR vision shake you. Nobody will feel the pain of failure or regret in your heart as strongly as you. Push them aside and handle your shit.


It works wonders.

Stay tuned...

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"It's easier to ask forgiveness than it is to get permission."
-Grace hopper



all feedback is welcomed. yes, even those of you in the Bronx.|be notified of new posts: Subscribe

As the countdown continues to my move abroad, I've become increasing reflective about the past and what I can do to improve the future. I'm also becoming less attached to physical possessions, with good reason. In about 14 days, I'll begin selling everything I've accumulate in this wonderful apartment over the last year. The dope ass entertainment center I found on the curb, added shelves and color to which now serves as a bookshelf. The low and wide coffee table I love. The gorgeous desk I bought as a reward for hard work on which I've written many awesome things since last July. Dishes, paintings, posters, candles, mirrors, lamps, mismatched chairs, tables: everything. With the exception of books, clothes, an a few other prized items, everything must go.

I'm thrilled about this.

As the move approaches, I'm fascinated with the thought of not coming back for a while. No, not a few months. It's a one-way ticket that lands in Costa Rica. Then, a bus across the border into Panamá, where adventure awaits. When you ask me, "How long you plan to go for?" I can't give you the answer you are likely seeking. I am going to explore and live my life somewhere else. Simple. Why put a time limit on it?

More than this, I'm expecting this to be the start of several years outside of the States. Learning languages, exploring cultures, humping locals, and growing up altogether. Sure it'll be tough, but it'll also be extremely rewarding.

In my periods of reflection, I've often glanced back at old journal and blog entries, revisiting the man I was upon landing here in Los Angeles, the man I was while navigating chaos in New York, and while festering in the mediocrity of Virginia. Aside from improving as a writer, I've notice a change in how I view my path, journey and decisions as they relate to those of my peers.

I've learned to stay in my lane.

No, I am not discounting my capabilities. What I mean is that I've stopped (or, at least grown smarter about) gauging my success as compared to the next person's. I've learned that every path is different and to be respected. The process is just as valuable as the result. Though your journey may not be for me, the goal is that you will grow and learn from it, being able to look back and see progress within yourself.

Grüvment photo, 2003

I had a friend (yes, had) who I would have once called my best friend. Sure, the title of "best friend" was of far greater value in his juvenile (yet older and underdeveloped) mind, but that's beside the point. We danced together. More specifically, he danced for me as a member of the Grüvment Dance Company. Briefly. In 2003. Whether he danced well is also beside the point. Stop getting me off-topic. After a stint of dancing, training, competing, traveling as a company, my company's discussions naturally moved to the next step. (When) Will we move to Los Angeles or New York to further our careers. The year was 2005.

I'd fallen in love with New York, so that was the natural choice for me. I knew in the back of my mind that I'd eventually end up there. I tucked the thought away in the back of my head under "Someday In The Undetermined Future."

This friend, on the other hand, was not to be outdone. Not one to let lesser dance abilities stop his show, he implored upon his wealthy father to fund his new life in Los Angeles, where he'd begin training professionally in hopes of dancing beside Janet Jackson someday. Comedy, in retrospect, but whatever. Backstory: Friend is lucky enough to have never had to work to support himself. He'd regularly make light of "borrowing" cash from pops' wallet without him knowing when necessary. Only requirements from parents: keep up your car and pay your cell phone bill. I was 18. He was 21. Friend's father came through, gifting him a car and $20,000 with the instructions that he'd carry his entire load for the first six months in Los Angeles. After that, he was to be on his own. Jackpot.

the boys of Grüvment, minus "Friend" (mind you: 2003)

I wasn't so lucky. While I did live back with my parents at the time, I was paying BILLS. The move back was indeed to be temporary, so I planned to get up and out once I felt secure. Friend spoke regularly of making a trip to LA with another friend who'd already been out here living the dance life. They were to be roommates, had been scouting apartments, browsing furniture, and planning a new existence out West.

Who was jealous? This guy. I never told anyone, but I soon resented his luck and circumstances. Here he was, inspired, coached, trained, and motivated by ME, about to make the leap before ME. I kept thinking, "He's gonna 'make it' before me." I pulled back from him. Jealousy consumed me. Where was my windfall?

And so it continued:  Our group continued dancing together, and pushing each other. I went back to school. Friend planned and plotted to relocate and start anew.

He began spending: Club outings, alcohol, gas money, dinners for friends and romantic interests.

And he planned....

He kept drinking. People would often comment when they'd see him sober, "What's wrong?"

And he planned...

Months passed, the exploratory trip out to LA never seemed to materialize. He began joking frequently of returning to school to "delay adulthood," and bounced from job to job. What happened: "cold feet."

And then he totaled the car, lost his license, got charged two counts of felony embezzlement (with a Finance degree, of course), and was alienated from Dad's wallet.

To date, he has yet to touch down on California soil...or "get serious" about dance or move out of Mama's house for that matter.

Shortly thereafter, I got sick with Lupus, fell in an out of a coma, learned to walk again, did eight months of chemo, and became, ultimately, stronger than ever. I moved to New York 13 months after being diagnosed.


I say all that to say this: Fuck what the next guy is doing.

I resented this guy, who now looks like my big, gay uncle for YEARS. Though we've grown apart of late, I spent far too long chugging along, glancing into his and everyone else's lane, trying to gain two belt notches when he'd gain one. I gain no pleasure in pointing out the differences now, because, again, fuck what he has going on. Even with my friend, who started in my company and has been touring with a major pop artist for years, it took a minute for me to appreciate, but not covet, his accomplishments.

I used to envy friends with degrees. Most of them are now in a field completely unrelated to their studies. I used to wish I had more financial support from Mom and Dad. Now, I cherish the lessons learned from being independent from a very young age. My leap to New York at 20 inspired friends back home to grow wings and relocate to NY and other cities as well.

Sure Friend had an open wallet at his disposal. But he's crippled by enabling parents and can't seem to step out of the nest in a small town, much less a large city.

My path is just as valuable as theirs. Same for you. Your journey is important. What works for you may not work for me. With my move in less than 40 days, in light of the questions I get pertaining to what I intend to do in Panamá, I've grow more confident with my response.

"Everything."

And that's alright. I realized at 21 that not doing what everyone else does is totally fine. While I may have not employed the best means to achieve what I see as my life's goal, the passion to do what ultimately makes me happy has never faded.

I'm not painting my life as the hardest ever. I just know that overcoming a hereditary, chronic disease, disability, a bleak chance of survival, poverty, heartbreak, and a million other woes, I appreciate MY road to now more than I would have ever imagined.

I suggest you do the same.

(feel like contributing to the cause? lend a hand.)
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