My vision is poor, but that won’t stop me from focusing on my goals. I want to be a legend. Not only a legend, I want to be a living legend. I want to appreciate others appreciating my marvelous work. As men, we are bred to work. We are told a man defines himself by his caliber of work. The ultimate level of appreciation is to be considered legendary for your body of work. So, I’m chasing the crown. I have been floundering around for the last 30 years searching for something that moves me spiritually, mentally, and physically. Well, maybe not physically. But, you get the picture.
Now, I’ve found that art. I have found something that can make me legendary. It is like running into a prophet that points you down an unknown path. You know the path is for you, but you have to remain focused on the goal and not allow the things around you to distract you from the path. You have to not only envision the goal, but focus on the plan to get you to the goal. It is not enough to focus on the goal. The goal is only part of the achievement. The full achievement is reached when you leave an imprint on all those along the journey. Thus, the journey transforms into the goal. The so-called goal becomes a launching point for the next goal. As a result, your legend births the circle of life. On this circle of starting and achieving goals, the goal becomes making an imprint on the lives of those you encounter on your path.
You become more focused on leaving an imprint in the hearts of people; therefore, your goal evolves into something less tangible than your mental, spiritual, and physical. Your goal becomes relationships, experiences, knowledge, wisdom, and a slew of other virtues. The focus falls from goals and becomes those things our heart truly seeks. Legendary status follows focused energy on that reaches beyond our tangible and intangible existence and into the existence of others.
Permanent imprints make a man legendary.
I’m focused, man.
Yes, I have this preoccupation with battling with God. We have been in this deathmatch for the last 12 years. It was my maturation that led us to our first dispute. See, God, gods, Godesses, or whatever you attribute your success to has been consistent on delivering achievement to me. God, the Force is what I like to call her, guaranteed my success in all that I chase. I thank her for not allowing failure to crush my ambition. This makes me reflect on Speed Racer. See, Speed was obsessed with speed. He believes winning will allow him to change the world. The reality of it all is that winning will change his world. I’m one of those schmucks that follow the path that Speed has raced through to garner success.
I believe my final endeavors will change the world. If I consistently win, then I will change the world. I believe this can be achieved by myself. I know achievements in life are usually a team effort. And, there is no “i” in team. But, there is an “i” in “win” and an “i” in “champion.” I would consider myself a champion. I know that I’m a winner. I’m obsessed with being a mogul. Like my associate Mr. West, I want to incorporate all my ideas and dreams into my overdrafted reality.
It isn’t my preoccupation with narcissistic egotism. It is my preoccupation with delivering a knockout punch to god and leaving her or him on the world’s canvas. I believe if I move fast enough, act smart enough, and achieve great enough that my knockout punch will be inevitable. Thus far, the Force is teasing me with my minor success and causing me to suffer in silence for not reaching great success.
I know my great success will come to pass. I’m just ready for it to come sooner than later.
I come from a privilege background. My parents provided all the things to raise healthy, intelligent, and self-determined children. They didn’t spare their love nor the rod when it came to handing out reward and punishment. My parents scrambled and scraped up all the money possible to make sure my brother and I went without needing or wanting things. When most families were trying to keep up with Joneses, we had the Joneses keeping up with the Babbs. We were a powerhouse family. The Babb family were considered noble in little Lexington, Kentucky.
From my roots, I have been able to grow and branch off into directions that only a few people could understand. My hunger for life forces me into peculiar situations and even better adventures. Growing up in a predominately Anglo-American town, I wanted to have the official Black college experience. At Morehouse College, I met some like-minded brothers and many with different mind sets. I met many brothers from the African-American bourgeoisie. It was a different world. Morehouse College was the first of many experiences that opened my eyes to social, economic, political differences between people of the same racial identity. I wanted more than just the usual “Black” experience; I wanted a grand life experience. As my branches continued to grow toward the heavens, I captured more invigorating experiences. I was able to become part of the “cool” kids, travel to Japan, and enjoy my collegiate matriculation. But, that was still not enough for a young man growing into a giant.
Fast forward to the present day, I’ve traveled and lived throughout Asia. I also lived in the Pacific and lived in many metropolitan cities throughout the United States. I am continuing my education in the industry of my dreams. I’m living a charmed life.
All the virtues that have made my journey pleasant, come from the people in my past. I thank them all for contributing to my life. I know there will be more people added to this list of beautiful and ugly people. I know there are lessons from all encounters, and I have only begun to learn. Let’s see how much more charming this life can be?!?
Life is too important to be taken seriously.
— Oscar Wilde
I woke up this morning wondering why do we take our lives so seriously. Seriously, we analyze and criticize all aspects of our lives to the point that we don’t live anymore. Fear becomes our shackle. Fear becomes our vice. The fear of failure or not living up to the expectations dictated to us by others. We take life way too serious. We carry the scars from past mistakes with us in all our activities. We create plans to avoid pitfalls that “may” exist in the future.
The past and the future truly do not exist. They are only faulty memories and figments of our imaginations. We only have the present. So, I say learn from the past, live in the future, and plan for the future. But, the past may not contain any lessons and the future may never come. But, the present is always living. So, focus on the present.
See you tomorrow. I have a time machine to catch.
As I watched the local “dough” boys parade through the club in all their “hood” fashion, I giggled about how absurd African-Americans have bastardized a once proud culture. We were from a culture of not having much, but being able to work alchemy of making the little we had into something elegant and classy. It may not have been the best clothing, books, cars, furniture, or any other material possession, but we sported it with dignity. African-Americans maintained an air of class. We did not sloppily saunter in public view. Our swagger was that of the most high.
Yesterday, I watched many young men project the image of young ragamuffins with their hollow bravado trying to court young ladies, which are ignorant to the definitive of manhood. These young ladies believe African-American men must hold the values of the glorified street soldiers created by self-hating entertainment images. Even worse, we have the audacity to exploit these negative images for financial gain. I’m from the generation of stereocasting (stereotyping and typecasting) whores. It pains me to watch perpetual ignorance prevail among African-Americans. In the club, I watched ignorant men enchant ignorant women under the guise of manhood.
Have African-Americans succumbed to such a pitiful existence. When is criminal activity ever a good thing. I know there are many African-Americans elevating beyond the negative racial stereotypes, but the vast majority seem to condone the behavior. I just want to know when will grown African-American men transform back into the charismatic aristocrats that littered our history and took center stage during the Harlem Renaissance?