Black Body

There was a pine box and a prison cell with my name on them the day I was born.

In America, being young and Black can often feel demoralizing.

Why live in a world where my life can be shortened and wracked with pain?

To be imprisoned, to die young, to be mentally confined, and to be taught to hate?

America was founded on oppressing, controlling, exploiting, and killing Black men.

"Dead or in jail" loomed heavily over my adolescence—based purely on my physical appearance.

It conjures the presence of a "thug" or, more blatantly, a "nigga" within this body.

Even if I carry out the death-or-jail-cell conundrum, there is still more to contend with as a Black man.

I internalized the idea that I needed to be twice as "good" to earn half the respect.

Nonetheless, I grew up in the ghetto. We had Section 8, EBT, and a lot of "hard times."

I come from a very dysfunctional family.

My father had a fourth-grade education and mostly raised me, because my mother was addicted to hard drugs.

How can I be as good or twice as good?

My neighborhood was full of hopelessness.

The neighborhood you grow up in is one of the biggest determinants of your economic success as an adult.

The people you associate with most often—your “reference group”—influence up to 95% of your life’s success or failure.

The killers, home invaders, carjackers, pimps, drug dealers, and gang members were my reference group.

Realistically, it was never enough to meet White America's standards of being good—or even twice as good.

I assumed my fate was to die young, rot in a cage, or stay trapped in the 'hood, like so many of my friends still are to this day.

They don't see life outside of the 'hood, shaped by mindsets molded through violence, crime, deprivation, lack of resources, and both psychological and physical abuse—all of which we experienced as kids.

In America, the pressure on us—especially when it comes to resilience—is relentless.

We’re navigating systemic racism, economic disparity, police brutality, threats to our lives, and a slew of other injustices.

Given the centuries of brutality, dehumanization, and genocidal oppression we've endured, by all logic, Black men and women should have been destroyed.

But we’re still here—still fighting, still rising, still reclaiming our dignity piece by piece.

Booker T. Washington said, "I have learned that success is to be measured not so much by the position that one has reached in life as by the obstacles which he has to overcome while trying to succeed”

It’s amazing to see how far I’ve come from where I started.

I’m living proof that anything is possible—regardless of the circumstances.

I defied the odds and proved society wrong.

I’m neither dead nor in jail. Instead, I’m a first-generation college graduate who has traveled to over 14 countries—something many people never do in their lifetime, especially as a Black man.

According to recent data, only about 42% of Americans even own a passport, and Black men remain severely underrepresented in international travel and higher education.

I break down and cry sometimes because it all feels surreal.

No one in my family or community went to college, so I never even dreamed of it.

And traveling the world didn’t seem like an option for someone like me—let alone someone who looked like me.

Making it out was more shocking than not making it.

What most people don’t realize is that in order to make it out physically, you have to make it out mentally first.

I had to rebuild the way I thought.

I was taught that if you want something bigger than yourself, you have to believe in something bigger than yourself.

Thankfully, going to college and traveling the world gave me deeper insight into life and my purpose. They say, “Exposure leads to expansion,” and it’s true.

A shark in a fish tank grows to 8 inches. In the ocean, it can grow over 8 feet.

Change your environment—watch your growth.

But there's a dark cloud over me, because I know that no matter what, I won’t be able to save everyone. Not everyone will make it to where I am—and this is only the beginning.

It just goes to show how little is expected of us. Most of the time, we’re trapped in our circumstances, forced to live vicariously through the few who make it out.

People often ask me, “How did you make it to where you are today?”

“I didn’t have many options,” I tell them.

For me, it was jail, death, or success.

And look at me now—standing here, inspiring you.

Another story of a man who overcame the odds.

All of it, inside a Black body.