Letter to a Bee

Disclaimer: This is a different kind of writing than my usual posts. It's more of a short-story, so please give me feedback. Tell me what you think, as always.

Like most kids, when I turned 5 it was time to learn how to ride my bike without training wheels. I had mastered the art of riding with training wheels, but now it was time to see if I could manage the task of riding it without them.

My mama was there to help with me with this process. She would guide my bike while I peddled my little heart out and then she would release me like a caged bird. Except this caged bird was one who had never had experience flying so instead it just tumbled to the ground. It didn’t take long for me to get the hang of riding my bike, with my mama's assistance, but the next step was the most important one.

Riding my bike completely by myself.

It was a big step.

It was a summer day and I had gotten up early that morning specifically to ride my bike. I went outside and brought my bike from the backyard to the sidewalk in front of my house. I propped up the bike and hopped on. I used my feet to push off, and suddenly I was riding. Until moments later, I crashed on the ground. Though it only lasted a few short moments and it was painful hitting the hot pavement, I couldn’t wait to get back on. I thought that since I was able to last for a couple of seconds, that it meant I was close to actually being able to ride my bike.

My second time wasn’t as successful.

I decided to take a break after my first ride. I went inside, ate some bacon – which was my food of choice, back then – watched some cartoons. A couple of hours later, I felt like I was ready to give it another try. I was confident that I would be riding in the wind. I got back onto my bike. This time I didn’t push off of the ground because, I didn’t need to. With a Kanye-esque arrogance, I started peddling my bike and this time I lasted much shorter than the first time. And this fall not only hurt me physically, but it hurt my pride, as well. I just knew I was ready to ride my bike by myself. But maybe I wasn’t. Maybe I should just give up, is what I thought. I was doomed to be the 5-year-old who just wasn’t meant to ride a bike and I had to accept it. I was crushed. I left my bike on the sidewalk, walked into the house, closed the blinds and just sat on the couch. Wallowing in my own pity.

Then, I heard a knock on the door. It was the girl who lived next door named, Alexis.

“You left your bike in the middle of the sidewalk,” she said.

“I know,” I replied.

“So why did you leave it?”

“I don’t need it anymore.”

“Why not? It’s a brand new bike. I saw you trying to ride on it all morning.”

“I can’t ride it. So I don’t need it.”

“How many times have you tried to ride it?”

“Two times. Why do you keep asking me questions!?”

“Well they say the third time’s a charm.”

“I don’t care what they say. I can’t ride the bike!”

“Just try it one more time. Just see.”

“Whatever. Leave me alone.”

Alexis went home and I sat back on the couch. My mama came in the front door, shortly after Alexis had went home and she immediately told me to get my bike out of the street.

“Are you nuts!? Do you know how much I paid for that bike, just for you to leave it on the sidewalk for somebody to steal it. You lucky I don’t whip yo behind,” she said.

I hopped off the couch and ran outside to get my useless bike. As I picked it up, I thought about what Alexis had said. By this time the pain from the last two falls had numbed and I felt like maybe there was some hope for me to finally accomplish my goal.

I got on the bike once again. Humbled from my last experience, I used the ground to push off and begun peddling. And I rode off into the wind...

Even More Than Rollercoasters

In life, my two biggest fears are death and failing. When it pertains to death, I don’t only fear my own mortality but that of the people around me. I wonder how I will go on when those around me, whom I love the most, aren’t able to be in my life. But this isn’t about death. This is about my greatest fear, which is failure. The fear of failing is what drives me and destroys me.

At a young age, I knew I was smart. Not just any old smart, but exceptionally smart. I was teased a lot, but my retort was always “But, I’m smarter than you,” and that’s how I felt at the time. Yes, it was horrible for me to say these things, but I was young. I didn’t know any better. Since being smart was my gift, my ultimate goal was to be the smartest person on the planet. This was a realistic goal that I had. In my mind there was no way that I could not eventually be the smartest person that walked the earth. Anybody who I felt was a threat to me being the smartest, was an instant rival. And this is where I developed my greatest fear.

When I was younger, I held myself to the highest standards. I remember when I got my first B on my report card in the 3^rd grade, I cried in my room. I wanted all A’s and nothing less. Though I was still successful, it wasn’t enough to be just successful – I had to be the most successful. At the end of my 5^th grade year, my teacher, Mr. Brooks, gave my classmate and I plaques for having the highest grade point averages in our class. My classmate, Courtney Ross, had a higher GPA than I did and I reacted horribly to the news. I remember looking at my plaque, putting it on my desk and leaving class. I didn’t receive any permission or anything. I just left. That’s how serious I took it. If you want to know how petty I was about being the smartest, the perfect example is one day – I think it was the day after we received our plaques, but I’m not certain – Courtney asked to go to the “bathroom” and I corrected her and told her it’s called a “restroom” not a bathroom. I was weird kid. But this laid the groundwork for my fear.

A decade later, and I’m at the Ohio State University, I’ve finished my first quarter and it’s only a matter of time before I will have graduated. Success should be imminent, but I wonder if that’s enough.

I’m doing the writing thing and I know I love it. Some things you just know. I feel like I was meant to do this more than anything else in this world. But I read. And I read other writers. Really good writers. And I wonder can I reach that level? And then I wonder if I don’t reach that level what will happen? It’s a tricky question. I don’t just want to be a regular writer. I want to be great. I have to be great. I don’t know if I can settle for less. Fundamentally, I’m the same kid I was 10 years ago and the way I reacted to not reaching my standards back then, makes me wonder how I will react now. I’ll read something by Chuck Klosterman, or Malcolm Gladwell, or Michael Lewis and just wonder What do I have to do to be just as good, if not better than these guys? What if I don’t have what it takes? It’s something I won’t know until the day comes and I don’t know if I’m prepared for the answer.

And it scares the living sh*t out of me.

This post was inspired by the last minute J. Cole's song, Premeditated Murder.

Where is the Love?

It’s been two weeks since LeBron’s “decision.” I’ve finally accepted what has come to be. With that being said, what I am about to write has nothing to do with LeBron James, the NBA or sports in general.

What I am about to write is something I’ve been meaning to write about for months.

Maybe even longer.

I actually got up the nerve to start writing what you are about to read a couple of days ago. I think I had close to 600 words written before I decided to delete them all. It was way too self-deprecating and depressing. At that point, I decided that what I wanted to write was too personal. Maybe I shouldn’t be so open. Usually I would look at those 600 words as a release. A way to get whatever I needed to off of my mind. But those 600 words didn’t give me that relief, it just made me realize that I didn’t even know what I wanted to say in the first place.

Well, now I have a direction. A new direction and while I have no clear cut destination for where I’ll go with this, it will be a lot more focused and hopefully more poignant than depressing.

This story starts in 2003. One of my favorite groups of all time – this is probably not what I thought then, but I was kid, sue me – released a double album, titled Speakerboxxx/The Love Below. The duo had decided against doing two discs worth of music as a group and essentially released two solo discs. You may be familiar with this group. They’re called Outkast and feature the playalistic-slick talking tongue-twisting Big Boi and the otherworldly Andre 3000.

Before ’03, I would say I was an Outkast fan. Though I never owned any of their albums, I always liked their radio singles. “B.O.B.” “Rosa Parks” "Da Art of Storytellin’ Pt. 1” were some of my favorites. One thing I distinctly remember, is me liking Big Boi more than Andre. I would see and hear a lot more from Big Boi outside of the duo. He was on songs with Missy Elliot and Slick Rick, so since he was the more visible member, I figured he was better.

Back to ’03. I’m a freshman at Meadowdale High School. A disillusioned, skinny kid with no real identity. I cringe when I think of trying to buy tall white t-shirts . I was a sheep following with the herd. It wasn’t until probably 2007, when I was able to completely leave that mindset behind and become the person that people know and love today – I hope.

Ok, so it’s ’03 and I’ve just finished my first month of high school. It was September and the new Outkast album was soon to be released. Being the broke, skinny kid I was, there was no way I was going to have money to buy the real Outkast album in stores, but that wasn’t a problem at all. There was this white kid named Josh, who would sell Cd’s in the library for $2 or $3. When the Outkast album came out, I had to be the first kid to fork over my $3.

(Sidenote: Approximately seven years later, I would end up working with the same Josh at Red Lobster. I never told him this, but he kind of changed my life by selling me that album.)

I remember being so excited to listen to this epic double-album. As a 14-year-old kid, the first two things I noticed about both cds, were 1) Why are Big Boi and Andre only on like three songs together, they’re a effin’ duo for a reason, 2) And what’s up with Andre and all this stuff about love and Cupid and why is he singing, I mean it’s cool, but I don’t get it.

Regardless of my first impression of the album, I still enjoyed it and I was obsessed with Andre’s “Hey Ya” and I’m pretty sure I wasn’t alone in that sentiment because it was number one on MTV’s TRL for what had to be a couple weeks in a row – for all the kids born after ’91 this was when MTV actually played music videos, who’da thunk?

It took me awhile, but eventually I would start listening to the rest of The Love Below, the following year. It was practically all I listened too. And it had a profound effect on me. Can you imagine really hearing “Prototype” at the impressionable age of 15? To this day, “Prototype” might be my favorite song ever. This lyric especially sticks out to me: “If we happen to part/ Lord knows I don’t want that, but hey/ We can’t be mad at God/ We met today for a reason/ I think I’m on the right track now.”

The Love Below and that song, in particular, affected every way I interacted with girls from then on. I will go on record as saying as a 15-year-old kid I shouldn’t have taken Andre so seriously when I was pursuing other 15-year-old girls. Trust me, the results aren’t good. Either way, Andre’s thoughts on love and women planted the seed that would eventually grow into to how I viewed women. And the roots of that seed are still planted rather deep.

A few months back, I read this great article about the Dungeon Family – a collective of artists, including Outkast – and there was a section of the article that hit a chord with me:

[Andre] made The Love Below sessions extra exclusive. Swift was one of the few people who witnessed Andre 3000’s magnum opus about the thing that scares him the most: love. “Dre got an extreme level of passion for women,” he says. “This nigga love women… But I think love and life has disappointed him ... So I think he’d just rather sing about walking down that road of love than to actually experience it.”

My world almost crashed down. If the man who (unintentionally) shaped my biggest ideals on love and women isn’t satisfied with it and would rather live it vicariously through a song then what does that mean for me. I’m only 21, and in no way actively seeking out love – not that I think you can seek it out, I think it’s something you kind of fall into unexpectedly, hence the term “falling in love” – but still I do worry about ending up alone. Even now I recognize that there is love out there, just waiting to jump out the bushes and get me, O.J.-style.

Honestly, I just don’t want to go through life without ever saying I experienced the love… below.

So Far Gone

I don’t know what happened to LeBron James. I wrote a couple weeks ago that if LeBron were to leave Cleveland he would be hated by an entire city and maybe LeBron doesn’t have the heart to do that to his hometown. But if LeBron chooses a team besides Cleveland, on his hour-long special that will be broadcast on ESPN tonight, then I was 100 percent wrong about the Akron Hammer.

I’ve been a LeBron supporter since his first game in a Cavaliers jersey, when he almost recorded a triple-double against the Sacremento Kings, though in a losing effort. LeBron was my Michael Jordan. I saw LeBron do things that I had never witnessed on a basketball court ever. I would defend LeBron to the death, but I don’t think I can do that anymore. Not after this offseason.

I don’t think LeBron is the blame for all the hoopla and buffoonery caused by his free-agency, but he has brought it upon himself. I used to wonder how people could hate LeBron, and in the beginning it was hard to. He lived up to all the hype and then some, but now in the past two summers LeBron’s approval has dropped significantly. From the handshake fiasco to the egotistical shirts to the rumored free-agency tour – that was either cancelled or false to begin with – to the hour-long special airing on ESPN tonight.

Unequivocally, I don’t think he should have this TV special. I don’t care that the money is going to the Boys and Girls Club of America. The only way this special could help his reputation is if he re-signed with the Cavs. Then, for the rest of the duration of the special, he basically royally kissed Cleveland’s ass.

For the past couple of days, I’ve been contemplating how I would feel about this moment. Being a die-hard LeBron fan, I wondered if I could remain that after this moment. Can I forgive LeBron for all of the foolishness caused by this nonsense? I don’t know. I want to. I just can’t imagine living in a world where I’m not a LeBron James fan. And if I’m not a LeBron James fan, am I still a fan of the NBA? I’m in a dark place, as far as fandom goes.

One thing I will say is that LeBron no longer holds the undying affection he received from the media in years past – except for Skip Bayless, who has always been a LeBron-detractor.

Whatever the case may be, I truly wonder if LeBron is aware of the ramifications of his ultimate decision. And only time will tell if that is true.

I do believe that if LeBron were to sign a six-year contract to stay with Cleveland, that he would be able to win a championship, but it would probably be only one.

The Dissection of Drizzy

Saying that Drake is a phenomenon, may be an understatement. Over a year ago, he released a free mixtape titled So Far Gone, which spawned one of the biggest radio singles of last summer “Best I Ever Had.” With just the verbal backing of rap artist Lil’ Wayne, Drake became one of the biggest hip-hop artist period. He went on to be featured on songs with Jamie Foxx, Mary J. Blige and Jay-Z. Eventually he would sign with Universal Motown through Lil' Wayne's Young Money imprint. The buzz for the release of Drake’s debut CD, Thank Me Later, was beyond a fevering pitch.

Then June 15 came and almost 500,000 people purchased it in the first week. That’s kind of a big deal. With two weeks since the album’s release, I felt it was time for a dissection of Drake and not for a review of Thank Me Later. I’m not too big on music reviews, just because like all art forms, music can mean anything to any person, so instead I’ll try to express what Thank Me Later meant to me.

TML is a very smooth, cohesive project. Majority of the production is handled by Drake’s consigliere, Noah “40” Shebib, which gives TML a musical narrative. I like the production on this album because it suits Drake’s better qualities as an artist. Most of the tracks are minimalist in nature and are somber in sound. I applaud Drake on not having a real single. By that I mean, a song that sounds extra contrived made solely for the clubs or for the kids or whoever the hell rappers are marketing their music to nowadays. The lead single “Over” could never be confused with likes of a “Candy Shop” by 50 Cent or even a “Gold Digger” by Kanye West. If “Over" was just an album cut, it would still get plenty rotation. Though Drake is known for his ability to rap and sing (kinda), it was risky to release “Find Your Love” as the second single, where he only sings on the Kanye West-produced track. Again, I applaud Drake for being slightly unconventional with his album.

In respect to the songs I prefer, I tend to lean towards “Karoake” – another song that features a mostly singing Drake – or “The Resistance” where Drake raps in the second verse, “I heard they just moved my grandmother to a nursing home/ And I be acting like I don’t know how to work a phone/ But hit redial, you’ll see that I just called/ Some chick I met at the mall/ Who I barely know at all.” That’s Drake at his finest. His best quality is that he’s good at rapping about his life and transferring his feelings to the listener.

My biggest gripe with Drake has and will continue to be his flow. He never switches it up. Ever. And that’s his biggest weakness. Sadly, I think most rappers have a hard time switching their flow and the same might be for Drake. He also has a tendency to sound like a Bel-Air version of Lil’ Wayne. Just as much bravado, a lot less gang and gun talk. But, since Drake is able to carry a decent tune and is exemplary with melodies he stands to last a long time in the game.

And I’m very thankful for that.