Letter to my 28 year-old-self.

Dear Nigga,

At some point in your life, you heard, most likely, read about the Golden Year or Year of Enlightenment. I think it was sometime in late middle school but definitely by the end of high school, you had placed all your bets on the year 28.

I don’t know exactly what you were expecting but year 28 was a shit year. There was a literal pandemic in your House. This time there was no cure. Thankfully no one actually got sick and died but bridges were burned and you became a ghost to some people.

If anything, the enlightening part happens a couple years later when you are able to reflect on the year 28. Maybe it’s the return of Saturn, it’s about that time but I now realize that to be “enlightened” there has to be a true spark. That spark for you was on March 12, 2020. From that day you have faced losses and hardships that make you question why are you in DC.

From a macro perspective, I really do love people too hard and too fast but the year 28, I really thought I had figured it out. I had a man and a company that I thought were going to thrive with me for the rest of my life. I had worked for this, we had worked for this. The true epiphany is realizing that I am capable of loving the wrong person, being manipulated, and dancing with red flags.

More than that, I realized that there are people who will fry you the minute they get the chance to. Just for the glory of them being able to say look at me, I found a thorn in the rose! Fortunately, my petals don’t wilt but unfortunately, over the years, the more I blossomed the more thorns that came.

I used to be a proud-people-pleaser. I never minded that I never made money from my shows as long as everyone had fun and got paid. That part of me seems like a ghost now. Years after 28 have taught me that people will take from you until your dying breath, and then, say thank you, here are your roses! As I have started to try and please people less and please my family, I sleep below a bed of roses each night.

There is no enlightenment or golden years. Just years and time and general. Each moment is a chance to see yourself for who you are based on the decisions you make for yourself and others. Maybe, 30 will be my selfish years. Where I selfishly put myself and those that shower me with flowers first. Internal love first. Looking inward to see who has said, “How can I help you?” instead of making you seem like a hobby. I don’t know that does sound grand to me honestly.

I know I wear my emotions on my sleeve but really it’s my armor. I cannot lie about how I feel and I cannot contain how I feel as well. So each morning, I have to armor up and hope that I don’t have to use my sword or shield to protect myself but to protect those close to my heart. The year 28 burnt you out trying to protect everyone, and now while I love most people there is only enough room in my heart for a few people.

And that I am truly grateful for.

thirty and flirty,


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