Letting Joy Be

Welcome to my site! 

As an opening blog, I thought it would be nice to explain my thesis: “Let Joy Be.” This title represents an elusive personal struggle that I realized I wouldn’t win until I allowed myself the freedom to create, to do the very thing that brought me joy. Years ago, researcher and author, Dr. Brene Brown, coined a phrase, “Foreboding Joy.” She went on to explain that Joy is the most risky of all the emotions because it requires you to fully “lean in,” and to lean in (especially at the risk of such beautiful moments being traumatically ripped from your hands) is extremely vulnerable. 

Well, for about seven years of my life (perhaps longer) I suffered from depression and anxiety. I know all too well the consequences of “anger turned inward,” and in that season, I ate off the floor of rock bottom. Deep resentment, panic attacks, collegiate failure, extremely low self-esteem, suicide ideation, evictions leading to homelessness, poverty, financial illiteracy and trauma, wage garnishment, firings, resignations, repossession…nonstop. Just one thing after another. My twenties were truly the worst decade of my life. 

And worse, I wasn’t creating much. It’s like my head was crowded out with so many racing thoughts that I couldn’t sit myself down to reflect or process much of anything. All I could seemingly do was try over and over again to move forward. The little art that I was creating at the time was (decidedly) black and white. I refused to use (or even wear) color for a long time, as color had its frivolous air of lightheartedness and play. And I was way too “pragmatic” to waste my time like that (*enter an eye roll and smirk). 

I was too busy trying to prove to the world…that, as a Black man, I was still a formative and productive part of society. That I was made of steel and that no personal failure of mine would outshine my pending success (whatever that meant) despite the fact that I was fogged, in the weeds, completely drowning. It was like the more I struggled to succeed, the deeper I sank. Art was a first love from a very young age. Now, it was just an afterthought, taking the backseat to the prestige of success. 

In 2019, on a wing and incessant prayer, I moved to New York City. It had long been a desire of mine to live here, a desire that was carefully sifted through all spiritual confirmations and clairvoyants I could salvage at the time. I knew something special was here, and I soon realized that the desire was given to me by God. This move was one of faith and with very little money or belongings to show for it. I hit the ground running, no longer afraid of failure (given all I had endured in my hometown). My prayer was for clarity, above all else, and It slowly came. 

In November of 2021, I was at a church retreat (yes, I’m a Christian), and during our personal devotions, I felt strongly in my heart that I needed to cut my hair. At the time, it was a stylish high top (fully regrown now), and a sort of “last hurrah” for all the years of hell I had experienced prior. And God wanted it from me. I fought against it tearfully, but eventually I surrendered to the request. January 16th, 2022 I cut the hair reluctantly (even cutting off my facial hair for fear that God would randomly request that from me as well). I thought nothing would come of it… but I was wrong. A few weeks later, I attended an organized jam session late one night with my housemate. It was jazz, my absolute favorite genre of music. And somehow, it struck a particular chord in my heart. It was something electric…something that I hadn’t felt in a long time. A VERY long time. 

Several days later, I thought to capture that feeling by creating a piece of art on paper, commemorating that night and how it made me feel. I worked afraid, but inspired, having even bought some paints to emulate the colors I saw in my head. I named the piece “Brass Jazz,” thinking of all the reflective values of golden yellow from the trumpets and saxophones that night. I was elated at the finish. And I decided to keep going. I had to. I had developed the unarticulated hope that maybe, just maybe, this would be my second wind. 

Well, for the following months, I kept making. Using color that I once forbade. Filling my space with music to help me make music on paper; sometimes I worked obsessively into the nights. I liked the way it made me feel. And in July, I was offered my very first art show, a solo show. (Those are the pictures you see at the bottom of the Home Screen from September 2022). A few months later, I was accepted into my first Art Residency, and having just completed this program, I realized my prayer for clarity has been fully answered. And it wasn’t an answer outside of me. It was inside me all along. 

The expression of joy I forbade was my answer. Plain and simple. Somehow, I had allowed circumstances to convince me that art had no serious place in my way of life. But that couldn’t be any further from the truth. My life is a conduit of art and a work of art at that. I cannot separate the two. I tried that and I stopped living. Today, I boldly declare to the world “I am an Artist,” now having realized how dire it is to my joy and to my mental health recovery. Clarity has returned in the form of simplicity. It’s always been simple, and it was me who complicated things. Today I take deeper breaths,  and I’m leaning in now more than ever. 

I implore you, who are reading this. Don’t forbid your own joy. Let Joy be.

So that you can be.