Pressure Busts Pipes (or just makes your Anxiety worse)
“Just being you — that’s life without parole” - Peter Parker from Peter Parker : Spider Man #47
So yeah, it’s been a while since you’ve read this newsletter in your email inbox. The intention was to make this newsletter something that would be done at least three times a week on Hornets coverage. And for a while, it felt like it was gonna work and that I’d contribute something to the Hornets blogosphere besides inane rants on Twitter.
And then December rolled around, and with all the momentum from Dispatches I’d tackle a feature piece I’d be offered on Cody Zeller for Dime. I’d done the interviews and the work and the background for it and I sat down excited to take on this feature piece.
Then the anxiety took over.
Let me rewind it a bit, if you’ve learned anything about me or followed my career for any length of time. I generally make moves that try to boost my standing in life or my career forward. Enjoyment rarely factored into any career decisions , I did it because everyone told me I was talented and smart.
So let’s do a little math, you have someone who feels like they have to keep up this idea that he’s talented and needs to prove that. Add the fact that he thinks he’s not where people of his talent level are AND the fact that media is getting more and more competitive by the day? It’s a recipe for disaster.
So my brain broke, or wouldn’t even entertain the idea of writing something that involved being descriptive beyond questions and answers. Hell, the fact I’m even writing this right now is a miracle in itself.
I guess what I wrote this long ass preamble for is that at least for now, I can write again. Since we’re in a pandemic and I’m not doing this for anything other than my enjoyment (which is a VERY new emotion), it’s not gonna be about sports (except for a few sprinkles here and there).
More importantly, I’m not gonna try to keep this to a schedule. I’ve said this on Twitter and this is something I’ve said to multiple people in real life. There are few rules in a pandemic, the most basic one is to survive. For now, I can write. If I can’t write, it may go to this being a five to ten minute rambling session on some audio file that you’ll find in this email.
Like I said, it’s survival.
But before I go…let’s get into the reason I felt kinda moved to write today.
Folks, I’m tired.
Not even the “I’m weary because I’m sick of being in the house for fiftyleven days and straining the capacities of my girlfriend’s kindness” tired. This is an “I have an anchor at the bottom of my soul” type of tired. Don’t worry, it’s not depression (believe me, I checked).
At some point, the ROI on seeing these videos when factoring in the emotional toll just gets to be to the point where I’m just wore out. For instance, my girlfriend was watching Shaun King on IG live after Gregory and Thomas McMichael were arrested. I was just chilling on the PS4 while she was watching and she could just see the weariness on my face.
For the record, I’ll never dispute the fact that viral videos of black death are effective in order to start the conversation to get justice. It’s the fact that it requires the complete erosion of my emotional well being as well as likely knowing the outcome with five percent of me withholding a scant glimmer of hope that somehow this country gets this right.
But it got me to wishing that one day I won’t have to weigh the future of the entire African-American population on a trial. I won’t have to stress about being in the wrong neighborhood and have something go wrong and still walk away alive. That one day, I can have the freedom to know I don’t represent the entire race whenever I step into a predominately white space. That I can just be.
Maybe one day.