Horse and Carriage

And what of me you ask? Watching Whitney's funeral this weekend I realized that my personal angst was answered many years ago and put into magnificently succinct phrasing:

Buju always taught me to find a woman who would love me for me, not what she wants me to be. In short order I set out each time to find a woman who would accept me without a good job, or being in the best shape; one who would accept that I am black, and that I'm not quite six feet tall. Not unlike my fat child from passages preceding, I held back the greatness within me to see who would find light in my darkness. God bless those of you who saw past 250 lbs of casually-employed dissonance. I wouldn't want to be locked in a room with that much pork for longer than 8 months either.

Yet I didn't see the folly of my ways. Was that me? Am I without ambition? Does my untapped potential bring me happiness? Would I like to remain a man full of anecdotes but devoid of a story? They loved me as one loves my bakery. I was the scent that crept in from the kitchen on their wedding days; the cake they cut to celebrate having moved on. They'll never forget me. They didn't like me despite those things, they liked me because of them. On the eves of their matrimony they wanted to indulge in a fat, loyal, sweet and fanciful slab of chocolate, just one piece.

I bake bread, not cakes. I want to be known for providing what is needed not merely what is wanted. Nobody will simply love me for who I am until I am who I want to be. I was so obsessed with possessing a love of self before becoming a self to love. As mentioned at Whitney's funeral, I put the proverbial carriage before the horse. Rather than becoming the man whom I want to have loved, I hoped to be loved in spite of not being him, and then to become him.

I want to be successful, healthy and healthy looking. I want my roots and my dark bark to be celebrated as the very cause of my excellence. I want my potential to be converted to results and for the results to bare my name. In short, I don't want you to love who I was; a glimmer, no matter how romantic, is defined by light in a world of darkness. Why would I wish such a world upon you?