Hello, Forty-four.

Hello, Forty-four. 

The world came down with a cold, and I’ve been quarantined in my apartment since March 13, 2020 as a result of it. There hasn’t been much of an adjustment for me, since I’ve been practicing social distancing from people my entire life. I live alone, and I’ve had limited contact with other human beings during this pandemic. The real blow for me has been dealing with the fact that the profession that allows me to earn a living no longer exists in the capacity it once did. People are dying every day, and there seems to be no end in sight. The world is traumatized, and, for some reason, toilet paper and hand sanitizer are playing a cruel game of hide-and-seek. 

I am turning forty-four years old today, and I’ve dreaded this day since forty-three arrived. For the record, I really enjoyed turning forty-two for a brief moment because it was the number Jackie Robinson wore. However, I typically get anxious around my birthday. To help ease the discomfort, I try to find things that are associated with the number 44 so I can feel somewhat good about getting older. I do that for every birthday. For example, Barack Obama is the forty-fourth president; that’s something nice to be associated with. James Baldwin was forty-four at one point in his life; that’s a reach, but I like James. I once went forty-four days without eating fast food, although I can’t take full credit for that. I have to share some of that victory with the coronavirus. I’ve been doing this for as long as I can remember. It helps me deal with what I believe I suffer from, which is birthday depression. I’m not sure if this is an actual thing, but if it isn’t, I would like to receive credit for discovering it and making it a thing. Birthday depression has to be the name of whatever it is I am experiencing. I don’t know what other name one would give to something that causes me to retreat into a sunken space of despair immediately after Christmas, due to self-induced, anxiety-riddled thoughts about turning a year older in five months. 

Sadly, this actually happens to me every year after Christmas. I do battle with overwhelming anxiety each day that results in me giving the performance of an employee who has returned to work after a big lunch. The employee who’s had a big lunch doesn’t get anything accomplished, and neither do I. 

I spend a great deal of my time fighting off self-induced stress, agonizing over where I am currently in my life, while comparing it to where I should be based upon societal standards for men my age. After I do the math and see that I still have a long way to go, I begin to feel as if I’m not suited to be part of society. I feel judged when others find out I haven’t achieved some of the milestones society has deemed typical for middle-aged adults. Some people outright question how I’m even surviving financially, but I feel like a majority of people just gaze at me in wondrous disbelief. I can see the “how did you make it this far” look on their faces. 

It’s taken me a long time, but as I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned that everything isn’t so black and white. I learned to stop looking at things from the angle of what people expect out of me and to start looking at them from the position of what works best for me. It’s taken a long time to stop myself from entertaining thoughts that I was worthless for not having done things the way society has said I should do them. 

I had to unlearn the programming about societal measures of success that was passed down to me from previous generations, like acquiring a college degree, getting a job that I’ll retire from in thirty years, getting married, and owning a home. I don’t have savings to fall back on. It’s not that I don’t want to have money put away; I’ve simply made a lot of mistakes that have been costly. Also, working towards making your dreams come true doesn’t come cheap. I’m not married, nor am I with the mothers of my children. They say you should have life insurance, but I don’t. I also don’t have health insurance, for that matter.

All of these are things that society has deemed as prerequisites to being a respected adult. I no longer subscribe to that way of thinking. It’s overrated. I know plenty of people who own homes who wish they could live in an apartment, alone. Everyone knows someone who isn’t utilizing their overpriced college education. I shouldn’t have been with the mothers of my children in the first place. I’m also apprehensive about life insurance; it feels like a scam to me. However, I would like to have health insurance, for obvious reasons. Once I overcome the dreary thoughts that I’m convinced people do, or will, have about me, I still have to wrestle with my own thoughts in regards to where I felt I would be by a certain age, as opposed to where I actually am, as my birthday slowly approaches. It’s a lot to digest, and it sometimes even makes me contemplate suicide. I wouldn’t ever kill myself, but that doesn’t stop the recurring thoughts of doing it as a way out. I love my children; that’s one reason why I won’t kill myself. I’m also too stubborn to let life beat me. A part of me believes that me not being around would make some people happy, and I’m not about making anyone that happy. In addition, suicide isn’t a common thing amongst black men, and the last thing I need is people attempting to discredit me at my own funeral for not being black enough. I would probably have to serve Kool-Aid or play some sort of rap music or wear some Jordans to balance out people’s judgments about my suicide. Even in death, I give people’s perception of me domain over my decision-making.

I’m tired, but I’m not tired because I’m getting older. I’m tired from trying to prove to people and to myself that I’m worthy of what I want out of life and that I’m not the person they want to label me as. The fear of someone taking what I’ve earned from me because they don’t believe I live up to society’s standards weighs on me heavily. I believe I sometimes sabotage relationships with women who actually aren’t bothered by where I am in my life. But because I think they expect more of me, I purposely destroy the relationship to avoid their future disappointment in me.

Another reason I work so hard to prove I am worthy is so that I can help in the crusade to disprove the narrative painted by society, claiming black men are lazy. I’m sure I’ll receive some backlash for that comment, but it doesn’t take away the fact that as a black actor/comedian in Hollywood, I have to be ten times as talented as a white male just to get into the room. Even now, as Hollywood attempts to be progressive by practicing equal representation for all ethnicities and genders, they still fall short. I’m sure it’s hard to unlearn a way of thinking that has been in place since the dawn of media.  I so regret lowering myself to feed into that sort of pressure. All of this stems from me not knowing myself. It’s hard to get to know yourself when you’re just trying to survive. Because I didn’t know myself, I tried to live up to the expectations others. I had to take a step back, so I could heal and start fresh on the road to finding out who I am. I can no longer concern myself with the perception society has painted for men of color. I can no longer entertain what people think about me. Due to unaddressed childhood trauma, I have not been allowed to be the incredible person I know that exists inside of me. I’ve tried to be everything I thought I was supposed to be to too many people. And in the process of trying to be everything to everyone, I hurt a lot of people, including myself. At the time I didn’t know how to articulate that the person they were meeting wasn’t my true self. Building false relationships due to not knowing myself, or honoring how things made me feel, exposed the disingenuous connection that lead to me hurting others.

It’s fascinating to me how one's desire to be liked, receive validation, or feel accepted can have a person so lost that he doesn’t know himself. For the longest time, I’ve been surviving and not living. To me, surviving means seeing how long you can live in a world that determines your value based on how much money you can generate, what you own, who you know, and what your race or religion may be. I don’t even know what living is yet. It’s so deflating when you think about how people will deny you a chance at a quality life if you act, talk, look, or love in a way with which they don’t agree. It’s insane to me. What’s even more insane is that I’m guilty of the same behavior at times.  I’m tired of trying to see how long I can live. It doesn’t matter if I live a long life if I am not enjoying that life. The way I was living was partially grounded in some toxic survival skills that stemmed from trauma, some of which I was aware of but a lot of which I was oblivious to for a long time. I don’t want to survive anymore. I want to know what living feels like in a world where I am presenting my genuine self.

I have so many wrongs that I want and feel I need to make right. The only way I’ll be able to do that is by no longer being ashamed or embarrassed of the mistakes I’ve made. I want to make up for all the time I spent building fake relationships by replacing them with real ones. From this day forward, I need the person I introduce to people to be the most unapologetic, organic version of myself. 

There are some people in this world who truly know the real me and have accepted that person. There are people with whom I’ve tried to be myself, and they didn’t accept me. I can’t worry about the latter group anymore. I can’t trouble myself with those who have a problem with the perspective that I’ve acquired through my life experiences. Most likely, you’ve probably only met the person I felt society would accept. That’s all on me.

There are things in this life I feel I am meant to accomplish. I believe I was given a purpose by the universe, and I must honor that so I can leave this life debt-free. While I can’t apologize to every individual to whom I’ve misrepresented myself, I do want to present the version of myself that people should have seen when we initially met. Then they can determine if I am someone they would like to know. I’m on a journey to find out who that someone is and what he wants.

According to the Numerology Master Numbers, 44 is the Master Healer. I’m focused on healing myself, and if my healing helps or entertains people, then I’ve done my job. Happy Birthday to me, and this is the last time I’ll be depressed about it.

-EAT

I write as a form of healing for myself and others. If you enjoyed what you read, “tip the writer” by donating to Venmo or zelle @maronziovance or Cashapp $Gift2MaronzioVance