Ask yourself a series of questions. What’s your name? Where do your ancestors come from? What city were you born in? Who delivered you? What day in what month in which year did you begin experiencing life? What does life mean to you? Does death scare you? If so, what does that fear mean to your life? If not, is there any fear in existing if fear doesn’t exist in nonexistence?

I remember celebrating my brother’s 24th birthday in downtown Raleigh two weeks out from moving to St. Louis in 2011. I was 18, fresh out of high school laughing at how they pulled my diploma two weeks earlier for “walking with too much swagger.” Swagger. That was such a funny word at the time. Under Lil’ B influence, swag had replaced words/phrases in my vocabulary such as yes, thank you, and let’s get it. My parents were moving to St. Louis and I was going with them until I began college that fall at the University of North Carolina at Charlotte. My brother was staying behind, so it was his first time living on his own, minus the one time he lived in the dorms at UNCG.

It’s the eve of my 24th birthday and there's a lot of praying hands and laughing emoji's in my inbox. I can’t explain how I feel and how humbling Earth Day is for me every year. 

Tonight, I went rock wall climbing with my big bro and Nikki. They had this rope attached to the ceiling of the first floor about 18-20 feet high that you could climb. Although I’m afraid of heights, I decided to climb it with my bare hands. As I was at the top, one arm length away from touching the ceiling, I lost my grip and fell. The fall wasn’t as bad as I thought, but it was loud and when I sat up everyone was looking at me. I hated making a scene, as incidental as it was, but I loved making progress on becoming someone I’ve always wanted to be. Someone who can face their fears willingly.

I was asked the other night if I feel like I’ve changed. Without much thought I responded by saying I feel as I’m the same person I was when I was 18. That was 6 years ago. Thinking back on it, I don’t find my answer too far from the truth. I don’t see much change when I look in the mirror and reflect on myself. Still have acne. Still starry-eyed with big dreams. Still only get my hair cut by my mom. Still love sports. Still out-dressing everybody within a 10-mile radius (ha). Still willing to give women second chances in hopes they’ll turn out to be everything I painted them out to be. Still writing. Still not satisfied…. Maybe that’s why I have a problem with people changing, because I don’t. Maybe that’s why I’m so nostalgic, hanging onto times I can’t let go.