Anyone who knows me knows that I love my nephew Lennox more than a little bit. I missed him so I wrote about it. Enjoy :)

There’s this thing about Lennox.

He changed our lives the day we found out about him.

He changed our lives again the day he was born.

April 13th, 2011.

“Say hi to your auntie, man” and a subtle cry followed.” I knew from that moment my life had a new purpose. That loving someone on that level makes you whole.

He has this infectious smile that makes you question the existence of any emotion other than pure happiness.

Lennox shows you that the essentials- family food and love- are all you really need.

That’s right. Lennox’ erratic bedtime schedule reminds you that not even sleep is a requirement, it’s an option when you have so much life to live. Why sleep- you might miss a hug or a high five.

I’m sure that the day GOD made Lennox there was a bit of an argument  between the Angels.

“why does he get everything, why is he everything?”
I hope god replied : ” because he always has been.”

Lennox is the personification of all things beautiful in this world. Everything pure and innocent- everything you want to be, everything you think you’ve lost forever until you hold him and realize what they say is true-

Everything is going to be just fine. 

Success is being able to define success without using a cliché about success.

Success is trying to define your own success without quoting Jay-Z.

Success is Jay-Z.

Success is writing about success even though your better judgment tells you to ignore the assignment completely- tells you to go to bed.

Success is surviving the L train.

Success is surviving Brooklyn.

Success is loving Brooklyn.

Success is watching one of your best friends fall asleep on your couch. It’s your couch. Ownership is powerful.

Success is having best friends.

no- reaaally having best friends.

Success is someone loving you despite knowing you.

Success is someone challenging you to write because they know you’re good at it yet they know it terrifies you.

Success is doing something that terrifies you.

Success is doing something that makes you feel good.

Success is doing something that makes you feel good and not feeling guilty about it.

Success is knowing that perspective is everything.

Success is knowing that if happiness were an equation, it would equal reality plus a little bit of delusion.

Success is knowing that the most talented are usually the most insane. Consider your heros.

Success is traveling the world.

Success is sharing your world.

Success is paying your rent and feeling good about it.

Success is believing Alanis Morissette when she said, “I’m broke but I’m happy, I’m poor but I’m kind.”

Success is knowing that she hasn’t been broke or poor since she wrote that song.

Success is having a family.

no- reaalllly having a family.

Success has nothing to do with money.

Success has everything to do with money.

Success is possibly the most difficult concept to define.

Success is knowing that success cannot be defined.

Success is waking up tomorrow to rewrite this with all new ideas.

Success is having an imagination.

Success is using that imagination.

Success is always feeling young.

Success is having an old soul.

Success is knowing that if you have an “old soul” that really just means you like good music.

Success is being reincarnated as someone better, faster stronger.

Success is being able to quote your favorite Kanye song when you are talking about spirituality.

Success is finding out that you never really knew you felt strongly about success until you wrote about it.

Success is being thankful that you did.

My dear friend Carlos challenged me to write an essay/ode/note to self about why I love New York. Because I never back down from a challenge, the below is what I came up with. Thanks Los for making me use my brain ( …and heart, tear.)

At first you hate new York in the way that you can only hate something you don’t understand. The noise, the dirt, the noise.This is not just the city that never sleeps. This is the city that stubbornly refuses to close its’ eyes- afraid it might miss something, or worse, that something  might miss it. The energy of New York is the ultimate contradiction. How can something so overwhelming be so enticing. Something so scary be so fascinating. How, can something teeming with life feel so desolate. So lonely.

And yet there it is everyday. Unwilling to explain its dichotomies to anyone. Teaching it’s inhabitants to be the same. Tough, difficult even. Smart, different.

Like cold water thrown on someone as a means of resuscitation, New York makes you wake up and realize that failure has never really been an option.

And suddenly, as if you’re in an abusive relationship built equally on principles of adoration and scorn, you realize you’re in love. In love with the city and the person it forces you to be.The person it allows you to be.

The  affair with New York is just like  every other good love story. it’s difficult to explain what moment changed everything. What moment exchanged the contents of your stomach for a swarm of butterflies. And as with everything else, New York offers no explanations. Without notice you’re Juliet and the city, your Romeo. Death seems like a more attractive option then ever being away too long.

Because that’s the effect that it has.  It shows you the world in the form of an island. Teaches you to love things outside of yourself. Bigger than yourself. Smaller than yourself. Makes you realize that there is no use trying to get away, you’ve always been there- even if longitude and latitude suggested otherwise.

A few years back I had a blog with one (no seriously, one) fan. His name is Paris Kirk. Not to demean his loyalty, but after a while I started to neglect it because I discovered that (with the exception of Paris) no one thinks I’m as funny/interesting/alloftheabove as I do. 

alright, alright I admit it. I gave up.

But as I’m never one to back down from a self imposed challenge- here I am, years later attempting to do exactly what I tried to do so long ago- create and maintain a blog about random shit. 

and ‘o how the stars align. 

Tonight as I sat in front of the computer screen staring at my newly created Tumblr account wondering what the F I should write, I got a call from none other than- Paris Kirk. 

Now this may not sound weird to anyone (if anyone is reading this that is), but I NEVER talk to Paris. I mean never ever. 

It was almost like a sign from GAWD telling me to get off my lazy buttocks. 

So here I am (one mo’ gin) pledging to not neglect my blog and subsequently my fan(s).

Here goes nothing…

To Paris, with Love.