Trading in He-Man underwear for boxer briefs: smells like transition

UPS has all my stuff. On a truck somewhere. Or in a warehouse. All nice and neat, packaged in dull, sandpaper brown cardboard boxes. That’s where my life is.

I’m not talking about my stuff. No, those are just shiny trinkets. I’m talking about the transition my life is sipping on right now.

Yesterday was my last day in Lawrence – home to the Jayhawks of the University of Kansas. I didn’t think I would miss all my lil’ hawklings.

It really hit home as I was enjoying my last Jimmy Johns sandwich for a while. I’m really doing this. I’m really hopping on a jet plane. And for the really cliché, I really don’t know when I’ll be back again. (hopefully for homecoming or something)

I’ve always been the kind of fella to live life with no regrets; everything is a learning experience. As I savored one last delcious bite, hit I-70 and trucked it to my AMAZING girlfriend’s (she’s uber-neato) place in Kansas City, which will be home for the next week and a half, my mind became driftwood on a river. In reflection, did I regret anything in my time at good ol’ KU?

The answer was yes. Is yes.

I never did write that one last song with my group the Crux. That song that made folks nod their heads in both agreement and appreciation. That song that shook tail feathers and still tugged heart strings tighter than facelifts on Dr. 90210. That song that made folks whisper, “I heard that,” to themselves. That perfect song. Sure, the fellas in the group are kind enough to continue to try to include me in their perpetual trek through the music game. I’m glad they are. Those are my boys. That’s my crew.

The reality is, however, that life at the Adcenter will probably not allow such things to happen. Not for the next two years anyway.

About a year ago, before our group’s successes, the group (Crux) was getting very little attention and/or love from the Lawrence/KU community and music scene, despite all of our hard work. It was so damn frustrating. Up all night to pour our souls on the mic and over beats like gravy over 8am biscuits, all in an attempt to shatter the stereotypes that Top 40 garb saturates in all our minds, tastes and beliefs. It brought up the question, “What if this was my last song?”

What if that was my last song?

The first four lines of my verse still burn in my skull.

“What if this was my last line, my last time/ On the mic to say my peace and get my mind right/ Would I be like Lil’ John screamin’ that’s right?/ Or would I be like Jay-Z and make this song cry?”

I’m hoping for the latter of the two options. Even though Lil’ John does make me laugh.

So what’s all this have to do with anything? What am I leading to here?

Well, what I’m trying to say, however unsuccessful it may be, is that as my life is transitioning from my college undergrad He-Man under-roos to a much more sophisticated grad school boxer brief, I pray that I remember who I am, what got me there and who still has my back. (note: THANK YOU to all my former KU homies, by the way. Big up to my old record label, Stratified Vibe Ent. Keep doin’ big things.) I pray that I keep on working my buns off for everyone who believes in me, for my loved ones, for my lost ones, for my future ones, for myself. I pray that I don’t sell out. ‘Cause even though I don’t think I have sexy eyes, I’d still like to look at them in the mirror every morning.

Oh, and UPS better not lose my shiny trinkets. Where are my damn tracking numbers?