Quittin' Time

However the World Has You

Hey.

I hope you keep going.

That’s all I really want for you — the buy-in.

The understanding that this life as an artist/creative/doer, tumultuous and disappointing as it can be, can still be fulfilling. That the need to create overshadows everything that makes this feel not worth it. That you understand, in the midst of the valley, that there is a mountain or mesa somewhere with your name on it. That you can find respite in knowing that the sacrifices have been worth it, that the time you will never recover was well spent helping you define what you are and aren’t willing to do in the midst of becoming. That the level of success you thought you wanted is not what you wanted, and that it’s ok to be ok with being…well, ok. That you have learned to prize your mental and physical health over your proclivities to wild the fuck out and/or work yourself to exhaustion — and at the end of the day, whether an overachiever or people pleaser or damn Eeyore, you can give yourself grace and understanding and embrace the fact that you have the ability to change and course correct, even if you feel like you’ve gone too far, know that there’s always a way back.

I hope you didn’t quit for all the practical reasons. I understand it ain’t doing what it should be doing at the moment, but this passion — this thing that brings you joy and frustration, much like loving relationships — is mad complicated. That the time you invested has not been a waste. That the sentiment in Common’s “I Used to Love H.E.R.” still knocks, but the “used to” is actually “still,” and after all this time, you understand that you ain’t going nowhere and the best place for you is in a relationship with this passion, because without it, you’re miserable. It’s that passion underscoring Luther when he sings “so in love, still in love, are you gonna be…” — are you?

Are you hanging on when everything says, “This ain’t it, champ?” When you feel betrayed because the trust you put into this thing to save your whole life has depleted your savings and ruined some other relationships. When the entirety of the experience has left a bitter taste in your mouth, and a plethora of burnt bridges and buildings in your wake. When you accept that in your delusion to be that thing, you may have lost sight of what drove the passion in the first place. That you can exist where there be monsters, even after you ignored every sign that said “Beware all ye who enter here.” That your opt-in clause was in perpetuity, and even now, as perpetuity feels like purgatory, you’re still holding tight.

I hope it ain’t the bread. Rent is a thing, as is, well, actual bread. I hope the savings you spent on equipment, studio time, managers, fake-ass PR people, real substantive PR people — those plays and playlists, the clothes, late nights, money moving in and out of your accounts like it got somewhere to be — I hope none of that broke you for good. The Cash App/Venmo/text reminders about that borrowed $300. The student loan people on your neck. Your tax bill showed up like an uninvited cousin. I hope all that math you've been doing in your head at 2 am, calculating what you could’ve had if you’d just taken that job, doesn’t win. Because here’s what that math didn’t account for: who you have become in the midst of the becoming.

The calluses.

The clarity.

The sweat equity.

The time spent deciding what success is and what it isn’t, for you. The version of you that knows exactly what they’re made of because they’ve been tested — the version that saw all the front lines, that has attended the ceremonies, sold the tickets, made the merch, did the interviews, shook the hands, kissed the babies, while also not going for the standard deviated dick-down that is your respective industry and its respective legacy of unmitigated nonsense. The times you fought for your credit, your splits, your pay, your respect. The time spent with good and bad managers, both smarmy and solid booking agents, the miles traveled, places seen, clubs/rooms/mics rocked and/or bombed — everything that taught you what this life was actually about and who you are as a person, has been worth it.

I hope you haven’t quit because your bullshit meter is full. We all get there when the patina starts to form, when the rust peeks through the shine and things that once were mad sexy got a lil wrinkly, or you’re a lil wrinkly and sensitive about being unc’d or auntie’d by bammas that look mad old in comparison, and maybe you’re feeling misunderstood, or like you’ve said it all and you have nothing else to add to the collective conversation. I completely understand if, at the next “we need to link up,” “let’s get up,” or “I’mma hit you…up,” the full crash-out happens, and you threw your phone smack into the abyss — I wouldn’t blame you, no judgment at all. I get it. This whole space can frustrate you straight to a 9-to-5 selling timeshares, not that I’m mad at you for selling timeshares, but gyaddam. How much more can you take? I hope you can hold on for one more moment. That you can muster the mental, emotional, and spiritual fortitude to be in the stink without the stink getting in you — that you find your own medicine bag, nag champa, or palo santo to cleanse your space; lighting that jont to keep the funk away and cleanse the vibes. That you can find a mantra that keeps you going, that you find community that honors integrity and character as you do — that doesn’t cosign your bullshit but calls you on it and holds you accountable as you hold them accountable, without all y’all calling each other haters because you’ve told each other the truth, in love.

I hope you don’t hang up your tools or shelve your dreams because the wounds in your back from the knives plunged to their respective hilts have yet to heal — the “et tu, Brute?” of it all still got you bent out of shape. Because all the isms have reared their heads. Because friends became enemies and, as much as you hate to admit it, the thick skin you thought you had has been rubbed raw, and the last series of letdowns actually has you deep in your feels. That the relationships, the brother-, sister-, and otherhoods you cherish, ain’t what they used to be. That you understand that there are seasons to who you call friends and family, that sometimes those seasons are short, and that’s ok. That the nostalgia of what you all went through together — what built a friendship or group or relationship — has transmuted based on the people you all have become. That 15-year-old you and 35-, 46-, 57-year-old you ain’t you no more, and they aren’t them, and in those awkward moments sometimes you realize your relationships have changed, and that some people hold way too deeply to memory because it’s so familiar and also too much for them — or yourself — to let the past go.

I hope you don’t quit because the world doesn’t always honor what it doesn’t understand, and what you’re building, they may not have the language for right now. That doesn’t make it any less real. That doesn’t make you less necessary. Sometimes, in all your genius, you are ahead of the pack, or zagging when everyone else is comfortable in the zig. That you understand it’s okay to be odd, slow, and intentional. That you understand that in the business of entertainment, some people start slow and then blossom, that a hit can happen at any time, and no one is ready. Know that some people will try to steal your sauce. That they been playing lookie loo from afar and across these digital landscapes, peeping your every move, trying to glean what you’re doing, only to present it as fresh material, becuase they have the numbers or the name to do so without looking like the biters they are. It’s ok. Understand that the “quantifiable” numbers can all be manipulated, that you may have been rejected and/or they accepted because the algorithm said something statistically, possibly that you were a bust, howver your direct consumers said hell to the… and fed you for a month off spins and sales. Cherish that. I hope you receive that your path is uniquely yours and that though we’re rocking with the same asphalt, chopping with the same axe, our strides and swings, just like you, are always unique and completely different.

Stay. Not for them.

But for the version of you that started this — the one who made something out of nothing because they couldn’t imagine doing anything else. The one who uttered a prayer, who tossed a coin in the fountain, who believed when nobody else dared to. Stay, for that person inside you who deserves to see what all of these choices will become. Stay because we need you; we need your energy and input, your enthusiasm, your sarcasm, and the doubt you have that pushes you to fight against it as often as possible. Stay because, fuck’em, you’re not giving up your spot, and they can’t make you leave either — there’s no such thing as aging out, because your mind stays fresh, your ears know good work, and your pen game is still solid. Stick to not sticking to trends. Stay an innovator. Stay true to the drive that tells you there are other dreamers and doers out there, that the work can always be better — and also hold space for the work to be messy and as blemished as life itself.

I’m asking you, plainly,

please, don’t quit.

Not today.

Push that quit date back another year. Make one more thing. Show up one more time. Rock one more stage, write one more book, post one more article. Mentor one more person, love one more time, and also cut ‘em off for sure this time, cut the check or cut the cord and keep going, forward, because the ones who keep going when there’s every reason not to, those are the ones the world eventually can’t and won’t ignore.

And we need you in the world.

so, I need you not to quit,

so I don’t quit.

easy
k

about:
KOKAYI
Artist | Author | Speaker | Producer | Preeminent Improvisational Vocalist, GRAMMY-nominated musician, and multidisciplinary fine artist, is a Guggenheim Fellow for Music Composition (the first emcee to have achieved this distinction). Host of the Interledger Foundation’s Future/Money podcast. Author of You Are Ketchup: and Other Fly Music Tales, creator of HUBRI$ and Blackness and the Infinite Potential Well, whose artistry and work reflect a rich tapestry of life experiences shaped by DC and the cultural innovations of the Black diaspora—an enduring legacy that continues to shape the world, often without the proper recognition. Here for all the panel discussions, podcast yakkin’, DJ gigs, and keynote addresses, should you need me, holla.

where to holla: linktree Website IG Linkedin