Dumbo

“My [people] love it when I talk like this/ My corporate people start bugging ‘cause I talk like this/ The corporate thugs is like ‘Nah [Tristan]’, talk that [stuff]/ The dope boys go crazy when they hear that boy Jay-Z!’/ See I’ma ‘80s baby, master of Reaganomics/ School of Hard Knocks, every day is college...” ~Young Jeezy ft. Jay-Z, Go Crazy

Ever since experiencing the transformative Breakfast Bites session with Tristan Walker, I knew I had to write about it. His candor, discernment, and authenticity were in earnest—he had so much knowledge to share. He discussed how he felt after Walker and Company was bought by P&G, about how culture isn’t static; how companies need to understand the demographic shift happening in the country, the ubiquitous nature of technology, and how only some brands will persist. He talked about racial injustice not being anything new to us, and how at the end of the day customers want to be with people that serve them authentically, with products that work. He talked about marrying his best friend and how she keeps him grounded, ensuring that his priorities remain faith, family, and work (in that order). He talked about Atlanta, with the second fastest growing economy, being the next and last great city, the epicenter of cultural influence. He talked about the hustle story and the importance of maintaining “tribes of support” while also valuing respect and self-awareness.

I’m not a fan of the “cookie cutter” thank you emails the day after a session. I like to digest the information and grapple with different aspects of the conversation, and this time was no different. While I did eventually write to thank him, the impact that his words had on me really took shape Saturday morning...

A few weeks ago, when I got back from being out of the state for three months during quarantine, I discovered my cable box had broken. I visited Spectrum online, trying to troubleshoot the issue and reset the box myself, to no avail. But while making plans for Friday night, some friends suggested watching the end of the Lakers game at my apartment. I got home from work and dialed Spectrum. Unfortunately, they couldn’t schedule a technician to fix my cable box until Saturday morning.

Saturday morning the cable guy, whom I later learned was named Steven, arrived, fixing the cable box— the power cord was broken—in all of ten minutes. While he was working, I noticed him staring idly at the Lisa Kristine artwork on my living room walls. After a brief exchange, Steven told me that keeping the old box was the better option, as it had capacity to save more shows than the newer version. He saved me a couple dollars—I appreciated his advice. As he was packing up, I pointed out that his shirt was inside out. He stopped and looked down at his shirt, stupefied. He thanked me for pointing it out and mentioned that this was his third stop of the day, yet I was the first to mention that his shirt was on incorrectly. He went to the bathroom and fixed it. He told me that his son was asleep next to him earlier that morning, so he got dressed in the dark. He didn’t want to wake his son or his mom, who was also asleep in the living room. I recognized and appreciated his consideration.

Steven then asked, “Can I take a picture of this?” He was referring to a framed quote that I have on my TV stand that reads: “The very things that held you down are going to carry you up.” -Dumbo. I said, “Of course, but only if you tell me why.” Steven told me that in recent conversations with his wife, he discussed that what he had gone through with his ex-wife enabled him to become a better man, how what had once held him down is what prepared him to provide for her and his son. I was moved and saw this as a moment to connect. I thanked him for telling me his story.

The Dumbo quote represents the bullying I went through as a child. My ears are the same size now as they were when I was younger. Luckily, I grew into them, but my classmates did not hesitate to clown on me back in the day. Despite the pain I felt then, I do think it strengthened me, allowing me to mature into who I am today.

I asked Steven if he knew who Tristan Walker is. He said, “No.” I told him that Tristan Walker is the CEO of Bevel and that many of the products in my bathroom (which I assumed he saw while changing) were from his company. I told him how Bevel began as a razor for Black men that required fewer blades, given the way Black facial hair tends to grow on our faces. Steven described that he had recently purchased Bump Patrol to solve the razor bump issue many Black men have after shaving.

I then shared a quote from Tristan during a recent interview that deeply resonated with me; “Actor and producer Tyler Perry said he realized his potential as an entrepreneur after he figured out that the trials you go through and the blessings you receive in life are the exact same things. The trials you go through are blessings in disguise. It has given me a lot of peace.” I told Steven how his story made me think of Tristan’s words. I told him about Rob Hill Sr. (one of my favorite authors, who often writes about love) and as we were discussing the artwork on my walls, it reminded me of my goal to one day add a Knowledge Bennett piece to my collection, Tristan’s passion for Black art circulating in my head.

When Steven left, I sat still in my chair for a few seconds taking in our exchange. It’s not a feel-good story as much as it a human story. Our ability to discuss everything from Black art to Tristan Walker resonated with me, but it was the fact that he took the few extra minutes to explain the nuances of the cable box as opposed to simply fixing it and leaving that proved our human connection. My mind wandered, connecting multiple recent conversational threads in my head about representation, diversity in the workplace, and the willingness to engage. Would I have told him that his shirt was on backwards if he wasn’t Black? Did others see that his shirt was on backwards and judge him instead of saying something? Did others even notice? Would he have told me about keeping the old box if he didn’t connect with me through my artwork and culture? Would I have told him about Bevel if he wasn’t Black? Our collective willingness to engage as opposed to keeping this moment transactional allowed us to learn about one another. Our interests enabled us to connect about shared experiences and growth.

After my still seconds to reflect, I had a call with Philip, a first-year analyst at work. He told me how he listened to my podcast and how many aspects resonated with him as a young Black man in finance with a “non-traditional” background. He also said that he didn’t think I would respond to his LinkedIn message—I usually don’t. But in God’s grace, similar to what I believe brought Steven to my apartment on Saturday morning, I responded to Philip’s request to connect. His hunger, ambition, and grit are sure to take him far.

The irony of the situation was the way Philip was so eager to connect with me and glean bits of wisdom was exactly how I felt about hosting Tristan at Breakfast Bites, excitedly engaging with and learning from someone that I admire. Taken further, the chain reaction; as a ripple effect (Tristan, me, Steven, me, Philip) was rooted in being Black men, trying to carve out space and thrive in spheres that have long only tolerated us. The chain reaction, or baton passing, reminds me of something that a mentor recently told me, “In Judaism, we have a phrase called l’dor v’dor—which translates to ‘from generation to generation.’ That’s always been my goal–pass on wisdom and traditions, help people, and generally create better opportunities for the next generation.” At the end of the day, that’s what it’s all about, sharing nuggets of wisdom and experiences in order to help others see a bit more beauty in the struggle of the human condition. The human connection.