Beyond the Labels, Finding My Rhythm

Man, it’s heavy sometimes. Like, the weight of what people *think* you are. I been feeling it especially hard lately. It’s not the followers, not really, though the comments definitely hit different. It's the way folks try to box you in, assign you a category, and expect you to stay there. Atlanta gave me a crash course in that. There’s the “spicy” girl, the “smart” boy, the “athlete.” And if you don’t fit neatly, you’re…what? An outlier? A problem?

I used to chase it, you know? The validation. The little dopamine rush of being seen as *something*. A "creative," a "producer," a "style icon" – all these labels thrown around online. It felt good at first, like someone finally *got* me. But then it started to feel…suffocating. Like I was performing a role, constantly checking to make sure I was living up to the expectations attached to that role. The clothes had to be right, the music had to be a certain vibe, the captions had to be clever. It wasn’t about what *I* felt, what I *was* creating. It was about maintaining the image.

That bedroom studio…that’s where the real me hides out. The one that doesn't care about likes or hashtags. The one that just wants to make something that *feels* right. That beat I dropped in August – that was pure. No thinking, no strategizing, just letting the sounds flow. It wasn't trying to be anything. It wasn't meant to define me. It just *was*. And that’s when it hit me: I was letting other people define me.

I remember my grandma used to tell me, “Boy, you more than what they see.” I didn't understand it then. I was too busy trying to figure out which box to squeeze myself into. Now, I’m starting to see what she meant. It’s not about rejecting those labels entirely. It’s about recognizing that they're just…fragments. Pieces of a much larger story. You’re not *just* a producer, you’re a son, a brother, a friend, a student, a dreamer, a learner, a mess – all of it.

The pressure comes from everywhere. From the expectations my parents have, from the professors who want me on a certain track, from the online world that rewards easy categorization. But the biggest pressure comes from within. The fear of disappointing, the desire to belong, the need for approval. It's a constant battle to quiet that voice that tells me I need to be something *other* than who I am right now.

It's a process, though. Like learning a new instrument. You fumble, you make mistakes, you hit wrong notes. But eventually, you start to find your rhythm. My music is helping with that. Every beat I make is a step towards understanding myself better, towards peeling back the layers of expectation and revealing what’s underneath. It's a slow burn, but I feel myself shifting, expanding.

I talked to a friend the other day, another creator hustling in Chicago. He was stressed about his brand, worried about maintaining his “aesthetic.” I told him, “Man, forget all that. Just make what makes you feel something.” It was easier said than done, I know. But I felt it in my bones, a truth I needed to speak out loud. That’s the real responsibility we have, I think – not to fit in, but to be honest about who we are, even if it means defying expectations.

There’s a peace that comes with letting go, with accepting that you’re a constantly evolving work in progress. It's not about finding yourself, it's about *creating* yourself. It’s about integrating all those fragments – the producer, the student, the son – into a whole, messy, beautiful human being. And that’s a life worth living. It’s a life worth creating.