I took a planned excursion to my old stomping ground. I’d planned to do it for some time and finally found the perfect excuse — thanks to my unemployment. Life happens, and before you know it you’re an out-of-work aging Gen-Xer who can’t stop dashing down memory lane.
It started with a growing addiction to programming from the era of my childhood. YouTube seamlessly shuttles over news telecasts and TV shows from the seventies and eighties in response to my urgent clicks.
And amid my nostalgic feast — I wondered how it would feel to visit Jersey City — specifically the neighborhood and the two-story home where I lived with my younger brother for about three years.
We were both young and hungry for the answers that would take us to where we needed to be for the sake of our dreams. I was approaching my late twenties and battling serious depression and constant disillusionment, due to the frustration of being a wannabe writer who couldn’t catch a break.
The editorial world in the late nineties and early aughts wasn’t necessarily the ideal time for a young Black storyteller trying to make it in a city that eats you alive if you don’t have the vital contacts and Ivy League stamp to ensure success.
