Moving Up Without Forgetting Where You Come From
The sun hits different in Miami. It's not just the intensity—it's the way it blankets everything in this golden hue that makes the water sparkle and the buildings gleam with possibility. Four years into this new chapter, I sometimes catch myself standing on my balcony, taking in the luxury of this life, and thinking back to the streets that made me who I am.
Baltimore isn't just where I'm from—it's who I am at my core. Those streets weren't always beautiful in the conventional sense, but they were beautiful in their truth. The roughness taught me resilience. The community showed me the power of connection. The hustle instilled a work ethic that Miami's ease can never erase.
When I left Baltimore, I wasn't running from something—I was growing toward something. There's a difference. Growth doesn't mean rejection. Evolution doesn't require erasure. The business I still maintain there isn't just about profits; it's about presence. It's my way of saying, "I may have physically left, but my heart still beats in rhythm with this city."
The Danger of Forgetting
I've seen it happen too many times—success creates distance. Not just physical distance, but a spiritual disconnect that happens when we start believing our own highlight reels. We curate these perfect social media personas and slowly start becoming them, forgetting that beneath the filters and the captions lies a person shaped by struggle, community, and humility.
Last week, I flew back for my long time family friend Chris Simon's birthday celebration. Watching him navigate that room was a masterclass in authentic presence. Here's a man who's achieved everything society tells us equals success, yet he moves through the world with the same warmth and accessibility as he did before the accolades.
He stopped to speak with everyone—not just the ones who could further his ambitions. He remembered people's stories, asked about their families, listened with genuine interest.
The Glow-Up Paradox
There's this dangerous misconception that "glowing up" means outgrowing people. We think elevation requires separation. We start speaking differently, dressing differently, moving differently—all in pursuit of fitting into new spaces. And while evolution is natural, erasure is a choice.
The higher you climb, the more essential your roots become. Success without grounding is just floating—and what floats up can come crashing down without warning. I've witnessed too many people ride the elevator up only to find themselves taking the stairs back down alone because they burned bridges on their ascent.
The truth is, the same people who celebrated your early victories are the ones who'll catch you if you fall. The community that raised you understands your history in a way your new connections never will. There's comfort in being known—truly known—beyond your achievements and acquisitions.
Moving Up Without Looking Down
The view might be better from the top, but that doesn't mean you look down on people. Elevation should expand your vision, not narrow it. Success should open your heart, not close it.
Every morning, I remind myself: The same sun shining on my Miami balcony is shining on Baltimore's corners. The difference isn't in the light but in the landscape. And while I'm grateful for where I am, I honor where I've been.
This isn't about performative humility. It's about understanding that authentic connections—the kind that sustain you through life's inevitable storms—aren't formed through status but through sincerity. It's about recognizing that everyone—from the valet parking your car to the CEO sharing your elevator—has a story worth knowing.
The Art of Bringing Your Whole Self
Perhaps the most powerful realization I've had is that code-switching doesn't have to mean identity-switching. The language and knowledge I gained from Baltimore's streets inform my boardroom strategies. The resilience forged in struggle becomes the persistence that pushes projects forward. The communal mindset of looking out for one another transforms into leadership that elevates entire teams.
You don't have to fragment yourself to fit into new spaces. The most revolutionary act is bringing your whole, authentic self wherever you go. That doesn't mean being tone-deaf to different environments—it means refusing to erase the very experiences that provide your unique perspective.
The Legacy Question
At the end of it all, the question isn't "How high did you climb?" but "Who did you bring with you?" Success in isolation is just achievement. Success that creates pathways for others is legacy.
So as I move between these worlds—from Miami's sunlit sophistication to Baltimore's raw authenticity—I carry with me the understanding that the greatest gift I can give to both places is my uncompromised truth. To show Miami the depth and resilience that Baltimore instilled in me. To show Baltimore the possibilities that exist beyond familiar horizons.
Because no matter how far I go or how much I grow, I'll never forget what those Baltimore streets whispered to me when I was just dreaming of days like these: "Roots grow deep so branches can reach high."
And in that wisdom lies everything.
