speak, for so many years now, to be able to produce, then give back to the community, all of this, to say nothing of wealth, has been—to keep it real—all I’ve ever wanted. Then again, it is never really all, is it? The more we attain, the more we wish for, as if we’re scratching off tasks from a to-do list. For me, becoming a husband, one half of a long-term and committed intimate relationship, remains unfinished, though I’ve gotten close a few times. We did.
I could list each of their names now, but there’s no need to get into specifics. In love, each person has their own story to tell, and it’s not my place to speak for other people. But—I was in love. If love is truly eternal, then maybe I still am, after so many moments since the end of our time together. But this isn’t all about broken hearts and sad songs; this is quiet reflection in the middle of the night, in bed, alone, thinking, just thinking, about everything and nothing.
I’m not interested in presenting prescriptive ideas that prop up a gender’s point of view at the expense of dismissing another. Rather, I take the position that I know nothing about love, and neither do you; at the same time, I know everything about love, as do you. I have my experiences, and you have yours; there are small, human truths within the universal truth, the one truth. This I call God, the Most High, and from here I try to move through the world with Him and His universal truth in mind, as practiced by Christ and the prophets, the leaders, the women and men who between life and death tried to live for someone other than themselves, an act of true love.
It feels as if no one wants to be a hero anymore, nor do people seek them out. The sentiment is a little played out now, maybe; in the quest for individual success and truth, to make it known where they stand on this or that issue, provided they say anything at all about a thing, I don’t know if it matters to people whether or not they’re viewed as heroes. It matters to me.
I have a few heroes in my life, those who’ve inspired me. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. is one hero, as well as Muhammad Ali, and Dr. Maya Angelou—these are just the first names that come to mind. Each one lived an authentic life, which I think is invaluable and necessary if one is wanting to live with love, live in love, and find and maintain a love for oneself, and to love others.
King, Ali, and Angelou loved other people, loved the Black community, and found their own individual ways to serve the community, but I think it all starts with love of self. That’s not to say God is placed second on the list, if there is such a list, of who should be loved in one’s life.
God is love, sang Marvin Gaye, but to serve God and to serve other people, families, and communities, you have to care for yourself; you have to love yourself. And as clichéd as this sounds, because I think we all know and speak on the need to love ourselves, the practice of loving yourself is difficult to establish, and there’s no one way to do it.
To me, heroes appear as though they move with a singular focus and a laser-sharp dedication with a goal or a new world in mind, something that is not easily attainable but is possible so long as you resolve to pursue it. All of my heroes loved themselves differently and they each found their path in life.
And I’ve become more familiar with the lives of my heroes. I had my ideas in mind, for example, of how Dr. King was as a man of the people and of the pulpit. But since my work on the film Selma, I have a greater appreciation for him even though the movie showed that Dr. King had flaws—which was vital for us to see: A man routinely mythologized for his work and his deeds was still a human, imperfect and hurtful to those who loved him the most, engaged in a constant back-and-forth recalibration of his life to achieve and manifest his greatest dreams and hopes, all while sometimes failing to maintain that balance. I can relate.
I’m proud of the work I’ve done throughout my career, and I