I lead an improbable life
It’s the sort of thing that I haven’t thought about, really, because I’ve been rather preoccupied with leading it. But while I was in the midst of an exceedingly rough patch not too long ago, I examined, objectively, who I am.
I’m a black man. Who was born in the Bronx. For every 15 black men in the United States, one of them is currently in jail, and for those born in lower-income areas, that rate is even worse. I’m shitty at math, but those odds are not in my favor.
I’m happily married (something that only half of all married couples can claim, given the 50% divorce rate) with two children, one of whom is autistic…which affects one in a hundred families.
I’ve been an editor at magazines that reach millions of people, I’ve written comic books for Marvel and DC, and I’ve been hired on staff to write episodes of broadcast television. Of the 300 million people in the US, mere thousands get to hold jobs like these. And in almost every professional meeting I’ve ever gone to, I’m the only black guy in the room.
I am a statistical anomaly.
I say none of this to pat myself on the back. Some of this is the result of hard work. But some comes from good parentage, some from outrageous fortune, and still more from simply not being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
It’s just that, when things get bad, you need to be able to remember the things that are good, that are grand, and that — no matter what the world may tell you — your path is your own and it is one of value.
I should be dead, but I’m not. I’m improbable. And I can live with that.
