Writing down your goals is extremely powerful.

In 2021, the year before I turned 30, my life shifted in ways I could no longer ignore. Every major area demanded transformation, mentally, physically, and spiritually. My personal life and my career were both at a breaking point, and the truth was simple. The change I needed was not optional. It came from rock bottom. I was in a place where I either had to get through it or accept staying stuck. There was no in-between, no more delaying, no more convincing myself that I would figure it out later.

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By the time my 30th birthday arrived in 2022, everything had changed. I was 100 pounds lighter, deep into a new career path, dating, enjoying life, and experiencing a level of clarity I had not felt in years. For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t just thinking about a better life. I was actively living in one.

Before that shift, one of my biggest frustrations with myself was a pattern I could not seem to break. I wanted a lot, I planned a lot, and I talked about a lot. What I did not do was follow through. It was a loop I knew too well, starting and stopping over and over again without ever building real momentum.

In the weeks leading up to my 30th birthday, I made a decision that felt small at the time but turned out to be foundational. I sat down and created a list of 30 things I wanted to accomplish in my 30s. I called it OPERATION: WORTHY 30. It was a commitment to myself that this next decade would be intentional, that I would no longer move through life passively, hoping things would change. I was going to define what I wanted and hold myself accountable to it.

Now, nearly four years into my 30s, I’ve completed one third of that list. That realization didn’t come from obsessively tracking my progress or constantly revisiting the list. It hit me in a real, unexpected moment as I crossed off another goal, getting played on local radio.

What makes that moment even more surreal is how it happened. My brother just happened to be in the car, listening to the radio at the exact moment my song came on. I had no warning or notification. Just alignment.

Video captured by my brother as my song played on one of the most popular radio stations in the Washington, DC area — WHUR 9.63 on April 8, 2026

That was one of the biggest items on the list, and I can’t overstate what it meant to cross it off. The craziest part is that I wasn’t actively chasing it at the time. I wasn’t pitching to stations or trying to force the outcome. I was focused on doing the work, building momentum, and continuing to grow. Coming off my Wammie Music Awards sweep, it makes sense that “Ignite the Night,” which won Best R&B/Soul Song, would start gaining more attention. Still, seeing that specific goal, something I wrote down years ago, get fulfilled so casually put things into perspective.

It reminded me that writing it down matters. Even when you are not thinking about it every day, the intention you set has a way of embedding itself into how you move. It influences your decisions, your discipline, and the opportunities you position yourself for. That list has been working in the background of my life for over 3 years.

When I revisited it and realized I had completed 10 things, with several others already in motion or close to being finished, I felt something I used to struggle with, pride. Real pride in myself for following through, for becoming someone who doesn’t just start, but finishes. I know who I used to be, and I know how easy it would have been to fall back into old patterns. This time, I didn’t.

Every time I cross something off that list, it reinforces that identity. That’s the real power of writing your goals down. It isn’t only about the outcome, it’s about who you become in the process of pursuing it.

If you take anything from this, let it be this. Write it down. Be clear about what you want. Put it somewhere you can revisit. Take a picture, keep a note, make it tangible. Then, when the time comes, cross it off.

There is something powerful about seeing your life move from intention to evidence. I’m living proof of that.

I feel fortunate to have had a clear sense of what I want to do and what I’m meant to do. I understand that these two things don’t always line up for everyone, and I don’t take that lightly. For me, they’ve been remarkably synchronized.

Knowing what you want and finding purpose in it is one thing, but forging a path to see it come to life is another. Over the last year, I’ve learned that things truly flow when you’re in alignment with your purpose. That doesn’t mean life is without challenges, obstacles are inevitable, but there is a natural momentum that grows when you hit that sweet spot.

When resistance lingers and feels hard to shake, it’s usually a sign to pause, re-evaluate, and pivot.

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I’ve met adults who don’t feel a sense of purpose or haven’t discovered what makes them excited to get out of bed. I tell them it’s an exploration. Life offers moments that reveal a deep desire connected to your purpose. Sadly, childhood often suppresses certain passions, especially artistic ones. Parents may push toward specific careers, or peers may bully you for pursuing something unconventional. Early detours happen, and later on, even when you have some idea of your calling, life can still pull you off course.

The latter was my story. I’ve always been an artist, and I’ve always felt that being an artist is inseparable from my purpose. Yet I struggled to reconcile it with the financial realities of adulthood. Every time I settled into a typical 9-to-5 lifestyle, I felt unfulfilled and out of place. Inevitably, it ended the same way:

This is not a statement against corporate work or any job. For some, it aligns perfectly with their purpose. I know from experience that it simply wasn’t for me. I reached the highest position in my department, became the youngest member of the leadership team, and still felt a void.

Even during seasons of misalignment, there were signs pointing me back to my purpose. One of my favorites comes from when I was four years old. It should be no surprise as a professional yapper, I started speaking early, and by pre-kindergarten graduation, I was fluent enough to serve as Master of Ceremonies. My mom still talks about how impressed the audience was with my poise. After the ceremony, my teacher gave my mom a card that ended with:

That insight at age four was uncanny. My natural draw to media, entertainment, and radio felt undeniable. Hosting and curating shows in the First-Class Music Suites is my modern-day fulfillment of that early vision. Projects like The AM Soul Takeoff confirm that alignment every weekday morning.

Winning every award I was nominated for at the 37th Annual Wammie Music Awards recently reinforced my connection to making music and living purposefully.

I am in a season where I feel clear and confident that the way I spend my days aligns with my life’s purpose. I am passionate about helping other artists and creatives uncover that alignment for themselves. That’s why I am launching the first Crossfade Creator Lab Cohort, working closely with seven artists to help them execute their ideas and bring their dreams to life, another slice of my purpose pie.

Finding your purpose isn’t a destination, it’s a practice. The more you lean into what feels right, the more your life unfolds with momentum, meaning, and impact.

There’s a strange shift that happens when you go from hobbyist or side hustler to full-time creative.

When you’re stuck in a 9 to 5 that has nothing to do with your gifts, you fantasize about the day you get paid to create. You picture freedom, flexibility, and fulfillment. You imagine waking up excited because your work actually matters to you.

Then it happens. You go full time.

And suddenly there are deadlines, contracts, revisions, client expectations, scope creep. The same thing you once did purely for joy now has financial pressure attached to it.

That does not mean it was never your passion. It just means the context changed.

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We all need money. The ideal scenario is earning it through something you genuinely enjoy. But once your livelihood depends on that thing, your relationship to it can shift. That is human. At the end of the day, responsibility changes the emotional texture of the work.

Give yourself grace in that transition.

I’m not speaking hypothetically. I’ve been making money as a creative entrepreneur for over a decade. There have been multiple iterations of Crossfade. My first LLC was Crossfade Media, and at the time my philosophy was simple: if I could do it, I offered it.

That meant services across five major areas:

• Audio, including music

• Photo

• Video

• Graphics

• Web, including WordPress, social media, and email marketing

If a business needed something creative, I was probably saying yes.

It did not take long before I found myself resenting large portions of the very work I once dreamed of doing. When everything is for sale, nothing feels sacred. The passion was still there, but the positioning was off.

Ten years and another LLC later, Crossfade Productions looks very different. The services are specific and intentional. I still have deep expertise across multiple disciplines, but now I often use that knowledge to guide and coach small business owners and creatives instead of executing every task myself. In many cases, my knowledge is the product more than the labor.

That shift changed my relationship with my work.

My business now sits in a pocket I genuinely love. I get to create, I get paid, and I do not feel like I am draining the life out of the thing that once lit me up. That balance came from iteration and honest evaluation.

At some point, you have to walk back what you offer. You have to decide what you will not do.

For me, that realization came after shooting my first wedding. I knew almost immediately that if I kept booking weddings, I would eventually resent photography altogether. So I updated my website, clarified the types of events I shoot, and began respectfully declining wedding inquiries.

That boundary protected my long-term love for the craft.

You can apply the same principle to your own work. If you are a painter and do not want to live under rigid showcase deadlines and submission rules, then do not. You can take a scarcity or premium route, create on your timeline, and sell through your own platforms. That approach requires stronger marketing, but it also allows you to build content around your process, livestream your work, or document before and after transformations. You keep the income goal intact while preserving creative freedom.

If you are multidisciplinary, segment your creativity. Some areas can be monetized strategically. Others can exist purely for fun, experimentation, or personal branding. Not every skill needs to be turned into a revenue stream.

When you start feeling jaded, pause and evaluate what is actually causing it. Is it the clients? The structure? The volume? The lack of boundaries? Or is it the work itself?

Those are very different problems with very different solutions.

If the container is the issue, redesign it. Narrow your offers, raise your rates, or cut the services that drain you. If the work itself feels empty, that requires deeper reflection about whether it truly belongs at the center of your career.

Your “why” should not disappear in the pursuit of income. Revisit it often and protect it intentionally. Making money from your passion is a privilege. Keeping that passion alive while you do it is a discipline.

Happy creating!

I would love to say this move was carefully planned, strategic, and perfectly timed. It wasn’t. I left because staying felt unsustainable. I was burned out, deeply unfulfilled, and closer to a breaking point than I was willing to admit at the time. Leaving wasn’t a bold career pivot as much as it was an act of self-preservation.

I also wasn’t jumping into total chaos. I had just released an album that was starting to gain traction, a few freelance projects through Crossfade, and something I hadn’t had in a long time: time. Still, the months that followed were rough. From February through August, I tried a lot of things to see what would stick. It was uncomfortable, humbling, and far from glamorous.

Things didn’t start to click until I made a hard decision to narrow my focus. I committed fully to music, not just as a singer and songwriter, but as a producer, curator, and tastemaker. When I locked into a consistent live streaming schedule that Fall, everything shifted. Momentum built, community formed, and I stepped into a role I hadn’t expected but earned: DJ.

Now, one year later, I finally have clarity about where I’m going and what I’m building. Looking back, I can see the wins, the surprises, and the realities no one really prepares you for when you decide to bet on yourself.

So I pulled together 10 lessons from my first year as a full-time artist. If you’re considering a creative life, already in it, or quietly questioning your own next move, I hope these help. These are in no particular order.

1. Your story is a tool

Sharing your lessons, wins, and struggles instead of only polished results resonates more deeply and builds connection faster than any marketing push. People love being part of a come-up story. Showing what is at stake naturally draws them in and creates investment.

2. Not everyone will show up for you

The people you expect to have your back won’t always be there. Learning to navigate that without losing steam is part of building resilience and focusing on those who truly support you.I’m incredibly blessed to have an inner circle that truly loves and supports me, but most of the support beyond that comes from people I’ve never even met in real life.

3. Consistency is a superpower

Showing up, day after day, even when it’s hard, compounds in ways that talent alone can’t. Your reliability builds trust, momentum, and opportunities that only reveal themselves over time.

4. You have to get comfortable accepting help

No one builds a creative life entirely alone. Learning to let others in, whether it’s guidance, support, or resources, multiplies what you can achieve and keeps you from losing the plot.

5. If you’re a “jack of all trades,” start with one

You can do a lot, but focus is what turns skills into impact. Choose one area to lead with and master it, then layer in your other skills. I call this an “umbrella focus.” For me, music is the focus, while videography, photography, design, and branding support it. My profiles highlight music, but my content shows everything else I can do. Keeping a clear core focus has made everything else flow.

6. Community amplifies growth

The people you surround yourself with multiply your reach, perspective, and opportunities. Engaging with supporters, collaborators, and peers accelerates learning and impact in ways going solo never could.

7. Building a creative life from scratch rarely feels comfy

Growth and comfort don’t usually coexist, especially in the beginning. Most of the time, you’ll be figuring things out on the fly, and that uncertainty is exactly where progress happens. Every time things get particularly tough, I tell myself, “this is just what the moment calls for.”

8. Patience is everything

Progress often comes in invisible stages, and quitting too early can mean missing your breakthrough. The night before my live stream blew up, I had no viewers and ended early, feeling like all my effort was wasted. If I hadn’t gotten up and done it again the next day, I would have missed the moment that sparked the online success I have today. Patience and persistence matter more than we realize.

9. Your corporate network still matters

The relationships and connections you built before leaving aren’t wasted. They can open doors, provide guidance, and give support in ways you might not expect as you build your creative path.

10. Boundaries are critical

Even when you’re doing work you love, without limits it’s easy to burn out. Setting clear boundaries around time, energy, and creative focus protects your work, your well-being, and your momentum.

I have never treated my first album, Under the Blue Lights (2024) as a finished statement. From the start, it was meant to hold a mood rather than close a chapter. I typically build work with the expectation that my ear will sharpen, my tools will evolve, and my relationship to the material will evolve over time. Leaving room for that is intentional.

The Romantic Reimagining of the album grew out of that openness. I was not trying to improve the album or update it. I was listening for ways to feel the music differently. With Valentine’s Day on the horizon, and as a Certified Lover Boy, I figured it out.

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Working this way has changed how I think about output. One idea does not have to equal one result. A song, a project, or a body of work can carry more than one expression if you allow it to. That matters when you are trying to keep creating at a steady pace without flattening your standards.

This new project came together because I gave myself permission to ask different questions of the same material. What happens if the tempo breathes more? What happens if the harmony lingers? What happens if I remove urgency and let intimacy do the work? Those questions were musical first. The tools came second.

I worked with artificial intelligence as part of this process, but never in isolation. The results came from active direction. Decisions were shaped by my experience as a saxophonist, songwriter, and producer. I knew what to push, what to pull back, and what to discard entirely. Without that foundation, the output would have been unfocused and shallow. The technology did not replace the choices only my mind could make.

There is a lot of fear around AI in creative spaces, and much of it is warranted. The environmental cost is real. The lack of regulation is real. The way corporations talk about replacement instead of collaboration is real. Ignoring those issues does not help anyone. Pretending the tools do not exist does not either.

What has been useful for me is staying grounded in craft. When you know what you are listening for, when you understand structure, tone, and intention, these tools become responsive rather than prescriptive. They speed up exploration and help surface options, but they do not decide what matters.

This perspective did not come out of nowhere. In my previous role as Director of Marketing for a global training organization, I led a small team that built a learning center focused on Applied Artificial Intelligence. Creating the brand presence for that initiative required a deep dive into generative tools, their limits, and their practical use cases. That was the point where I stopped treating AI as an abstract concept and started understanding it as infrastructure.

By the time I transitioned into being a full-time artist, those tools were already part of how I worked. They help me move faster without cutting corners. They help me manage volume without sacrificing taste. They do not make decisions for me. They help me get to the decision point sooner.

That distinction matters.

As a subscriber to Created to Create, you are getting a first listen to all of the Romantic Reimaginings before they are released publicly. I wanted to share them here because this space is where I talk honestly about how things are made, not just what gets released. The music is the artifact. The thinking behind it is the work.

If there is a takeaway here, it is simple and practical. Your art does not have to stop at its first form. If you build with intention and keep your standards intact, you can return to your own work and find new paths through it. Tools will continue to change. Taste, judgment, and experience remain the difference.

Happy creating!

Under the Blue Lights (Romantic Reimagining)

1.) Ignite the Night

2.) Shine

3.) Oodles & Noodles

4.) Earth is Ghetto

5.) Smoke Screen

6.) Under the Blue Lights

7.) Hypothetically

8.) Abide

9.) Turn the AC On

10. ) Beyond the Blue

Let me be clear.

When I first started writing and recording my own music back in 2015, I struggled with the idea of releasing songs to what felt like no one. I was in college at the time. Once I started performing at campus open mics, people knew I could sing, but that support did not translate online. Seeing fewer than 1,000 plays next to my songs on Spotify messed with my head more than I wanted to admit.

That discomfort shaped my behavior for years.

I fell into a cycle of releasing music, taking it down, disappearing for months, sometimes a year, then repeating the process. I told myself I was being strategic. In reality, I was getting in my own way. That pattern all but guaranteed I would never grow an audience. You cannot build momentum around work that keeps vanishing.

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Everything shifted when I finally decided to stop sabotaging myself and let the music live. A big part of that decision was choosing to make the music I genuinely wanted to make, not just the kind I enjoyed listening to or the kind I assumed people would gravitate toward.

I released a song called Smoke Screen. It was never written with release in mind. It was a gift to someone, personal and unpolished in intention. That song eventually became the first single from my album Under the Blue Lights. For the first year it was out, I was one of the only people listening to it. Before the album dropped, I never cracked 10 monthly listeners on any streaming platform, certainly not consistently.

Still, the song stayed up.

Around that same time, I committed to visibility. I showed up on social media with more intention. I joined TikTok. I stopped lurking and started engaging. Eventually, I became a full-time creator, consistently sharing not just my music, but myself. Over time, people found their way in.

In one year, I went from fewer than 10 monthly listeners in February 2024 to over 6,000 in February 2025. The same song I once assumed no one cared about is now my most streamed, with over 18,000 plays and counting.

I am not sharing this to brag. I am sharing it for the Dreamer reading this who is sitting on a finished song, a video, or a story because the audience does not feel big enough yet. Release the song. Post the video. Publish the story. Do the thing you keep saving for later.

One of the most important lessons I have learned is how necessary it is to separate your work from the desire for immediate recognition. Being instantly seen, heard, and validated is not the requirement for growth. Patience is. Consistency is. Giving the process time to unfold is.

Let the platforms do their job. Let the algorithms learn you over time. Let people discover you when they are meant to. It is far more meaningful to build a base of engaged, high-quality supporters who genuinely connect with your work than to chase random clicks and momentary attention.

The last thing I want to share is my Spotify Artist Wrapped for 2025. This year, my music crossed 88,000 total streams across platforms. I am proud of that number, not because it makes me feel chosen, but because it reflects years of learning how to stop hiding.

Your people cannot find what you refuse to release.

Put the music out. They will find it.

Hey Dreamer,

I’ve been sitting with the idea of doing this for a while.

Starting something new takes confidence. Creating in public adds another layer to that, especially when so much of the internet encourages you to measure your worth in likes, views, and follower counts.

This is my way of stepping outside that pressure and owning my journey on my own terms. I wanted a place to slow down during periods of heavy ideation and production, and to articulate the thinking behind the work. The lessons, recalibrations, and decisions that rarely make it into captions, yet shape everything that comes after.

For a long time, I lived in two worlds. Corporate marketing by day, artist by night. On paper, it was responsible. In reality, it was misaligned. Walking away from that life at the start of 2025 to pursue music full-time was a deliberate decision shaped by experience, burnout, a lack of fulfillment, and a growing refusal to ignore what I was made to do.

Since then, I’ve signed a publishing deal, begun work on my second album, and built a music community from 0 to over 12,000 people in a matter of months. The most valuable lessons weren’t about numbers. They were about alignment, discipline, consistency, and protecting creative energy long enough to do meaningful work.

Created to Create exists because I wish something like this had existed when I was figuring it out. It’s a body of work rooted in real-world experience, exploring what it actually takes to build a life led by creativity and purpose in a way that’s sustainable and fulfilling.

More than anything, this is a community built around shared curiosity and intention. People who care about how ideas form, how art takes shape, and how creative lives are built over time. Subscribing here means opting into that mindset.

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This community comes to life through conversation. If something here resonates, add your voice, respond, build on it. The dialogue matters.

Here’s what you can expect going forward.

I’ll be publishing regularly, at least once a week, with additional posts when there’s something worth unpacking. This won’t be limited to written essays. You can expect a mix of text, video, and audio. The content will move between reflection and application. Some posts will be personal and introspective, while others will get more technical, breaking down the mechanics behind different creative and entrepreneurial processes.

Topics will include building a sustainable creative life, developing discipline and structure, growing community without chasing attention, navigating the business side of creativity, and sharing behind-the-scenes insight into what I am building through music, Crossfade Productions, and the First-Class Music Suites.

Alongside my own creative work, I also work one-on-one with creatives and founders navigating questions of direction, structure, and alignment. Many of those conversations mirror the themes explored here. This platform is an extension of that practice, a way to share the frameworks and perspective that guide my work.

Free subscribers will have access to the core essays and reflections. Paid subscribers will receive deeper dives, exclusive content, and closer behind-the-scenes context around my creative and professional work. This will evolve, and I’ll communicate clearly as it does. I’ll experiment, adjust, and learn in real time, but honesty will stay at the center.

If you feel called to build a life that reflects who you actually are, not just what looks good from the outside, you’re in the right place.

This is an invitation to live and create with intention.

Subscribe if you want to grow alongside me. Share it with someone who needs it. Either way, I’m grateful that you’re here.