Tricky Sol

When Eric Dane died, I wasn't grieving the man, but something broke anyway. This essay unpacks parasocial grief, what we project onto public figures, and the question that follows: what do you want to represent to the people who'll one day mourn what you made?

Two months after February ended, I close out the Love & Legacy series with the clarity that distance brings. Reflecting on fifteen essays — from Clarence Avant to Quincy Jones to Phylicia Rashad — one thread emerges: legacy is what love does when it refuses to stay private. This isn't a conclusion. It's a commitment to making the format permanent — paying close attention to the people who loved something hard enough to build something lasting.

A teacher told young Stevie he had three strikes against him: blind, Black, poor. He added "bow-legged" to expose the absurdity. This blog explores how Stevie Wonder refused every limitation framework imposed on him, turning perceived disadvantages into strategic advantages, and built one of music's greatest legacies through faith-based creative practice.

Conflict is revelation. It shows you what matters to each person in the relationship. It exposes the tender spots, the non-negotiables, the places where you're most vulnerable. And if you're willing to be curious enough to figure out why those things matter—that's where intimacy lives.

Kem's "I Can't Stop Loving You" isn't your typical Valentine's song. It's raw honesty about what happens when forever ends but love doesn't. To yearn for someone is to earn them in memory—even when y'all can never be together again. The sentiment is enough.

Phylicia Rashad Picture a nine-year-old girl standing in a segregated Houston supermarket in the 1950s, staring at two water fountains. One labeled "For Colored." The other: "For Whites Only." Curiosity got the best of young Phylicia Allen. She wanted to know what that forbidden water tasted like. So she walked over, turned on the whites-only fountain, and drank. The water tasted exactly the same. "I understood that humanity had tricked itself," she would later reflect. "And

Quincy Jones Here's what everyone knows about Quincy Jones: he produced Thriller , the biggest-selling album in human history. He worked with everyone from Count Basie to Frank Sinatra to Michael Jackson. He has 79 Grammy nominations and 27 wins. He helped break MTV's color barrier. He organized We Are The World . He's a living legend. Here's what almost nobody talks about: Quincy Jones built the most sophisticated love-based production system in music history, and he did it

Every time that front door gets slammed, find the back window left open. But here's the revolutionary part: you can make it better than what was behind the door. The back window isn't second-best. Being forced to find another way forces innovation that improves on the original. Clarence Avant didn't just find back windows—he climbed through them and built something better. Rejection becomes information. Barriers become redirects.

His work reminds me that the space I claim for myself isn't given — it's constructed. When I feel that surge of recognition listening to his music, I'm not being reminded of who Michael was. I'm being reminded of who I can become when I stop negotiating with my vision and start executing it.

What is the price of freedom?' Ryan's answer comes in layers. Community—you can't be free alone. Vigilance—stay alert to who's at your door. Gatekeeping—protect what's sacred. Being willing to say no to the money when it comes with chains. But there's another answer: 'Find something you're willing to die for and then live for it.