My best male friend is the one, Jason Francis. He has endured my debauchery, world travels, and domestic labors of love for the last seven years. He has seen, and definitely heard, it all.
When I need to be checked, he's there. When my emotions need to be leveled off by a dose of logic, he becomes my equilibrium.
Yet, there's something I say that urks him beyond belief.

"I'm obsessed."

We've had many a conversation on how uncomfortable it makes him when I use this word. By definition it is merely a thought or idea that continually preoccupies, or intrudes, someone's mind.
By Evita's definition, there is nothing else. I could understand if I said I was obsessed with the idea of a person (Common is the only one who has come close to that), then it'd be alarming.
In my conversations, it's more so used to refer to traveling, writing, projects, self-improvement, and things of the sort.

Frankly, I need to become obsessed again. It's all about my energy, where it's going and where its been. Right now, I need that fire that I feel when I'm in the zone of creation. It's a slight madness that takes over when I'm so in my art that nothing else matters. Tunnel vision ensues and writing supersedes any parties, conversation, television program, and in some cases sleep.

I have heard this word out of the mouths of many people I revere from Will Smith to Oprah Winfrey, to the artist down the block. It takes that commitment, that unwavering focus, and that 10,000 hours of genius to help push you there. I don't shy away from much, and I damn sure don't shy away from hard work.

One of the main things I missed about Japan, while in New York, was the same thing I hated about it when I first got here...the isolation. In retrospect, it's exactly what I needed to give this memoir an honest attempt, with undivided attention. The story deserves this time and attention. My life needs this moment.

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