We don’t get any passion from you

At work, I felt like Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man.

“What and how much had I lost by trying to do only what was expected of me instead of what I myself had wished to do?”

I had one year left in a three-year leadership development program, and I was hoping a conversation with my director, Ray, would open some doors—maybe give me a chance to transition into a role that felt more aligned with my creative ambitions, like marketing or media.

“We just don’t get any passion from you,” he said coldly during our one-on-one.

Passion? That stung, but it didn’t surprise me. I already knew what they were thinking—Ray, my manager, and the rest of the leadership team: Omari shows a lot of promise, but he's clearly not fit for this environment. He comes in late every day, wears what he wants, doesn’t communicate. No one knows what he’s doing, and… we’re not sure he knows what he’s doing.

“You seem like you're checked out,” Ray continued.

He wasn’t wrong. I’d been trying to hide for months, but with the only high-top fade in the entire corporate headquarters, it was hard not to find me. My previous manager had tried talking me out of my ‘Kid n Play’ haircut. Something about “fitting in with the old boys club.” The one I had now barely spoke to me.

“So what’s up?” Ray said, leaning in. “What’s going on with you?”

Ray was one of the few Black men in the organization. If there was anyone I should’ve been able to open up to, it was him. But I never had that kind of relationship with authority, and it didn’t seem like it was gonna start now. 

“Yea, umm, I’m interested in the marketing side of things,” I finally spoke up.

“Yah.” He nodded, unimpressed. “We need to see more initiative here. We need to see that you're fully committed.”

I looked out the window at the woods behind him. The trees swayed lightly, almost as if they were calling to me.

I couldn’t help but think, if this was a corporate plantation, what kind of slave would I be?

Would I be content, sitting in the big house, with Ray?

Or would I make a run for it, through those woods like a Maroon?

That’s when I started daydreaming about making my escape.

Lord knows and time tells, I told myself.

Lord knows, and time tells.