Dear Family,

When we stop accepting agency over our own story, a narrative void forms.

And nature, as they say, abhors a vacuum—so something will fill that space. Sometimes it’s society’s expectations. Other times, it’s old wounds, inherited fear, or someone else’s idea of who we’re supposed to be.

But if we don’t write the story, something or someone else will.

My daughter, Madison, is only few weeks old, and yet already, I find myself asking:

What kind of world will she grow up in?

What kind of story will she believe about herself?

And what kind of example am I setting with mine?

As a new father, I know I can’t protect her from everything.

But I can model what it looks like to own your narrative. I can show her that life isn’t just something that happens to you. You get to shape it. That means embracing both the triumphs and the mess. Taking the hard road when it matters. And refusing to let the opinions of others define your value.

I want her to grow up knowing that being a Black woman in this world is not a limitation.

It’s a legacy. And that her voice, her vision, and her choices matter—not just to her future, but to all the lives she’ll touch. But to teach her that, I have to live it myself.

It’s easy to drift through life on autopilot, doing what’s expected and calling it “being responsible.” But true responsibility starts with authorship. With saying:

“This is my story. And I’m not handing the pen to anyone else.”

We owe it to ourselves, and the next generation, to write stories worth living.

From LUX, With Love

Matt