“Why I’m Divorcing Hip-Hop—and Embracing Peace Instead”
Months ago, I declared that I was done. Finished. Through. You all took one of my favorite rappers and threw him under the bus, fabricating conspiracy theories about why he “must’ve done it,” spinning tales of his alleged partnership with Diddy when it was convenient, and even dragging Beyoncé into the mess. So, I’m not ashamed to say that I announced my “divorce” from hip-hop—not just the music, but the culture, the industry, the entire ecosystem that once served as a lifeline for my creativity, identity, and success. This wasn’t a snap decision. It was a long, hard reflection on what the genre, and the world it fosters, has become.
At first glance, that statement might seem hyperbolic. After all, hip-hop is the voice of a generation, a cultural phenomenon that has shaped fashion, language, and even politics. It’s an ever-present force that millions connect to on a deep, emotional level. But here’s the thing: when you’ve grown up on something, profited from it, contributed to it, and nearly lost your life because of it, the relationship is no longer straightforward. It’s complicated. And for me, it’s unhealthy.
The tipping point wasn’t just one event. It was an accumulation of moments: the world embracing salacious allegations as “facts,” the endless cycle of Diddy’s controversies, the ever-present soundtrack of violence and vice. Even as hip-hop evolved, its themes seem stuck in a loop—sex, drugs, money, power—repackaged and recycled ad nauseam. Sure, the beats were fresh, and the bars could be sharp, but the message? All too often, it was the same.
I had to ask myself: Why am I still invested in something that frequently celebrates destruction, or at best, skates along its edges? Why continue to support an industry that rewards controversy over craftsmanship and glorifies chaos over creativity? And let’s not forget the cost—gunfire dodged, ambushes escaped, lives lost. At some point, you have to wonder if the price is just too high.
So, I’m done. I’ve stepped away, not with anger but with clarity. I’ve turned toward peace, toward music and experiences that feed my soul rather than drain it. Give me the soothing nostalgia of Christopher Cross, the heartfelt lyrics of Dan Fogelberg, the poignant beauty of Elton John’s “Empty Garden.” Let me immerse myself in melodies that uplift, in stories that heal, in affirmations that build rather than break.
What hip-hop once gave me was irreplaceable: a platform, a voice, a means to reach people. But as I’ve grown, my needs have changed. I no longer want to risk my life to keep up with an industry fueled by trends, drama, and “allegedly” this or “allegedly” that. I’ve seen too much, heard too much, survived too much to keep running that roulette wheel.
Instead, I want to write my heart out from a quiet corner of the world. I want to breathe in the serene air of Ghana or the calm vibes of Thailand. I want to thrive on Les Brown’s wisdom, Tony Robbins’ motivation, Eric Thomas’ energy. I want to binge thrillers on a screen, not live them out on a highway or a backstreet. I want the tranquility of white-sand beaches, the peace of mind that comes from knowing I’ve made it—without risking it all again.
My decision isn’t about condemning the entire genre or erasing its impact on my life. It’s about prioritizing my health, my happiness, my future. It’s about recognizing that in my fourth quarter, I need a different rhythm, a different vibe. I need peace.
So no, I won’t be pushing play on the latest “hot” track or diving into the newest hip-hop drama. Instead, you’ll find me swaying to Stevie Wonder, jotting down affirmations, teaching others how to thrive without chaos, and perhaps sipping that island iced tea while a warm breeze ruffles the pages of my latest manuscript.
This isn’t bitterness—it’s a love story that’s reached its natural end. And now, it’s time to turn the page.
