Tired of Today, Forever Scared of Tomorrow

Children of the World was the song that made me a fan. And from that day, K.R.I.T has had a daily run in my playlist.

“They want my soul like my ancestors ain’t enough. If I can’t trust my own government who can I trust?”

I remember when I first heard that line, I was like goddamn. That was a BAR!

Because being Black in America will have you living inside contradictions all your life. You’re taught to pledge allegiance, but you watch the country treat your people like a problem to be managed at all times. You’re told to “work hard,” but you watch doors stay locked no matter how polite you knock on them. You learn history in pieces, like it’s safer that way, and then you get older and realize how much was left out — on purpose.

“They want my soul like my ancestors ain’t enough” was such a painful line because it carries both grief and exhaustion. It’s a reminder that our ancestors paid the price already twentyfold, in bodies, blood and labor, so why does it still feel like we’re being asked to give anything more?

And then he follows it with the question: If I can’t trust my own government, who can I trust?

That question was a logical response to OUR history. Black folks have been loyal to a country that has never been loyal back. We’ve been the backbone and the afterthought at the same time. And when you’re already depressed, feeling heavy, already trying to find your footing, that kind of truth can tear you down if you aren’t careful with it.

But hearing that song, for the first time in a while, I didn’t feel crazy. I felt understood. At the time when I heard it, I was in a very depressed state. I also didn’t have many people in my life that I was able to hold intellectual conversations with so I always felt misunderstood. People would ask me, “why are you so down all the time?” Like there was something severely wrong with me. It wasn’t me that was the problem, it was my soul finding out that this world we are living in is a sick joke at times. The more your eyes open, the darker the world gets.

You know how they say ignorance is bliss? I never understood that until I started to learn more things about my history, the dark web of lies we’ve been sold by the government, and even the rabbit hole I went down when I found things out about the industry that I wouldn’t have dreamed of in my worst nightmare.

But K.R.I.T. has always had this way of holding pain and pride in the same hand. His music will tell you the world is unfair, but it will also remind you that you come from something. It doesn’t let you drown in the struggle, but it also doesn’t insult you by pretending the struggle isn’t real. That balance matters, especially when you’re in a season where you’re already questioning yourself.

Then I heard “Generational Weighed Down,” and that one… whew. Knocked me on my goddamn feet.

That song puts words to something so many of us carry, but don’t know how to name. As a parent myself, I cried when I first heard it. And even still to this day I cry when I hear it. It opens something up inside me. Traumas and fears that I didn’t even know I had until I started bringing life into this world. He said, “I don’t wanna bring a life into a world that lies about the wrongs and rights and have to shield their eyes… I’m scared they’ll see. I’m scared they’ll repeat. What if our love divides, we break it off at nine, my baby holds me tight, I have to say goodbye, I’m scared they’ll see, I’m scared they’ll repeat me.”

Those fears that my children will be lied to about the darkness that this world carries. The fear of me wanting to shield them from the world, but knowing that I won’t always be there to protect them. The fear that I’ll create a broken home and they’ll repeat the cycle.

It was a feeling that you’re fighting battles you didn’t start. The pressure to be the “one” who makes it, the “one” who breaks the cycle, the “one” who figures it out, but nobody really tells you how. They just hand you the weight and tell you to find the way. I feel that pressure every day. Being the first daughter of my family. The first one to start addressing traumas. The first one to start asking questions. The first one to have the opportunity to break toxic generational cycles. The first one to have the opportunity to be somebody and make it in this world. The pressure of it all is a generational level weight. It’s exhausting.

And sometimes depression is exactly that, honestly — it’s not necessarily sadness, but more so fatigue. It’s your soul being tired. A constant mental leaning forward, like you’re bracing for impact at every moment. Like when he said in Children of the World, “tired of today, forever scared of tomorrow.” I felt that shit. And maybe what he was scared of is completely different from what I’m scared of, but I still felt it. Because as fearless as I may seem, I’m fucking terrified. I’m terrified of this world, I’m terrified of the world my kids will one day see. I’m terrified of what tomorrow may bring. Some days I’m a bit more optimistic, but I’d be lying if I said fear doesn’t grab a hold of me by the ankles, dragging me down, getting at eye level with me, forcing me to shake its hand and deviously introducing itself.

That shadow of fear follows me, even when I skip, do back flips, and run trying to get away from it. I felt so seen when I heard Generational Weighed Down. We all have fears. We all have something that keeps us up at night, but nobody told me that when I became a parent, those fears were going to be knocking at my front door, ripping it from its hinges, and forcing a seat at my dinner table.

That’s why K.R.I.T. felt like a porch light to me at that point in my life (extra cool points if you know the song Porchlight). His music brought me up out of one of the deepest depressions I’d ever been in. But even when you’re depressed, when you hear music that makes you feel understood, even when it’s sad, it triggers something in you. Like damn, I feel that. I understand that. I’m not alone in this.

But let me tell you about a song that will lighten that burden, and allow you to know that you can choose a different path… a different life, and make that shit better.

“It’s Better This Way,” which hits differently when you know he left the label and chose independence.

People may talk about that like it’s ONLY just business, owning masters, like it’s only about contracts and industry politics. But when you’ve felt stuck, depressed or like the world is telling you who you have to be to be accepted, independence becomes spiritual.

Because what he was really saying was: I’m not going to hand my voice over to a system that doesn’t respect it. I’m not going to shrink myself into something easier to sell. I’m not going to let other people decide what my work is worth. As a writer and independent author who purposely chose that route because I didn’t want to be a part of the machine, I FELT THAT.

That kind of decision does something to you when you’re listening from the other side and you’re trying to rebuild your own sense of self. It makes you ask: where am I giving parts of myself away just to be approved? Where am I staying in places that drain me because I’m scared of the risk?

But you also realize that, hey, I can choose my own path. I can write my own legacy. I can walk my own lane and it is better this way. I can even tie it back to the song Generational Weighed Down, because although there are fears that live deep inside of me, I can change the course. I can bring my children up in this dark world, and still be honest with them about the dangers that are waiting for them if they aren’t up on game about what it’s really like out here. I can show them that you don’t have to go the traditional route, you can make your own way. I can show them how to overcome their fears by being the example. And maybe that puts even more pressure on me, but at the end of the day, it’ll be better that way.

So no, this isn’t just a “K.R.I.T. appreciation post.”

This is me saying: certain songs meet you in the dark and give you perspective. Whether it’s heavy and hits you where it hurts or not, doesn’t really matter. What matters is it met you and understands you, and you understand it.

So for me, these songs aren’t just words behind a nice beat. They’re lyrical storytelling, records of the weight we carry — the embodiment of pain, truth, and wearing your heart on your sleeve. You have to have a certain level of depth to understand Big K.R.I.T. and his music. And I will forever be grateful that I found his discography.

I need music to speak to me. Like when he said, “If it don’t touch my soul, I can’t listen to it,” FELT!

So cheers to the porch light that was left on for me when I needed something to hold on to.

If I had to choose one of the three to link, it’s this one. So take a listen if you’ve never heard it before… and I hope you spend the rest of the week falling in love with one of the greatest to ever do it.