Why My New “Gangsta” Title Felt Great And Rocked My Day
Validation from a stranger and the power and impact of words
This past Saturday, a stranger gave me the title “Gangsta.”
It was unexpected.
But it felt great.
Not because I knew what the person who called me a Gangsta meant but because everything in the way he said it lifted my feet off the gray concrete of my Brooklyn sidewalk.
How I earned the title
It was a sidewalk-colored day. A moderately heavy rain was falling.
I had a package to take to UPS just around the corner, and the smell of Michael’s bakery treats called to me from across the street.
I grabbed my package — a 6-foot rolled-up rug I was returning, securely re-packaged in broken, heavily taped plastic, my keys, and phone, and ran out the door.
I love the rainy weather almost as much as I love sunshine, the feel of raindrops hitting my skin and lovingly descending, cleansing, and therapeutic in their touch.
I gleefully stepped into the gray and wetness of the day.
A few bounces into my journey to the corner, a young man on the sidewalk declared:
