RACHEL MARTIN, HOST:
What have you learned to appreciate about your hometown over time?
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HANIF ABDURRAQIB: There's something about being unhoused in a place that you love, where I remember just walking the streets at night and feeling like the city belonged to me and only me because you're at your most invisible then.
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MARTIN: I'm Rachel Martin, and this is WILD CARD, the show where cards control the conversation.
(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)
MARTIN: Each week, my guest chooses questions at random from a deck of cards.
Pick a card, one through three.
Questions about the memories, insights and beliefs that have shaped them.
ABDURRAQIB: On the horizon, there is an excitement that I have not yet touched, and I just know that the fastest way to get there is to run to it.
MARTIN: My guest this week is writer Hanif Abdurraqib.
ABDURRAQIB: In the process of running to it, I will stumble over some excitements that I perhaps also did not know existed to me.
MARTIN: I think a lot about appreciation. I teach my kids that treating gratefulness like a daily practice can help them build meaningful lives. I've actually got sort of an evolution of appreciation in my mind. The first step is observation, right? Pay attention to the thing. The next step - appreciate the thing. Then find meaning in it. But the highest form of appreciation is reverence. Reverence is bigger and deeper than appreciation. It's divine.
Reverence reminds us of our small place in the universe. Holding something or someone with reverence is an act of optimism, I think. It's a way to acknowledge that there are miracles in this world that make living not just tolerable, but beautiful. Writer Hanif Abdurraqib is really good at reverence. Maybe it's because he's written about some of the hardest parts of living. He's been incarcerated. He's lived on the streets. He has lost people, including his mom when he was just 13 years old. When I talked to him last year, he told me something I'll never forget - that he tries to be a good steward to his grief, because it lives inside him, and it's not going away. And maybe understanding grief helps him understand reverence. And that's what differentiates him and his work - to me, anyway. How he can write about an Aretha Franklin song and make it a prayer, or a sports arena and make it a church. And as he does in his most recent book, "There's Always This Year," he can write about watching the rise of LeBron James in Ohio and make it feel like witnessing a miracle. His writing always makes me feel hopeful and alive, and it is my pleasure to welcome Hanif Abdurraqib to WILD CARD. Hey.
ABDURRAQIB: Hi. Thank you for having me. It's good to talk to you again.
MARTIN: Oh, I'm so happy to talk to you again. So are you up for this?
ABDURRAQIB: I'm very excited. I love a game. I don't get a chance to play games as much as I'd like to these days...
MARTIN: I feel...
ABDURRAQIB: ...So I'm very interested.
MARTIN: That makes me sad for you, Hanif. I feel like you...
ABDURRAQIB: I know. I'm on the road too much. I can't...
MARTIN: Too much Solitaire?
ABDURRAQIB: And when I do play games, it's just, like, video games in my house, which is thrilling, but...
MARTIN: (Laughter).
ABDURRAQIB: ...I do miss a game night. I miss, like, you know, a raucous game night with friends.
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MARTIN: I will hold up three cards at a time, and you will pick one at random, OK? And then you answer the question on that card.
ABDURRAQIB: Oh. Then I won't see the questions, right, obviously?
MARTIN: That's right. You will not.
ABDURRAQIB: OK.
MARTIN: No, it's random. You've got two tools at your disposal. You get one skip.
ABDURRAQIB: OK.
MARTIN: OK. You get one flip, so you can ask me to answer the question before you do.
ABDURRAQIB: This is great. This is great. If - initially, I thought this would be horrible for my anxiety.
MARTIN: (Laughter).
ABDURRAQIB: But having those two options...
MARTIN: Does it help?
ABDURRAQIB: Yeah.
MARTIN: Yeah.
ABDURRAQIB: That helps in a massive way.
MARTIN: Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah. There are escape hatches.
ABDURRAQIB: (Laughter).
MARTIN: We're breaking it up into three rounds, a few questions in each round, and we'll get deeper as we go.
ABDURRAQIB: Oof. OK.
MARTIN: OK?
ABDURRAQIB: Let's do it.
MARTIN: You're going to be great. All right - round one. Three cards in my hand. Pick one, two or three.
ABDURRAQIB: Two.
MARTIN: Two. Where would you go to feel safe as a kid?
ABDURRAQIB: You know, I'm the youngest of four. And I lived in a very loving household, but a household where everyone had their things. And being the youngest of four, you know, I spent a lot of time alone. But the good news is this was during the era - this was in the '90s, so it was a really robust era of college radio and radio in general. And so where I went to feel safe was kind of inside of the world afforded to me by headphones. I would put headphones on, and I would record songs off of the radio onto cassette tapes. I would be making mixtapes in real time off of the radio, which required a lot of precision. It required a lot of attentiveness, and, you know, you didn't hit stop on the tape when you were recording, 'cause that would be, like, a hard stop.
MARTIN: Oh, no, you had to have the pause to press.
ABDURRAQIB: And you have the pause button, yeah.
MARTIN: Oh, yeah, yeah. No, I remember.
ABDURRAQIB: Yeah. And so, you know, it required precision and thoughtfulness and attention. And it was a way that I felt extremely in control. I was saying, I can't control what is coming next on the radio, but I can control what comes next on this tape. And to wait by a radio all day, and hear the DJ announce the song that is your song - that feels miraculous. I miss that feeling. I wish I could bottle that feeling - feeling like something is being delivered just for you, in a world where, as the youngest, I felt like so few things were just specifically for me. I got a lot of hand-me-downs. I got a lot of second-hand things. I got a lot of things that had been loved by others. And, you know, to say I've been waiting on this song all day, and here it is. It's mine.
MARTIN: That's the thing that's hard to communicate to the youngs.
ABDURRAQIB: (Laughter).
MARTIN: The ephemeral magic of that happening, right?
ABDURRAQIB: Oh, of course. Yeah.
MARTIN: And, like, being there to capture it, and it made it all the more special.
ABDURRAQIB: It's like getting a gift, just that. Even though the sound quality wasn't great, even though, you know, sometimes a DJ talks over the end or over the beginning, it's still yours. And for me, when I was a kid, I so often felt like I was not in control of anything. Not even in a harsh way or a violent way. I just think, being the youngest, you know, I had to wait on people to drive me places, or I had to wait on people to finish with clothes so I could wear the clothes, or I had to wait on all of these things. And to say, I have enough money to buy a blank, 90-minute cassette tape, and I have a time on an afternoon that is just my time, where I can sit with headphones on by the radio and wait for a DJ to tell me, hey, I've got something just for you - that's special.
MARTIN: Oh, I love that memory. Thank you. OK. We got three more cards.
ABDURRAQIB: OK.
MARTIN: Three more cards. Pick one, two or three.
ABDURRAQIB: Three.
MARTIN: Three. Oh, this is like a gimme for you. What have you learned to appreciate about your hometown over time?
ABDURRAQIB: Oh, gosh (laughter).
MARTIN: You're like, where do I begin?
ABDURRAQIB: Yeah. You know, one story I like telling, not because I like reminding people that I've got a MacArthur but because it's funny. Is that the day that the MacArthur...
MARTIN: The MacArthur Genius Awards, by the way, for...
ABDURRAQIB: Yeah.
MARTIN: ...Those who don't know.
ABDURRAQIB: ...The MacArthur grant. The day I was announced, I had dinner plans with a friend. And these plans were, you know, like, set in stone for a while. And the day that that gets announced is a hectic day. It's, like, a wild day. Like, you have to do a million different things. And so I was running behind. And this dinner was - you know, this friend had a plan after. I had a plan after. We were going to a concert all this stuff.
And so I was running behind, and I texted her and I was like, you know, I'm running late, but I'll pull up. And I pulled up, like, you know, 15 minutes late to dinner. And she put her hand on my shoulder and said, I'm very proud of you. You may be a genius, but you really messed up my dinner plans.
MARTIN: (Laughter).
ABDURRAQIB: And I love that story, not because - because it's so reflective of this thing in Columbus where people are proud of me, and we are proud to live amongst each other, but no one's impressed, you know? I think it's really wonderful for me to live in a place where people are maybe happy that I'm there as I am happy they're there, and there is work that they connect to and feel proud to have representing their place and proud of me, perhaps, for creating it. But there's no overwhelming feeling of we are so impressed that we are placing you on a pedestal above us. And I don't want - you know...
MARTIN: Yeah.
ABDURRAQIB: ...I have lived in this place my whole life. There are people here who knew me when I was a kid. There are people here who knew me when I was getting arrested. There are people here who knew me when I was sleeping on the streets. And it is a place that really dismantles that good-bad binary. So often, and so much of the narrative of people who read the book and read about my time unhoused or jailed or these things, this idea of you were bad and now you're good. That's so flawed and kind of ridiculous. Because when I'm in my hometown, when I'm in Columbus, I'm reminded that, you know, I don't know if I was bad then. I don't know if I'm good now.
I think that in both instances - in all instances in my - through my living, I am doing my best to survive with the resources afforded to me. So, you know, there's a thing about Columbus that I love because people don't look at my life and career with a shrug. There's certainly a lot of affection. But the greater question that is always asked of me, and the question I have to rise to is what kind of community member do you want to be?
MARTIN: Yeah.
ABDURRAQIB: What kind of neighbor do you want to be? What kind of person in the world do you want to be? Which is a better and more useful question to me than what kind of artist do you want to be? And if I answer all those other questions, well, the question of what kind of artist I want to be answers itself.
MARTIN: Was there any part of you - I mean, I'm talking to you, and you're in New York right now. You know, New York is where the writers go. And LA is where the writers go. I mean, people can go anywhere now. But there are other places you could have lived and thrived and written. What was important to you about staying there?
ABDURRAQIB: I don't really know how well I know myself anywhere else. And I would - at this point, I don't want to find out. There's something about being unhoused in a place that you love, where I remember just walking the streets at night and feeling like the city belonged to me and only me because you're at your most invisible then. I think to be unhoused in a place is to be either invisible or a nuisance, right? Either you're invisible or someone is hassling you or you are presented as some kind of troublesome figure to a geography or a population.
MARTIN: But being invisible made you feel ownership over the city in a different way?
ABDURRAQIB: I think so. At night, you know, like, I remember walking a street and being aware that I had nowhere to sleep, but also being aware that that meant I had everywhere to sleep, you know? That gives you some kind of false sense of ownership, but you also see a city for what it is. You see through the kind of lies that a city might dress itself up in in order to make itself marketable.
So Columbus, for example, is now trying to market itself as, like, a tech city or food city - all these things that don't actually serve the population that is living and breathing and actively there. But to be among that population and to be among a version of that population, in my case, where I was extremely at a margin, meant that I got to see the city's most honest face behind all of its false masks.
MARTIN: Yeah.
ABDURRAQIB: And to me, that I got to see that and say, you know what, I actually think I still love it. I still love the city as its most honest self because I know what that most honest self is, and I can cut to the heart of it. I don't want to have to learn that about any other place.
MARTIN: Yeah.
ABDURRAQIB: And I don't have the time or energy, I think, to learn how to love a place at its most honest, which I require. I require that.
MARTIN: Oh, yeah. I mean, that's the purest love - right? -...
ABDURRAQIB: Seriously. Yeah.
MARTIN: ...Seeing a person, a place for everything that it is and still choosing to love it.
ABDURRAQIB: Yeah.
MARTIN: Yeah. Thank you. That is beautiful. We got three more in this...
ABDURRAQIB: Three more.
MARTIN: ...Round. One, two, three?
ABDURRAQIB: I feel like I've gone two and three, but I'm not going to go one right away. I'm going to go back to two.
MARTIN: Oh, interesting.
ABDURRAQIB: Yeah.
MARTIN: (Laughter).
ABDURRAQIB: I'm interested in going back to two.
MARTIN: OK. What do you admire about your teenage self?
ABDURRAQIB: Oh, what a great question. I think, if I trace it back, my relationship and my comfort with loneliness, or being alone or isolation or whatever you want to call it was really fostered as a teenager. I had - I'm, again, the youngest of four, and I have a brother who's very close to me in age. And he was so much - I mean, like, startlingly cooler than me - still is, I think - still is much cooler than me. But back then, I mean, he was way better-looking, like, just immensely better-looking.
MARTIN: (Laughter). You said it twice, so...
ABDURRAQIB: Yeah.
MARTIN: ...Really must be better...
ABDURRAQIB: Extremely better-looking.
MARTIN: (Laughter).
ABDURRAQIB: A literal football star, like, high school football star, had a cool car. Like, just was cool. And I wasn't that. And we went to separate high schools. And even going - and the reason we went to separate high schools was because I was like, we're one grade apart. I was like, I cannot live...
MARTIN: Right.
ABDURRAQIB: ...In - but it didn't matter. Like...
MARTIN: The shadow issue.
ABDURRAQIB: ...The legend of him, like, bled into my high school, you know?
MARTIN: (Laughter).
ABDURRAQIB: And so I could not escape being - you know, so often, I think people begin to - we all - not we all, but many people pathologize their place in a birth order.
MARTIN: Yeah.
ABDURRAQIB: And I think so many people that I know ascribe being the youngest to all these burdensome things. But I've lately been thinking about how grateful I was to be the youngest sibling, that I got to witness people that I just ostensibly and inherently admired and just copy bits of them.
But my teenage years, I really embraced not fitting in and not in a way that was really rebellious. This was also kind of at the dawn of the internet as the internet as it became the capital I internet - like, message board era...
MARTIN: Yeah.
ABDURRAQIB: ...Blog era. And I would be on these message boards, these, like, music message boards, where I would, like, lie about my age so that people would take me seriously, you know? Because I knew so much about songs and records. So I'd be like, oh yeah, I'm like, a 40-year-old record collector, you know?
MARTIN: (Laughter).
ABDURRAQIB: And that was just how I was - which is - you know, I would not recommend that to people now, perhaps.
MARTIN: Yeah, right.
ABDURRAQIB: But that's how I found community because I'd be on there talking about, like, Kate Bush production techniques. You know what I mean? - as a 15-, 16-year-old. But these older people - largely men - you know, they thought I was, like, one of them. They thought I was their peer.
MARTIN: Yeah.
ABDURRAQIB: Because if I was like, you know, I'm just a teenager in high school, and I don't have a lot of friends. And, like, the reason I know all this is because I don't have a ton of - while all the guys my age are out having fun, I'm just in my dad's house listening to records, you know?
MARTIN: But that was OK. Like, you...
ABDURRAQIB: That was great for me.
MARTIN: ...So you...
ABDURRAQIB: Yeah.
MARTIN: ...You were able to appreciate what your brother had going on...
ABDURRAQIB: Yeah.
MARTIN: ...And be like, I'm not going to be him. I'm going to be this other thing.
ABDURRAQIB: It comes - you know, everyone now - I don't read about myself often, which I would recommend that for everyone who gets written about to any degree. But I do know that one thing I gets talked about is a quote/unquote "encyclopedic knowledge of music and songs." And that's true, sure. It comes at a cost, though, I think - not a cost that I'm ashamed of or not a cost that I feel - but yeah, I mean, so many formative years of social activity and socialization, for me, were spent inside listening to records. Because I got so comfortable with my own self, which is a blessing, you know?
Like, I'm so grateful for my teenage self - for yes, enduring the ache of loneliness from time to time, but saying, gosh - I mean, it's much like me when I was a little kid and escaping into the world of making mix tapes, right? I was saying there was a world where in this record that I love was made and I want to know everything about that world.
MARTIN: Yeah.
ABDURRAQIB: And I can sink into that world. And it's not this one. For a little while, it's not this one. And I get to be an audience to that world. That created within me, I think, a real curiosity. Nothing makes me happier than kind of continually knocking on the door of someone's history and saying what else can you show me? Tell me the coolest thing? Tell me the funniest thing. Tell me about your mother's favorite thing.
MARTIN: I get it.
ABDURRAQIB: Yeah.
MARTIN: I get it.
ABDURRAQIB: This is your whole thing, right?
MARTIN: (Laughter).
ABDURRAQIB: This is your whole thing. And I wouldn't have had that if I were, I think - and this isn't to say that my brother is not cool and curious. Again, he's still much...
MARTIN: (Laughter).
ABDURRAQIB: ...Cooler than me. But the depth with which I'm pursued and pursue, I think, in curiosity is because when I was a teenager, I had to say, well, I'm not going to be that.
MARTIN: Yeah.
ABDURRAQIB: Like, I'm not going to be the - you know, I played sports. I mean, I did the things, but I knew I wouldn't be that.
MARTIN: Yeah.
ABDURRAQIB: And you know, I didn't have a lot of girlfriends. I didn't have, you know - but I learned to be kind of deeply intuitive. And I learned how to escape in a way that wasn't detrimental but that honed a real kind of just hunger for wanting to know everything I can about everyone I love.
(SOUNDBITE BLUE DOT SESSION'S "SEBRING")
MARTIN: When we come back, Hanif explains how running makes him optimistic about getting older.
ABDURRAQIB: There has to be a, well, what's next? And that curiosity of, well, what's next is enough to push me another mile and maybe another mile.
(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)
MARTIN: Before we get to round two, this is the part of the show where I ask you what you're working on. And what you're working on, as far as I know, is a very cool thing...
ABDURRAQIB: Yeah.
MARTIN: ...That is happening at the Brooklyn Academy of Music, right?
ABDURRAQIB: Yes.
MARTIN: Tell me.
ABDURRAQIB: I have, like, a week-long poetry festival called, "I Guess It Was My Destiny To Live So Long," which is a line from a poem by June Jordan. It is happening November 4 through the 9. Every night will be a different night of programming except election night - that Tuesday we're taking off. But then, all the other nights are going to be a night of programming. And that is going to involve film, concerts, poetry readings. We're going to have Jamila Woods, McKinley Dixon, and the musician, Tasha. All three of the musicians are going to play some music that nods to writers that they admire. And this is the first of three years. BAM has made a three-year commitment to let me do this, which is...
MARTIN: They give you a fancy title. Don't you have, like a...
ABDURRAQIB: Yeah.
MARTIN: ...Curator-in-Chief or...
ABDURRAQIB: Yeah.
MARTIN: ...Something?
ABDURRAQIB: It's a title that is on a little, like, banner that I never look at. So...
MARTIN: (Laughter).
ABDURRAQIB: ...But it is a fancy title. I love to have a fancy title.
MARTIN: That's right, MacArthur Genius.
ABDURRAQIB: Yeah.
(LAUGHTER)
ABDURRAQIB: But yeah. I mean, you know, if you're like, I don't really know about poems, there's something for you. There'll be something...
MARTIN: Yeah.
ABDURRAQIB: ...For you this week.
MARTIN: Election week, everyone will need a little escape then.
ABDURRAQIB: Everyone will need something.
(SOUNDBITE OF BLUE DOT SESSIONS' "ELEMENT ORE")
MARTIN: We're moving to round two. Three new cards - deeper as we go. One, two, or three?
ABDURRAQIB: I'm going to go one.
MARTIN: You're going to go one this time.
ABDURRAQIB: Yeah. Finally, one.
MARTIN: What have you learned to take less seriously?
ABDURRAQIB: You know, I have learned to take aging less seriously, I think.
MARTIN: Ooh.
ABDURRAQIB: I'm a runner, so I'm running a total of, like, around 45 to 50 miles a week over the course of...
MARTIN: That's a lot of mileage.
ABDURRAQIB: ...Six to seven days. It's a lot of mileage. And I, you know, like, I am now 41, you know? And I know that 41 is not knocking on the door of death or what have you. But, you know, for me, there's this mantra that I have. 'Cause running, for me, the first 10 minutes - no matter how much I do it, the first 10 to 12 minutes are not fun.
MARTIN: Yeah.
ABDURRAQIB: Not fun at all. My body is doing something that my brain - my body and brain aren't aligned. And so there's this thing that I tell myself, even if after those 12 minutes it's still challenging, it's too long to stop, too far to go back. Which means, you know, I've been doing this too long to stop, and I'm too far away from my house to go back.
MARTIN: That's right.
ABDURRAQIB: Of course, that's a false thing.
MARTIN: Yeah.
ABDURRAQIB: I mean, I can always stop. I can always turn around. But to tell myself that suggests that there has to be a, well, what's next. And that curiosity of, well, what's next is enough to push me another mile and maybe another mile. And that is really what running - that's, you know? And I think, honestly, there's an excitement I feel around aging that is, like, how can I get to the point where I've learned enough and understood enough? And I just want to sprint towards whatever keeps me excited about the next moment.
MARTIN: Yeah. Yeah.
ABDURRAQIB: And I feel like the possibilities for that don't decrease as I get older. I thought they would. I was always like, there's only so many things I can be excited about, and surely, they're not infinite, and I will run up against a wall. And then I will live the rest of my days with a kind of buffet of familiar excitements.
MARTIN: Yeah.
ABDURRAQIB: But gosh, you know, like, I - because I don't take aging seriously and because I get to say I'm still here, so I'm not finished. I'm still here, so I'm not finished. I'm still here, so I'm not finished. That means that I am on the horizon. There is an excitement that I have not yet touched, and I just know that the fastest way to get there is to run to it. And in the process of running to it, I will stumble over some excitements that I perhaps also did not know existed to me.
MARTIN: But, I guess, to define seriously - I mean, it sounds like you are taking it seriously because you're just...
ABDURRAQIB: Yeah.
MARTIN: You're, like - you're not getting paralyzed by it.
ABDURRAQIB: No, I'm rigorous.
MARTIN: But you're...
ABDURRAQIB: I'm rigorous about my seeking. You know, I'm, like...
MARTIN: Yeah.
ABDURRAQIB: ...Seeking, and I'm rigorous about...
MARTIN: With intention.
ABDURRAQIB: It's real intention.
MARTIN: Yeah.
ABDURRAQIB: It's real, like, intentional looking.
MARTIN: Yeah.
ABDURRAQIB: I don't want to stumble over anything and discard it without knowing that it'll potentially bring me pleasure. While working on my book, I thought of this all the time. A real tragedy to me, a real emotional crisis that I momentarily found myself in is realizing that it is impossible - it will be impossible for me and for all of us to meet or know every single person in the world capable of loving us well. It's just impossible. It's, to me...
MARTIN: Ooh.
ABDURRAQIB: ...There's too many people in the world. So many of them don't care that we exist or know that we exist or have - you know? - and vice versa, those people also - and that's just impossible. We're never going to live a life - there is someone perhaps in a country I don't know and will never go to who could be capable of loving me in a way that would unlock something for me.
And that, in some ways, is tragic. But it also means, for me, that I get to, with whatever time I have left, turn towards the people who are directly in front of me, who have already showed a capacity and eagerness to love me well, and say here's what I've learned about myself as I age. And here's how that might help you love me better. And I'm curious about what you've learned, as you've accrued tenure on this Earth. And tell me how to love you well today, which might not be the way I can love you well tomorrow or in a year or when we're 50 or 60. But, like, let's just build a foundation now, because we're here.
And through our time, just through, like, pure tenure, we are acquiring a new language, I think, for our needs, for our desires, for what it takes to love us in a way that carries us. And those ways accumulate. And those ways make aging something to get excited - for me - to get excited about. To know that the version of myself that I am today is a fraction of the version I can become in even a year or might become in two years. And that there are ways that the people who are touchable and directly in front of me will aid me in that, will effectively push me and say it's time to sprint.
MARTIN: Yeah.
ABDURRAQIB: That's what I need. And so I suppose that is taking it seriously in a way, but I don't take it seriously in a way where I'm haunted by it.
MARTIN: Oh, my God. And you brought it back around to running?
ABDURRAQIB: Yeah.
MARTIN: What are you, like, a professional or something?
ABDURRAQIB: (Laughter).
MARTIN: OK. Three new cards.
ABDURRAQIB: Three new cards.
MARTIN: Different cards - new, different. One, two or three?
ABDURRAQIB: Let's do three.
MARTIN: Three. Well, now, this is interesting because this feels a little bit like what you just said, but you picked it. So what's an expression of love you're trying to get better at?
ABDURRAQIB: OK, I would love to answer this, but can I have you answer it?
MARTIN: Oh. Yes, you can. Why, yes, you can, honey. OK. So you're flipping this?
ABDURRAQIB: Yeah.
MARTIN: What's an expression of love? Oh. So I guess I'm going to brag a little bit on myself. I think I'm pretty good at telling people.
ABDURRAQIB: Sure.
MARTIN: I'm actually good with words, right? Like, that's my thing. So I have no problem articulating to people what they mean to me. I do it a lot. I make people uncomfortable probably (laughter) because I'll just say it a lot. I think I am more selfish with my time. Yeah. So I think an expression of love I'm trying to get better at is sometimes it's really easy to tell a person what they mean to you. That's easy for me. That's not hard.
ABDURRAQIB: Yeah.
MARTIN: Sometimes it can be hard to get on a plane when you know someone isn't necessarily in crisis, but they could use you...
ABDURRAQIB: Yeah.
MARTIN: ...Sitting on a couch with them or someone down the street. You know, I've got a busy day, but I know that there's one of my neighbors who could maybe use a little cheering up. And I make all kinds of excuses about why my life is real busy.
ABDURRAQIB: Yeah.
MARTIN: And I can just text them, or I can just call them, and, you know, words are easy.
ABDURRAQIB: Yeah.
MARTIN: So I think showing up.
ABDURRAQIB: Showing up is - yeah. Yeah, I - you know, in the winter, both myself and one of my neighbors, we really just - depending on how our moods - I mean, we struggle with depression. We live with depression, both of us. And if it snows - this has been the case - I moved in this house in 2020. This has been the case at least once a year. If it snows real heavy, and one of us notices that the other hasn't shoveled the sidewalk, we just do it. And we don't talk. Like, we - really, like, we nod to each other when we see each other, but we don't - like, we don't talk about it. We don't make a thing about it. It's not, like, a one-to-one exchange. We just do it because the sidewalk needs to be shoveled, and it's hard to get out of bed, you know?
MARTIN: Yeah.
ABDURRAQIB: So those things, yeah. I - all right, I guess it's my turn to - I will say two quick things. Well, they - hopefully, they're quick.
MARTIN: (Laughter).
ABDURRAQIB: One is, like, what I - I've tried to be more specific when telling people that something reminded me of them. But the other thing that's more important is apologizing. I really want to be good at apologizing.
MARTIN: Yeah.
ABDURRAQIB: And I think two - I mean, like, I'm going to be real - I mean, coming up, I did have a good relationship with kind of unlearning some of the traps of masculinity as they're traditionally presented. But still, you know, being taught or - and I think this is - I mean, we're - gosh, we're a culture of just robust cruelty. And cruelty is really our - I believe, societally our first language, you know? And so to apologize feels like you are both failing and ceding ground. But, like, I want to cede ground of the people I love.
MARTIN: Yeah.
ABDURRAQIB: I want to say, how can I do better by you the next time? And I also want to set a blueprint for how I honor just this idea that I require grace. I want to offer grace to people because I know I require it myself. But if I hold on - if I hold tightly to an apology, that is not a graceful practice for anyone. And so one, I'm trying to really work on - you know, I think I'm OK at it - I'm continually trying to work on the language of apology - immediate apology, too, the moment I realize I've done wrong. I don't want a large distance between that moment and the moment where I articulate that I've done wrong and that I'm so eager to do better, because I think on the other side of that doing better, there's a whole new language and architecture for how we can love each other better and more robustly.
(SOUNDBITE OF BLUE DOT SESSIONS' "FOUR CLUSTER")
MARTIN: In a moment, the final round.
ABDURRAQIB: If I have lived a life where what is most remembered about me is that I wrote some books and won some awards, that's a really failed life.
(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)
MARTIN: Last round. The cards are red.
ABDURRAQIB: Oh, gosh.
MARTIN: I don't know. I - red is not supposed to be...
ABDURRAQIB: That's such a daunting color, yeah.
MARTIN: Right. Why? I think it's an inviting red.
ABDURRAQIB: (Laughter).
MARTIN: I think it's some orange. I think it's a warm, inviting...
ABDURRAQIB: Yeah.
MARTIN: It's not red. I'm going to stop calling it that. OK, three new cards. One, two or three?
ABDURRAQIB: Two.
MARTIN: Are you comfortable with being forgotten?
ABDURRAQIB: Yeah, well...
(LAUGHTER)
ABDURRAQIB: You know, I'm in community - in Columbus, I'm in a community with elders, like, really older folks - significantly older folks than me. You know, when I was in and out of jail, I got arrested one last time. And my record was such that it was - you know, the judge was like, man, we've, like, used up all your probation. You've been in and out of jail for several - you know - and he was like either - I'll give you two options. Last chance, either you go volunteer at this senior center, or you do six months in jail. And me, in my 20s back then, I was like, just give me the six months, man. Like, you know, I'm not going to serve them all anyway. And thankfully, I had a lawyer who was like, no, no, no. You'll take the...
MARTIN: (Laughter).
ABDURRAQIB: ...You'll take the senior center. And I was, like, volunteer at the senior center for a year. That's fine. And I did it for a year, and I just haven't left since. And so...
MARTIN: Huh.
ABDURRAQIB: ...I'm in this really rich community of elders. Of course, they've all, you know, some of them have moved on...
MARTIN: Yeah.
ABDURRAQIB: ...Some of them have passed. It's been years. But I don't think - I say this to say some of them have no one. Like, some of them really have outlived - had no kids - have outlived all the people they love, and they are the last to go, right? And there's a real loneliness in that one. But I've begun to ask myself the question of, what purpose do I get to serve in the life of someone who, in their own language...
MARTIN: Yeah.
ABDURRAQIB: ...Of course, has no one, quote-unquote, "no one."
MARTIN: Yeah.
ABDURRAQIB: And I think the answer is I get to be the person who doesn't forget them when they go. If that's it - you know, I mean, like, yeah, I sit with them, play cards with them. We chop it up. We talk. But the major function is, I think, someone saying I have no one else. I would love to not be forgotten. I would love to be remembered in some way. I am comfortable - myself - I am comfortable with being forgotten. I'm not interested - I mean, it won't be - I'll be dead, so it won't be any of my business.
MARTIN: Right (laughter).
ABDURRAQIB: I would love to be remembered by the people who love me, by the people who are in community with me, but even that's not promised. And I think you have to earn that. You have to earn a life that allows you to not be forgotten.
MARTIN: Yeah.
ABDURRAQIB: If I have lived a life where what is most remembered about me is that I wrote some books and won some awards, that's a really failed life for me. I would love to live a life that is so far beyond what I produced, that maybe people, particularly in Columbus, where I live and love, say, well, the books were fine but, you know, the books were good, but he was also, like, he tried.
MARTIN: Really good at bridge.
ABDURRAQIB: Yeah, he's really good at bridge.
MARTIN: (Laughter).
ABDURRAQIB: Yeah. Yeah.
MARTIN: Last question.
ABDURRAQIB: All right.
MARTIN: Last set of cards. One, two or three?
ABDURRAQIB: Let's do two. I started out two. Let's do two again.
MARTIN: What's your best defense against despair?
ABDURRAQIB: You know, I live with depression and anxiety. And occasionally, I'll have a real moment of crisis - like, a real moment, week-long, can't get out of the bed kind of thing. And I remember this happened a few years back where, you know - and I have - I just have such a great emergency support system in this case, in Columbus especially. And there's a friend who has a key to my house, who - like, she knows if it goes, like, two or three days where she doesn't hear from me, you know, it's time to check in.
And she - I'll never forget this. She did this thing where she came and just sat by - my bedroom door was closed, and I was in bed for days. And she came and she just sat by my door. And every now and then, she would tap on the door, just to let me know she was there. And she would, at times - like, while I slept - like she could tell I was sleeping - she would slide some food in the door. And every few hours, she would just tap on the door, which - and she wouldn't talk, you know?
And it was just her way of communicating, I'm here, and I'm not going to leave. Like, I'm not going to leave until you leave. You know, you open the door, I'll go home. We don't have to talk. But as long as you're behind the closed door, I will be on the other side of the closed door. And I think that I - you know, that defines the kind of person I would like to be, I think. Which operates against - I am sometimes the person in bed, but I also want to have the capacity to be the other person behind - on the other side of the closed door. And I think that the best way that I operate against despair is feeling like I have a responsibility for that.
The way that I hope to love and the way I hope to carry myself is to be the kind of friend who says, I am willing, if not eager, to be on the other side of whatever door you're on. And to know that means that. It doesn't mean that I have to become quote-unquote, "better," you know? It doesn't mean that's not going to be, like, my anxiety and depression is cured, because I want to be a good friend. That's not what - that doesn't happen. Sorry to deliver the news to anyone but...
MARTIN: (Laughter).
ABDURRAQIB: ...That's not going to happen. But what that does do for me is it says, OK, if I am well enough, how can I actually create a functioning ecosystem of care within every circle I'm in, that says we look out for each other. And that, to me, moves me beyond despair - saying that I want to always have the capacity and care that allows me to be the person on the other side of the door tapping lightly.
The other thing I will say that pulls me out of despair is so many of my friends now have kids, you know? I don't have kids, but I - you know, I don't remember at what point I realized that kids liked me.
MARTIN: (Laughter).
ABDURRAQIB: Kids really like me, you know? And I don't - and I think that I've always been, like, kids are fine. Like, kids are cool. But, you know, the past, like, five years, all my friends having kids and all of them kind of, like, gravitating towards me. Now I'm like, kids are the greatest.
MARTIN: (Laughter).
ABDURRAQIB: You know, I feel like I'm a - I jokingly call myself, like, a freelance uncle, where I get to - you know? And it has changed me. It's like rewired me. Like, being witness - and I know that this is just how DNA and genetics sometimes work - but the fact that, like, one of my friends, who I love more than anything, has a child who looks exactly like her, makes me predisposed to loving that child more than anything.
Even though I already would, the fact that I can look at the child's face and see her face mapped onto it, it makes me say, I would do anything for you right now. You don't even know I exist yet. You know, you're, like, 8 months old. You don't even know I'm a real person yet. But I would do anything for you. And I want to be here to do anything for you. I want to live in a way that keeps me here for as long as possible so that if you ever need anything, I can be there.
Despair is inevitable for me. I think that despair hovers, and I don't find ways to stop its hovering. And I'm actually fine with that because I think that keeps me in tune with the realities of the world that need addressing. And it keeps me in tune with what I need to fight back against. And it keeps me in tune with a real rage that propels me towards love, you know? But also, I want to be the kind of uncle-type figure who gets called when a date doesn't go well, or when someone's parents don't understand them, and they want to talk to me, or when someone's putting on a prom outfit, and they don't like the way they look in it, or when someone's - you know, needs a little money to go on a date. I want to live long enough to be that because I feel like all of my friends who I love have carried new people into the world who are waiting for me to love them, and they are hopefully waiting to love me. And that means that I get to echo the love I already had for one person into a whole other generation of people. And that is enough to make me say, I just think I want to stick around if I can help it. I want to stick around.
(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)
MARTIN: OK, Hanif, I'd like to do six more rounds with you, but...
ABDURRAQIB: (Laughter).
MARTIN: We made it to the end. So we always finish this the same way - with a trip in our memory time machine.
ABDURRAQIB: Oh, great.
MARTIN: You get to revisit one moment from your past. This is a moment you would not change anything about. It is just a moment that you would like to linger in a little longer. Which moment do you choose?
ABDURRAQIB: My mother wrote on a typewriter. She wasn't like a, quote-unquote, "professional writer," as some would say. She worked two jobs. And she would sometimes come home and write, and she would write - on weekends, on a very loud, old typewriter - she would write a novel. And I remember one Sunday, I was grounded. I had done who knows what, but I couldn't go outside and play. And it was a nice Sunday.
MARTIN: I just want to remind people that your mom died when you were pretty young.
ABDURRAQIB: Yes.
MARTIN: Yeah.
ABDURRAQIB: My mom died when I was 13. And so this happened when I was maybe 11. That was prime grounding age for me 'cause I was always in some nonsense.
(LAUGHTER)
ABDURRAQIB: And I remember I was supposed to stay in my room. That was the punishment.
MARTIN: Yeah.
ABDURRAQIB: But I remembered that was the time where I was, like, distinctly - I had become distinctly aware of my mother - right? - as a writer. Because I - you know, when I was younger, I was like, she's just messing around on that typewriter up there.
MARTIN: (Laughter).
ABDURRAQIB: She's just messing around on that machine up there. I didn't even know it was a typewriter. She also sewed at that desk. So it was like sometimes the sewing machine sounded like a typewriter, you know...
MARTIN: Right. She's just making noise, yeah.
ABDURRAQIB: ...Making noise. And I remember being so curious. It was only me and her in the house, I think. And I remember I snuck up the stairs really quietly. They were carpeted stairs, so you could kind of sneak up...
MARTIN: You could really sneak...
ABDURRAQIB: ...Pretty quietly.
MARTIN: Yeah, yeah.
ABDURRAQIB: If you - you couldn't step. I remember you had to kind of crawl because if you stepped, the weight of your full body would make them creak. But if you kind of crawled, you could kind of sneak up. And I remember sneaking up the stairs and peeking in the room and just watching her type. And my mother usually wore head coverings - Muslim woman, wore a head covering - but she didn't have one on. Her, like, whole afro was drinking in the sunlight, and she was kind of humming and just typing. And I just remember sitting and watching. And I wasn't supposed to be there. I was supposed to be grounded in my room. And I remember sitting and watching for so long - felt like hours, but it certainly wasn't hours. And as I got older, I was like, I have to think she knew I was there. Parents are - I mean, parents are, like, so intuitive.
MARTIN: Right.
ABDURRAQIB: And there's something really thoughtful, I think, about me, as an 11-year-old, looking over her shoulder in a way while she toiled at this book, and I think that she returns that favor, you know? Like, I think she returns that favor for me. I think she's never not present when I am kind of turned away from the world and head down and putting words on the page. And so I feel like not only would I relive that memory, but I think that memory is being relived through her. I feel like we have created an exchange, where we are eternally looking over each other's shoulders as we make something.
(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)
MARTIN: Hanif Abdurraqib - writer, poet, author - he'll have a new series you can catch at the Brooklyn Academy of Music starting on November 4. Hanif, thank you so much.
ABDURRAQIB: Thank you. So good to talk to you again.
MARTIN: It was so good to talk to you.
(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)
MARTIN: If you liked this episode, you should check out my conversation with the poet Nikki Giovanni. Hanif's thoughts about being forgotten reminded me of how Nikki thinks about her legacy, or rather how she doesn't think about it. Next week on WILD CARD, we talk to Sterlin Harjo, the creator of the amazing show "Reservation Dogs," which is nominated for an Emmy for outstanding comedy series.
Is there anything in your life that has felt predestined?
STERLIN HARJO: Yes, all of it.
MARTIN: This episode was produced by Lee Hale with help from Rommel Wood and edited by Dave Blanchard. It was fact-checked by Sarah Knight and mastered by Ko Takasugi-Czernowin. WILD CARD's executive producer is Beth Donovan. Our theme music is by Ramtin Arablouei. You can reach out to us at wildcard@npr.org. We love when you do. We'll shuffle the deck and be back with more next week. See you then.
(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)
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