Atlanta: Why Do I Relate? [TV]

Ever feel left out? The kind of left-out that makes you feel like you’re way behind in a race, even though everyone else is within arm’s length? I get that a lot. I meet people my age and I don’t feel like I belong. I meet people younger and older, and I still don’t belong. I tell myself it’s that Loser Streak that I’ve had all these years that I’ve nursed for so long, the one that convinces me time and again that maybe, maybe losers were meant to exist to help the winners feel their win so much more, and that maybe this is my purpose. The Glorified Tech Support. And the proof is in the series of failures and bad decisions that make up most of what I call my adult life.

The thing about feeling this way is that I don’t say it out of some desire to get sympathy from others, or to get advice on how to “fix it.” I don’t even feel that bad or sad about it, most times I just feel introspective and resigned. And a little exhausted from introspecting.

These feelings are magnified when I watch Atlanta. Part dark comedy, part relationship drama, it tells the story of Earn (played by Donald Glover), who comes home in his early 30s to navigate the Atlanta music scene as his rapper cousin’s manager while he plays father to his young daughter.

I can’t say I can relate to the characters, because what do I know about the American life except what I see on TV. But the show smacks of what I think I know about Donald Glover. And I like to think that he – as Earn and as Donald – and I are alike.

I imagine I want to be best friends with (both of) him. I want that authenticity surrounding me, the attachment and desire to be in touch with his roots, the "this is where I'm from, but out there is where I want to be headed for," the passion for projects, the determination and focus to see it through, the doing all kinds of other things to lead him to this one thing that he truly wants. I want that around me.

I need that kind of influence, especially from someone my age.

And the show feels like a passion project. I don't love it, but I love the energy that comes off it. It smacks of hard work and the things he loves that he fought for - music, craft, storytelling, details, acting.

Two episodes in, I took this away: there are many people like me. I may only see them on TV as characters, but they exist, bigly, real-ly. We may have different stories, but we have the same feels. Us probably pseudo-smart, pseudo-bookish, sensitive and observant characters who chameleon when necessary.

And music. The show brought me back to music, that elusive art form that I take comfort in but just can’t lock down. It reminded me to take a moment and blast some of that Soul and that Fresh Jazz, and all that music that I used to love but decided gradually that I didn’t have time for, and I felt a little more alive, and I moved on.

The show makes me feel metaphorically the same as when I'm literally walking to and from work and I'm very aware of the steps I'm taking, the fit of my shoes on my feet, the weight of my shoulder bag on my left shoulder, the heat and humidity, the shape of my belly fat against my clothes. I look up my building and see my never-closed bedroom window, and I make my way up to my flat, the musty, empty smell of the living room greeting me as I open the front door.

On the surface, it's depressing, but I told that story with one redeeming undercurrent that I continue to take for granted and ignore - freedom.

Freedom to be by myself, left out and all alone, out here in the world.

Freedom to put myself in danger and then freedom to get myself out of it.

Freedom to keep up this Loser Streak, freedom to articulate it, and freedom to talk about the hardships of my sorry life.

Freedom to watch an American TV show and draw parallels of my life from it.

From GQ