Oh, Michael
It wasn’t just a film; it was a mirror.
I watched the Michael movie, and all I can say is: “Oh, Michael.”
It wasn’t just a film; it was a mirror.
Oh, Michael, you were never just a star. Your life was an altar of service and a testament to a love for mankind that most will never understand. I watched you obey a father’s demands and perform until your own joy was the price of admission. I saw a boy trying to navigate a God-given talent while being exploited by the very family and world that should have protected him. On that screen, I didn’t just see a pop icon; I saw the heavy, exhausting story of a boy forced to manage the world’s expectations before he could even manage his own inhibitions.
Everyone who knows me knows that I “manage” a lot. As men, we are indoctrinated with a toxic silent code: Don’t feel. Just keep going. I see that same exhaustion in the eyes of the people I lead. I’m tired of the hollow, “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” followed immediately by the next task they need me to complete. Most days, I am not a person to them—I am a “Task Rabbit” for their convenience.
That is why I retreat. I stay in solitude with my books because they are the only things that never ask for a piece of me. They let me be free. They don’t silence my voice or capitalize on the fragments of myself I choose to share. My books understand that this PhD is “kicking my tail,” and that balancing a doctorate, a demanding career, and a growing business while the world screams for my attention is a weight I shouldn’t have to carry alone. My books are my escape from the “noise”—the wicked static of people who only want me to manage their lives while mine sits on the back burner.
Oh, Michael, I felt every blow you took in that film. I felt the sting of being misunderstood because your vision didn’t fit the world’s narrow lens. I felt the ache of being silenced every time you spoke your truth. But man, I also felt the triumph when you finally walked away from the “world” to find your own joy.
I’m starting to choose myself now. I’m realizing that I can exist without compromise. I am done with transactional relationships that view me as a commodity or a “piece of joy” to be consumed. The resentment I felt about choosing myself is finally fading.
I remember being in the clouds once. I got so high up that I started to self-sabotage. I felt that if I ascended too far, the people depending on me wouldn’t have anyone to lean on. I stayed low so they could stay high. Never again.
I have to live for me. This joy I have? The world didn’t give it to me, and the world can’t take it away. I have worked for every blessing I own, and I deserve to enjoy them. From this day forward, I am reclaiming my solitude. I am going to create with the same intensity you did, because I know I am the greatest teacher alive. But I’ve realized that if I don’t manage myself, I’ll spend my whole life being managed by people who only look to me when they need the “Man in the Mirror” to solve a problem.
My life isn’t sad, and I’m not angry. I’m just grateful. I thank God that when I look in that mirror now, I see more of His light than my own exhaustion.
Oh, Michael, thank you for sharing your gift. Very few will ever know the cost of pushing your own narrative and finding your voice in a world designed to drown it out. I wish you could have told your story your way, but take heart—your rest is earned. You were a beacon.
I don’t want to be a star like you, though. I’d rather move in silence. I want to build in the shadows so the world can’t exploit what it can’t see. I’m choosing to enjoy this life to the fullest, on my terms.
Rest well, Michael. I’ve got it from here.