It was 2017 and Trump was the president when I first wrote Crack That Whip. I was helping clean up a penthouse at 2am in Manhattan, New York. I rode the train there after finishing my 8-hour work shift and morning university classes. It was raining and dirty. Those days were non-stop for me. And it was easy for me to fall asleep anywhere out of exhaustion.
Taking a break, someone started to make a marching beat on the table. DunDunDun. DunDun. And I started to think about the daily grind I went through and how for so many people it counts for little. I felt devalued. Living in the city it feels like a rat race. A jungle. Who are you actually living for? And if you’re a woman, what do you have to defend? And if you’re a woman of color, how are you going to thrive?
So I wrote Crack That Whip to the beat of those who feel like wage slaves. I wrote it for people who let their dreams take a backseat so they could fit in and survive. Your dreams exist in the minutes when everyone else is sleeping. Your time is an asset, so if you don’t use it, someone else will. Crack That Whip is a reminder to stay strong, push yourself harder, and don’t lose sight of yourself while you are conforming to someone else’s dreams.
Could I have written another man’s corporate? Probably. But considering that in 2016 90% of CEOs were white men, white man’s corporate seemed to be a more fitting descriptor. It’s not sexism or racism, it’s overcoming the odds that someone else holds. The barrier to entry for the boys’ club stands strong. Might as well make a girls’ club. But, if you wish the tribe dominion can be open to you too.
xoxo Sadezia Mystica