When thinking about purpose I always call on my ancestors to remind me of where my DNA has been.

Today I was looking for info on my maternal great-grandfather, a blues singer and musician in the early 20th century, and found this Library of Congress entry which might be him.

There is also this from Bourgeois Blues:

“A potential Last Straw to the Leadbetter story was added in the late spring of 1939, and a lesser man may have bowed under the burden. On March 5, during a party at a West 52nd Street address, he was arrested, accused by one Henry Burgess of stabbing and slashing him a dozen times. Huddie countered that he did indeed stab Burgess, but only in self-defense, and pled Not Guilty in magistrate’s Court. He was freed on bail of $1000 which was posted by Alan Lomax through the National Surety Corporation. On March 13th, the New York City court cabled the Caddo courthouse in Shreveport for Leadbelly’s criminal record.”

My grandmother recently told me the fight was over her mother’s friend Irene, of “Goodnight, Irene” fame.  She told me her father was always throwing music parties on 52nd Street.  The Barnum circus people would come when the stayed at a nearby hotel during shows at Madison Square Garden.  Something was always happening.  That stabbing ended all of that.

My entire family makes music.  My mother has toured the world.  My father sang with Placido Domingo.  One of my brothers is a guitarist.  The other is a drummer.

My purpose flows  with ease.  I make music.  I write words.  My definition of Purpose is “what’s left when you stop denying yourself”.

Nia – Purpose