I’m not old, but I’m at the age where “gettin’ up there” starts to be a notion. So I’m about to start “gettin’ up there”, that’s how old I am. In my entire life or however long that’s supposed to be, there’s a laundry list of things that I’m wishing will happen (like winning the lottery even though I never play it), things that I wish could’ve happened (like being a professional athlete or certified rock star), things that I wish would’ve happened by now but remain wildly optimistic (a legit career in what I love to do), cautiously optimistic ($15K more than I currently make), pessimistic (6 figures), and stuff I never would’ve thought would happen if I lived my life 5 times over. In America. Chief atop that list? Running into someone (in America) with my name.
But it happened!
This guy’s name is Simba. I spotted him–but look at him, he’s easy to spot–being photographed by a GQ photographer. Usually when I see someone cool being photographed I keep on walking. But this guy had something, he had it. So I waited, ten minutes actually, for a chance to slide in and ask him a few questions. I took this frame of him and asked him the usual suspect’s row of questions. He said his name was Simba (not Simbarashe, just Simba, which is ironic because he seemed equally excited that my name was Simbarashe). Even better was the parallel of our stories. This Simba is Tanzanian, was born in Moscow to a diplomatic father, found his way to England as a youngster and now is making a name for himself designing shirts in New York.
So for those of you who thought I was the only one walking around with my name, meet Simba!