Let me pipe up real quick.

Some folks ain’t angry ‘cause something’s bad.
They’re angry ‘cause it ain’t about them.
And in a world obsessed with being seen,
anything that doesn’t center their experience feels like an insult.

But nah.
Not everything is for you.
And that's okay.

Look, I watched people throw tantrums over the Kendrick Lamar Super Bowl halftime show like it was supposed to come with subtitles and a step-by-step breakdown for their comfort. But it wasn’t made to be understood by everyone. It wasn’t for everyone. It was layered with language, rhythm, and movement that called home a very specific kind of heart. Just 'cause it didn’t echo yours don’t mean it was empty.

I saw the same thing when grown folks hate on children's shows—callin’ them “dumb” or “pointless.” But that cartoon ain’t for you. That bright, simple scene where the bear puts the ball under the box and the baby claps because they know it’s still there? That’s teaching object permanence. That’s wiring a child’s brain for memory, trust, and logic. You just ain't the target audience anymore.

Even in healing work—folks bash gentle advice as "soft" because it doesn’t match their trauma-soaked blueprint. But that message wasn’t for the person still swinging on everything that moves. That post telling someone “rest is productive”? That wasn’t your meal. That was nourishment for someone crawling out of burnout.

People get mad at the medicine ‘cause it’s not their prescription.
But real grown man work?
That’s learning to walk past the pharmacy aisle without throwing the bottles on the floor just ‘cause your name ain’t on the label.

You don’t have to love it.
But you do have to ask:
Was this ever supposed to be for me?

Because when you stop expecting everything to cater to your personal palette, you start appreciating things for what they are. You grow. You stretch. You learn to applaud moments meant to lift someone else.

Kendrick’s performance wasn’t my cultural fingerprint either. But I loved the hell out it and his music, because I saw who it was for—and I smiled. I nodded. I respected the art even though the artist wasn’t writing it for me. That’s maturity. That’s emotional literacy. That’s brotherhood.

Stop mistaking exclusion for attack.
Stop projecting your hunger onto someone else’s meal.
Stop thinking your lived experience is the center of the damn solar system.

A man don’t have to be the star of every story to respect the story.

Not everything’s about you.
And ironically, the moment you accept that…
you finally start seeing the world a little clearer.

Remember, we all carry something, but here you don’t have to carry it alone. Pipe Up.

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