My father named me after his heroes. Igniting a set of expectations based on what I can only assume was his vision of who he wanted me to be or be like. Cementing my identity with an inherent responsibility to honor these legends. However, I was born into a society that amplifies stereotypical versions of Black men, not Black heroes. Versions whose skin color served as the basis of their entire identity in the eyes of the world. Linked to negative character associations like thug, thief, or addict. And some of us are. A lot of us are victims too, though. Victims of a system designed to kill us. But that’s why our heroes matter so much. Because the world we live in has consistently expressed the way it expects us to be. It continues to spew derogatory terms at us so that we eventually believe that’s who we are. It’s a strategy as old as time. Gaslighting at its finest. We get surrounded by images that portray the darkest sides of our humanity without shedding equal, let alone more, light on the fullness and value of our rich culture. One of the aims of the oppressors is to make sure the oppressed never gain the courage to escape the confines of their control. This courage begins with the belief that we can, in fact, take control of our own lives. Belief in our greatness comes from questioning everything. Because the truth will set us free. My journey to my truth started with a simple question: Who am I? If what I thought about myself was a lie, I knew it would be difficult to face my truth. And sometimes it was. But more and more, I started to become more grounded in my truth. So, I committed to continuing my self-education, not only about who I am but about who and what I could become.  

Being named after Black legends comes with this daily reminder of the potential greatness we possess, how different we can be and, more importantly, how impactful our voice can be when we stand firm in our beliefs. But it did not offer much room for finding my own identity or for crafting my own belief system. A task that seemed impossible when I was growing up and when surviving my environment consumed most of my thoughts. What I did have, however, was this intense urgency to attain a better life. For the first eighteen years of my life, I felt trapped in a system of government control that was designed for me to fail, from public housing to the urban public school system of New York City. It wasn’t until I went away to a private university that I recognized the disparities in living standards between my community and non-Black communities—and even other Black communities. The moment I recognized this, I decided I was going to use my time there for unprecedented exploration. I had never had so many opportunities presented to me. And I wanted to try them all. And I did, as much as was physically possible anyway, but now I can’t help but ask myself: What does it all boil down to? How have these experiences shaped the man I am today? How can I stand firm in my beliefs like the legends I’m named after if after traveling the world trying to find myself, I still don’t have a full grasp of who I am. There came a point when I had to understand that the answers I was looking for were inside of me. I just had to look. Exploring the world seemed easy compared to the work of exploring my inner self, which proved to be my greatest challenge. But it came with a reward unmatched by anything else I have experienced on this earth.  

As a Black man in America, who is named after legends, I knew I had to approach my journey of self-identification like a legend. Which morphed into a journey of unprecedented exploration of self. I had never taken so much time to think about my mental and spiritual self. I found healing by breaking down stigmas, traumatic conditioning, and grief to find purpose in the form of a unique path that could lead me to become a legend in my own right.  

For a large part of my life, my identity resided in my name. My dad, Richard Polite, named me Stevland Martin Malcolm Polite. After Stevie Wonder, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Malcolm X, and himself. I think it’s fair to say he was proud to have a son and continue the Polite name. I imagine him pouring so many hopes and dreams into me with that name, knowing that our lineage, or at least what we can trace back to, is full of stories of survival and service just like the heroes he named me after.  

My name always serves as a conversation starter. When I meet new people, I’m often confronted with a “Wow, are you a Polite person?” joke, as these new acquaintances amuse themselves with their perceived cleverness before realizing that I’ve probably heard that one before. And then there are those who let their bias convince them that my name must be pronounced with an accent. (No, it’s not pronounced Po-LEET-ay.) Sharing the origins of my name is always fun, though. Most people I’ve come across don’t know that Stevland is Stevie Wonder’s birth name. So, they walk away from our encounter with a new fact, and I always feel good about sharing that experience with people, providing a little seed of knowledge that may stick with them forever. I love my name. However, there’s an imposed veneration that comes with it. There’s so much meaning and symbolism in the brevity of a name, and mine caused a lot of confusion for me regarding the symbolic power, if any, of my existence. Prompting questions like: Do I have any genius-level talents like Stevie? Do I believe in integration like Martin or separation like Malcolm? Do I become my father? Do I get to choose? And if so, how can I measure up to the bar that’s been set?  

My quest to answer these questions and untangle all the chords that had been plugged into me has been gut-wrenching. Matching in intensity with my journey to corporate, and entrepreneurship America. The odds against me are stacked all around. My approach thus far has been to throw my ideas in the air, see where they land, and if they are out of reach, pivot. Going after whatever was within arm’s reach. Winging it as I steamrolled my way through every obstacle. Enduring all the punches of failure and highs of success along the way.  

It’s been the pressure of the expectations placed upon me and those I placed on myself mixed with the difficulties of life that have both propelled me and knocked me the fuck out; I’m talking TKO. But what I’ve learned over the years is that the only thing that separates a legend from everyone else is the conviction to never give up. It’s how I was able to go from Lehman Village Housing Projects in East Harlem to stepping onto the world stage and educating myself at some of the best schools on the planet. Creating a rare foundation for a Black man that comes from where I’m from. A foundation that can’t be taken away from me and will forever be etched in my legacy. A foundation that I hope the next Black boy from the projects can look to for a full view of what it takes to make it out, mistakes and all. I was able to build a foundation for success because I never gave up, especially in the face of adversity. Fueled by my curiosity about all the things society told me I couldn’t be, do, or have.  

It’s been the clarity that came with coming out of the bubble of other people’s expectations of me that’s been the most liberating. I found freedom in myself. In this book, I detail what that process was like for me. It’s an inward journey that reflects my upbringing as a Black man in America with a dream and a view, albeit obstructed. I spent two years on this journey and my hope is that my story can inspire Black men to take the time to look inward. It’s been one of the most fulfilling journeys of my life and I can now, more proudly than ever, say I know who I am.