Terrail Easley

The day is Bay typical in climate: not too hot, not too cold. Everyone's properly equipped with the necessary layers for maximum microclimate comfort. The air smells of entrepreneurial opportunity chased by the aroma of gaping socio-economic statuses…and the Tenderloin. 

As I sit here unsure about how I gained such a stigmatizing title, I admittedly confess, “Hello, my name is Terrail Easley and I am a Bay Area Transplant”. In unison, the Transplants Anonymous group of many thousands respond, “Hello, Terrail!” Some of us are from the Pacific Northwest, some from overseas, some from the New York City, a place San Francisco is accused of somehow emulating. I wouldn't know anything about that. It's much above my stay-grade.

Me, I'm an outlier, formerly a high school dropout–born and raised in Racine, Wisconsin. I also lived in Madison and Milwaukee before moving over 1,800 miles away for the first time ever. It happened to be on the Fourth of July in 2015. In the name of selfishness as a virtue, I called it MY Independence Day–a time of true freedom, or possible liberated failure. 

I elected to leave behind all of what I knew. There was no extravagant reason deeming me as the one with the ability to make such a thing happen for myself. However, equipped with my superman cape made from scratch by thy super-conscious, I was off to eventually battle a new found villain named imposter syndrome.

My grandparents took the same leap of faith northward from the likes of Georgia, Mississippi and Alabama during the third (or so) Industrial Revolution for a better life. My mother, a successful entrepreneur, one day in her 50's randomly decided to co-star in a play with no acting experience whatsoever. I have an uncle who shared the same scene with Prince, yes, the Prince, and another who joined the Marines, worked security at the White House and represented us in People magazine. I could go on, but I guess its safe to say that it's in me to do the unexpected. 

Nonetheless, I was bullied, met my best friends, partied at colleges, became a fisherman, endured covert racism, got my heartbroken, etc., in Wisconsin. I also met the woman who'd become my wife there. We moved to the SF Bay Area together as dual transplants in fact. Overall, I got here the long way–filled with many reverse psychological clues in order to become a stereotypical Bay Area Transplant. 

If I moved to somewhere in Florida, per se, I’d just be some dude who moved to Florida. No one would bat an eye. They would most likely just ask what everyone else typically asks, “Wait, there’s Black people in Wisconsin?!” 

What makes a transplant a transplant is relocating to a place where gentrification is rampant and cultural authenticity is forcibly compromised.

I also happen to work as a technical writer in the tech industry, an industry arguably responsible for these issues. The average person doesn't even know what a tech writer is or does. No offense. It has the word “tech” in it though; therefore, I'm an automatic contributor to the problem by word association.

For instance, I met this random guy hanging out at Missouri Lounge in Berkeley. Deductive reasoning might infer that this place was founded by someone from Missouri who saw an opportunity to open a bar in the new “it” region. Not so much. It’s one of the longest running dive bars, pouring since the 1950’s. And although she was indeed in the war, the late owner, “Argie”, wasn’t aboard the USS Missouri battleship during WWII either (inside joke).

Anyway, he eventually asks, “So what brought you out here?”. There's usually one of two multiple-choice answers: A) significant other, or B) an exciting career opportunity. I was on the significant other slash why-the-hell-not and potentially exciting career side of things. Whatever I said, where I went wrong was telling him that I was a tech writer. 

As he motioned away with the drinks he’d just ordered, he unnecessarily retaliated, “Well, I own my own carpentry business.” 

It was said resentfully in nature with a need to let me know that he too was successful. “That’s dope, bro!”...is all I could come up with before he faded into the crowd of people towards the back patio. 

I truly meant what I said, of course. What's not to appreciate about someone with Jesus skills and having their own business full of other people with Jesus skills? 

It sucks that he couldn’t get past the techie buzzwords. I came from the same, but different, ‘hood and struggle, and am just as Black in America as he is. "Hella" was also a part of my vocabulary before moving here! Being an outlier has always had its alienating factors. I can be neither here nor there more often than not.

…Meanwhile, the mediator of the transplant group passes around the 12-step pamphlet. 

The first step: “We admit that we were powerless over our ethnocentric habits and that our lives have contributed to making other lives unmanageable.” I pass the stack to the right without taking one…

There're a number of signs that might reveal who hitchhiked here with the ripest of thumbs. Aside from my occupation, my transplant telltales are quite obscure. My giveaway may come the day I meet Marshawn Lynch (my apparent doppelganger) on the street, and being incapable of not asking for a picture. Apparently he doesn't like taking pictures with fans who are guys. Too bad, Marshawn. You can chalk it up as one of your first-world-being-dope-as-fuck-problems, haha...

Ultimately, as long as I'm in this country, the Bay is definitely home. Those who stomp all over any culture with Christopher Columbus-like entitlement is what make transplants the worst. This ignorance gives those of us who didn’t actually come from privilege to take advantage of earned privilege a bad name. The same goes for anything else. As long as homage is paid and credit is bestowed in a real way, it is, for the most part, fair and progressive game. 

Things like cultural appropriation would be endangered if there were legitimate citations and/or residual kickbacks given to the rightful owners. We are a long way from that, unfortunately. The best we can do is not forget and make ourselves aware. 

If we forget the rich history and contributions made by the originators, who’s going to remind us, the so-called conquerors? Fuck no.

A major part of true human intelligence (to me) requires the ability to fairly (objectively) discern the connecting between two or more subjects that are completely unalike. It seems to be an everyday struggle to get people on that level of thinking in America. With the morphing, for better or worse, happening in the Bay, I can only hope that the combination of Compton’s Cafeteria, Black Panthers, Hyphy, The Hustle Mentality, PRIDE, Tree-Hugging, etc. won't ever lose its essence entirely.

…As the Transplants Anonymous meeting ends, I’m about to call an Uber to East Oakland. I gotta hit Ora K. Locs for a fresh palm roll and re-twist.

Some linger to chat about new app ideas and features, and what is and what isn't politically correct for a "progressive" society according to their short-circuited views. 

“Let’s do happy hour! Fernet at Victory Hall?!”, says suburban Chicago. I shake my head and make an exit without saying anything. 

Nonetheless, I appreciate you tuning into a few of my favorite first world transplant problems. I hope to continue standing on business with the most untainted amount of dignity. Wish me luck!