Hello World

I never set out to be "Jimmy The Model." But here I am—not just modeling yarn, but ideas, growth, and the uncomfortable truths we often avoid.

The name? It started as a joke, really. Back when my wife, Adella of LolaBean Yarn Co, was just getting her crafting journey off the ground, she noticed that her social media posts got more engagement when I "modeled" her finished projects. We thought it was a fluke. She posted without me, and sure enough, someone asked, "Where's Jimmy The Model?" And just like that, it stuck.

But time has a funny way of redefining things. I don’t model yarn much these days. Now, the idea of being a "model" means something different—something heavier. It’s about modeling decency, kindness, and intentionality. It’s about being a conduit for change, using my voice to start conversations around things that are difficult but necessary to unpack.

Why this blog? Because conversations matter. Not the surface-level small talk, but the messy, uncomfortable, raw exchanges that force us to question the constructs we’ve accepted as norms. I don’t have all the answers. Hell, I’m not even sure I have most of the questions. But I know that our existence isn’t black and white. It’s layered, complex, and deeply personal. And in the end, all I can offer is my perspective.

I grew up in the Bronx, a Black man navigating America with all the nuance that entails. Right out of high school, I joined the military—not because I was a patriot bursting with pride, but because I didn’t see many options for myself. That was on me. I didn’t apply myself, didn’t live up to my potential. Spent over eight years in service, saw a lot, did a lot, made mistakes. It wasn’t until six or seven years ago that I really started holding myself accountable for my past. That’s when the growth journey began—not the Instagram-worthy kind, but the quiet, messy, internal reckoning kind.

One conversation sticks with me. A former colleague once told me about a situation where a Black man was having a mental health episode near their property. Their first reaction was fear—fear shaped by stereotypes, by media images, by all the unspoken biases that seep into us over time. But they paused. They remembered the conversations we’d had, the perspectives I’d shared. Instead of escalating, they engaged. Talked to the man, realized he needed help, and called the right people. No violence. No tragedy. Just humanity. That’s the power of perspective.

So, what can you expect here? Think pieces. Essays. Reflections. Some might be polished; others might feel like unfinished thoughts. I’m not trying to be James Baldwin, but if my words can spark even a fraction of the impact his did, that’s beautiful.

I’m not here to tell you how to think. I’m here to think out loud—and maybe, just maybe, you’ll find something in these words that makes you pause, question, or even grow.

Let’s talk. Let’s think. Let’s grow.