Dear Older Me,
When they told me I could write to you—and that you would actually get it—I couldn’t believe it. It sounds like something out of a sci-fi movie, right? But I figured I’d give it a shot, just in case this is real. Just in case you are real.
So, how did we do? Did we make it? Did we win Grammys? Or did we stick to smaller, cooler scenes like Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings? Did we become this big-time producer? Are we still performing? And who did we end up working with? I mean, right now, I’m in the Saints of Soul—ten of us altogether. Did we do something with them? Or did I even work with someone completely unexpected? I can’t imagine how it all played out, but I want to know.
More than anything, I want to know the story of how we became whoever we are now. Did we take the long way? Did we ever lose the music? Did it still matter to us the way it matters to me right now? Please tell me we’re still dreaming big, still chasing something. And if we’re not, I hope you’ll tell me why.
Rib Stone
Hey, Chica!
First of all, let me just say how wild it feels to be writing to you. When I heard this was possible, I didn’t even know where to start. I mean, I don’t even fully understand how this whole technology bridge works—it’s way above my pay grade. But here we are, and I’m so grateful for the chance to connect with you.
Let me address the big stuff first: yes, music is still in our lives, but not in the way you might imagine. We took a long break—a 13-year break, to be exact. I know that sounds unimaginable to you right now, but trust me, it made sense at the time. Life threw us some curveballs, and we had to make choices to survive and protect what mattered most.
We left Detroit. I know you love it there, but it got rough—really rough. You already know how chaotic things are with the schools and everything else, so I made the call to leave and start fresh. It wasn’t easy, but it was necessary. We moved to Georgia, sight unseen. Girl, those first few years? They were brutal. No sugar-coating it. But we made it. We survived, we adapted, and eventually, we thrived.
The move wasn’t just about geography—it was about letting go. And that’s where it gets complicated. Leaving Detroit meant leaving behind the relationships and memories that tied us to the city. It wasn’t a clean break. The break had jagged edges and messy lines. A good example of this is even after we relocated, we went back for gigs with the Saints of Soul twice. Crazy, right?
We definitely stayed in touch with our core friend group. But honestly, those ties made it harder to fully move forward. So, at some point, I made the decision—whether consciously or just out of survival instinct—to let go of anything that felt like Detroit, including music.
I’ll give you a minute to process that.
When I let go of music, I let go of everything tied to it—Detroit, the band, the dream of who I thought I was going to be, even some of my closest relationships. The relationships were surprising, because my friendships are so important to me, and you never really think to yourself that “Oh, this friendship is only for a season.” But I discovered that while certain people were essentially the personification of Detroit in my eyes, others fully represented my music - the hopes and dreams I had about music, past music I’d created. Some of those guys I saw as part of my super power and I could not untangle them from music. So, I had to let go of our friends. I buried them. I buried it all. And for a long time, I didn’t look back.
Remember falling asleep on the couch with your buddies watching movies? That part of our life is over. Staying up all night with your homie YouTubing MC Hammer videos? Also long gone. Platonic date nights with whichever friend was available to look good on your arm - also not a thing anymore. Part of growing up, kid.
So, treasure those moments while you’re still making them because life changes fast. And hey - word of advice - don’t hold it in. Tell your crew how important they are to you. Be vulnerable. Be honest. Be okay with things feeling awkward for a bit. They love you, and they'll tease you. But trust me - they need to hear you say it, Rib. And you need to have a record in your mind of having said the important things to the people you love. Time changes things, and friends that you can’t even imagine your life without will rotate out of your core group and become part of someone else’s core.
The good news is I’ve come back to music. Not as the girl who needed it to prove something, but as the woman who just has music inside her that needs to come out. The fear of failure? It’s gone. The need to achieve? Already satisfied. Now, it’s just about creating, sharing, and letting the music be what it wants to be.
I know this isn’t the answer you were expecting, but I hope it brings you some peace. Life doesn’t always unfold the way we plan, but every twist and turn shapes us into someone we couldn’t have imagined.
With love and gratitude,
Sorilbran
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