My Re-imagined Memoir

Some stories shout.
This one listens.

The First to Get This Far is a coming-of-age novel for anyone whose life didn’t unfold on schedule—for anyone who bent instead of broke, who adapted when the map disappeared, who took the long way and arrived anyway.

At its core, the book follows Cadence, a young Black woman whose life is shaped by movement, music, instability, and an unrelenting need to survive. Her journey begins in childhood, where safety is temporary and home is something that keeps changing. What unfolds from there is not a straight climb, but a rhythmic one—full of pauses, pivots, and quiet recalibrations.

This is not a story about overnight success.
It is a story about endurance.

A Novella Written in Rhythm, Not Rules

The structure of The First to Get This Far mirrors its message. The book moves like a song rather than a checklist—chapters are punctuated by poetic reflections, moments of silence, and internal reckonings that matter just as much as external milestones.

Cadence grows up learning to bend early. She learns how to adapt to new cities, new expectations, and new versions of herself. Music becomes her second language—singing, writing, producing—before she eventually learns another: survival through structure. Education. Technology. Money. Security.

But the book never pretends these transitions are clean.

College takes seven years instead of four.
Confidence arrives after exhaustion.
Stability comes with grief for the girl she used to be.

This is a story that honors the in-between—the years where nothing looks impressive from the outside, but everything is being built underneath.

Survival Is Not the Same as Failure

One of the quiet revolutions of The First to Get This Far is how it reframes delay.

Cadence spends much of her early life believing something is wrong with her—that everyone else was given a roadmap she somehow missed. But what she eventually understands is this: she wasn’t behind. She was carrying more.

The novella explores how inherited responsibility, financial instability, and unspoken grief shape decision-making—especially for Black women raised to be resilient before they’re allowed to be soft. It names the invisible labor of bending: staying flexible so nothing shatters, absorbing impact so others don’t feel the tilt.

Rather than glamorizing struggle, the book examines it honestly—and then asks a better question:
What happens when survival is no longer the goal?

Money, Security, and the Permission to Breathe

A central thread in the story is Cadence’s evolving relationship with money—not as status, but as safety.

Through mentorship, missteps, and hard lessons, she learns that passion without security can become another kind of cage. The book doesn’t sell hustle culture or fantasy freedom. Instead, it explores a grounded truth many people learn too late:

Money first.
Security first.
Then the rest of life gets to exist without desperation.

As Cadence enters the tech industry, begins investing, and co-builds ventures, the narrative stays focused on why these choices matter—not for applause, but for peace. Each asset becomes a layer of protection, a way of ensuring the fear of her childhood remains a memory instead of a threat.

Still, the book is careful not to confuse accumulation with arrival. True independence, Cadence learns, is not about having more—it’s about needing less permission.

Identity, Becoming, and Choosing Yourself Quietly

The First to Get This Far is also a story about identity—how it’s shaped, suppressed, reclaimed, and finally chosen.

From music to career to wearing her locs in corporate spaces, Cadence’s evolution is marked by small, intentional acts of self-definition. Not rebellion for spectacle, but belonging without permission. Becoming without announcement.

By the end of the book, success looks different than it did at the beginning. It’s quieter. More rooted. Less concerned with being liked and more committed to being free.

The final pages don’t offer a neat bow. Instead, they offer something better: choice. The ability to say yes without hunger underneath it. The ability to say no without guilt reaching for your sleeve.

Who This Book Is For

This book is for:

• The person who took longer than planned and wonders if it still counts
• The creative who had to choose stability before art could breathe
• The first in their family to imagine a different future
• The ones who bent so often they mistook it for breaking until they recognized the difference

The First to Get This Far is not an autobiography—but it is emotionally true. It’s a reminder that arrival doesn’t have to be loud to be real, and that some journeys return more than they ever asked for.

If you’ve ever felt behind, unfinished, or out of rhythm with the world—this story already knows your name.