For nearly two decades, I’ve worked as an actor and creative across cities like Boston, New York, London, and Portland. But more than the stages or photoshoots, it was the community spaces, the BIPOC and queer networks I moved through, that shaped me.

Those spaces taught me that storytelling is powerful. It can affirm who we are, reflect where we’ve been, and offer something to hold onto. But eventually, I started to feel a gap. Storytelling alone couldn’t cover rent. It couldn’t access healthcare. It couldn’t help people find safety or rest.

That reality became personal when I lost work. I spent weeks chasing unemployment benefits, piecing together information from strangers online, and trying to stay afloat in systems that weren’t built for us. And I realized this isn’t just my story. So many of us are navigating it alone.

I kept thinking: where is the space that holds both?

Where can we find resources and reflection?

Where can we be seen not just for our struggle, but for our brilliance?

Black and Worldly came from that question.

It’s a platform built on lived experience. A refusal to separate survival from creativity. A digital home where essays on joy, grief, and artistry live alongside the dream of real, grounded support. A map for what we need and what sustains us.

Today, Black and Worldly is growing into a creative archive for BIPOC communities: one that holds space for truth, complexity, and connection.

This is just the beginning.

– Adobuere E.