We recently had the chance to connect with Rondré “Key” Brooks and have shared our conversation below.
Hi Rondré “Key”, thank you so much for joining us today. We’re thrilled to learn more about your journey, values and what you are currently working on. Let’s start with an ice breaker: What battle are you avoiding?
The battle I’ve been avoiding is letting go of the part of me that believes my value is proven by how much I can endure.
For a long time, I’ve worn resilience like armor. I’ve been the fixer, the stabilizer, the one who steps in when things are falling apart, whether in business, relationships, or life. That role looks strong from the outside, but it quietly trains you to accept chaos as normal and responsibility as identity. The real battle isn’t with other people or circumstances; it’s with the internal belief that I have to carry more than my share to be worthy of what I want.
I’ve avoided fully confronting how much control I try to maintain… over outcomes, over timing, over people. Not because I’m power-hungry, but because uncertainty feels expensive when you’ve already paid for so many lessons the hard way. Letting go means trusting that I don’t have to supervise everything for it to survive. That’s a hard shift for someone who built themselves by being alert, prepared, and self-reliant.
The truth is, growth at this stage isn’t about grinding harder, it’s about surrendering smarter. It’s about choosing peace over proof, alignment over attachment, and discernment over endurance. The battle I’m stepping into now is allowing ease without guilt, and understanding that strength isn’t measured by how much pain I can absorb, but by how honestly I’m willing to evolve.
That’s the fight. And I’m finally showing up for it.
Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
My name is Rondré “Key” Brooks, and at heart, I’m a builder…. a creator.
I operate across real estate, entrepreneurship, and culture, primarily as a broker, investor, and operator, but my brand has never been about a single title. It’s about structure, ownership, and evolution. I’ve spent years building and scaling businesses in my real estate brokerage, property management, and investment, helping clients and partners turn ideas, properties, and chaos into systems that actually work long-term.
What makes my work different is that I don’t separate life from business. My brand is rooted in real experience—wins, losses, rebuilding, and recalibration. I’ve sold tens of millions in real estate, but I’m just as transparent about the setbacks, the pressure of commission-based income, the relationships that tested me, and the internal work required to grow without losing myself. I believe credibility comes from continuity, not highlights.
I’m also intentional about staying versatile. Recently, I added bartending into my life—not as a pivot, but as perspective. It keeps me sharp, grounded, and connected to people in real time. That flexibility reflects my broader philosophy: success isn’t about appearing untouchable; it’s about being adaptable without compromising integrity.
Right now, I’m focused on expanding my real estate platforms, building stronger systems that don’t rely on constant hustle, and creating space for more creative and thoughtful work—writing, brand-building, and mentorship. Everything I do is centered on sustainability: financially, emotionally, and personally.
If there’s one thing I want readers to know, it’s this: my story isn’t about arrival, it’s about refinement. I’m not chasing titles or optics. I’m building something honest, durable, and aligned with who I’ve become. And I’m still in motion.
Appreciate your sharing that. Let’s talk about your life, growing up and some of topics and learnings around that. Who were you before the world told you who you had to be?
Before the world told me who I had to be, I was curious, observant, and quietly imaginative.
I was the kid who paid attention, watching how people moved, how conversations shifted, how energy changed in a room. I wasn’t driven by status or approval yet; I was driven by understanding. I liked figuring things out. I trusted my instincts before I learned to question them. There was a natural confidence there, not loud, not performative, just an inner sense of I’ll figure it out.
Before expectations showed up, I wasn’t hardened. I hadn’t learned to brace for disappointment or armor myself with productivity and responsibility. I didn’t measure my worth by output or endurance. I was present. Creative. Open. I believed things could work out without needing to control every variable.
As life happened, I adapted. I became strategic, self-reliant, and strong, but some softness got tucked away in the process. Now, part of my evolution is reconnecting with that earlier version of myself, not to go backward, but to integrate him. To lead with discernment and openness. To build with structure and imagination.
That version of me is still here. He just speaks with more intention now.
What have been the defining wounds of your life—and how have you healed them?
The defining wounds of my life didn’t come from one moment… they came from patterns.
One of the deepest was learning early that stability could disappear without warning. That creates a quiet hyper-vigilance: you become prepared, self-reliant, and resourceful, but you also struggle to fully relax or trust ease. For a long time, I healed that wound by building… money, systems, control. It worked externally, but internally it kept me on guard. Real healing started when I learned that safety isn’t just something you construct around yourself; it’s something you allow yourself to feel.
Another defining wound came from betrayal, personal and professional. When people you believe in move differently than you thought, it fractures your sense of discernment. Early on, I responded by tightening my grip, raising my standards so high that connection became conditional. That protected me, but it also isolated me. Healing didn’t come from becoming colder, it came from becoming clearer. I learned to separate forgiveness from access, and compassion from self-abandonment.
There’s also the wound of responsibility, being the dependable one, the fixer, the stabilizer. Over time, that turns into over-functioning. You confuse usefulness with worth. I healed that slowly by setting boundaries (work in progress), by letting things fail that weren’t mine to save, and by accepting that my value isn’t tied to how much weight I can carry.
I haven’t healed these wounds by erasing them. I’ve healed them by integrating them. They sharpened my judgment, deepened my empathy, and refined my standards. The goal was never to become untouched, it was to become honest, resilient, and self-aware.
Healing, for me, hasn’t been about forgetting the pain. It’s been about no longer letting it run the room.
Next, maybe we can discuss some of your foundational philosophies and views? Is the public version of you the real you?
The public version of me is real… but it’s not the whole story.
What people see is the composed version: disciplined, strategic, productive, resilient. That part is authentic. I earned it. It’s the result of years of pressure, responsibility, and learning how to show up consistently even when things are uncertain. That version of me knows how to perform, lead, and build.
But there’s more beneath that surface.
The private version of me is quieter and more reflective. He questions more than he speaks. He feels deeply, sometimes wrestles with doubt, and sits with complexity instead of rushing to resolve it. That part doesn’t always show up publicly because the world rewards clarity and confidence more than nuance and introspection.
For a long time, I thought being “real” meant being unfiltered everywhere. I don’t believe that anymore. Authenticity isn’t exposure, it’s alignment. The public version of me isn’t a mask; it’s a curated expression of what’s appropriate to share in that space. The core values are the same in both rooms—integrity, curiosity, accountability, but the volume and vulnerability change.
So yes, the public version of me is real.
He’s just not alone.
Before we go, we’d love to hear your thoughts on some longer-run, legacy type questions. What pain do you resist facing directly?
The pain I resist facing most directly is the grief that comes from accepting that some things I gave my best to were never meant to last… not because I failed, but because they were built for a different season of me.
There’s a quiet ache in realizing that love, loyalty, effort, and patience don’t guarantee reciprocity. That you can show up honestly, do the work, hold the line and still outgrow people, places, or versions of yourself you once believed were permanent. I’ve spent a lot of time intellectualizing that truth, turning it into lessons, standards, and strategy. But underneath that is grief. Not dramatic grief… subtle grief. The kind that comes from letting go of futures you rehearsed in your head.
I also resist fully facing how tired I’ve been at times. Not physically, existentially. Carrying responsibility, being dependable, being “the strong one” trains you to minimize your own fatigue. You tell yourself it’s just the cost of ambition. But the pain is realizing that endurance, when left unchecked, can slowly distance you from joy. Facing that means admitting I don’t always need to push—I need to feel.
What I’m learning is that pain doesn’t demand fixing, it demands witnessing. When I stop trying to turn it into wisdom immediately, it softens. It becomes information instead of weight. I’m not done with that work yet, but I’m closer than I’ve ever been.
And that honesty, finally letting myself sit with what hurt without reframing it too quickly… that’s the next level of healing for me.
Contact Info:
- Website: www.NewWayDetroit.com, www.NewWayDetroitPM.com
- Instagram: @BrooksRealty365, @NewWayDetroit.com
- Linkedin: Kemarr Rondré Brooks, New Way Realty Partners
- Facebook: Kemarr Rondré Brooks, New Way Realty Partners
Image Credits
Q11 Photography
