No Road Map

In my mind, I’m still twenty-one years old, boarding a plane, and scared to go to a war I don’t believe in. The reflection on the black screen of my phone shows a man over twice that age with a white beard and graying hair. Where has my youth gone?

At a recent speaking engagement for my book, tears caught in my throat as they played the trailer for my film “Hammer Down.” I’m not entirely sure why it caught me so off guard to see my younger self in uniform a lifetime ago. There I was, hiding at the back of the crowd with tears forming in my eyes. Who was that idealistic young man? Where has he gone?

They showed clips from my old wildlife films and my recent episodes of “Catching Creation.” It was a neat way to introduce me to strangers, one I’d somehow never thought to ask for. All the books I’d written previously were splayed out on a table next to the podium I’d speak from, and it was somehow sobering to see them all in one place to preface my bona fides for this group.

One man said he was starstruck to meet me. He’d read my most recent book and loved it. That caught me more off guard than anything. I’m a nobody from a long line of nobodies. Yet, to this man, I was somebody. I hope I never stop feeling like an imposter.

I’m just a dude who’s found more ways to fail and keep going with various creative ventures than most folks ever try. I guess there’s something to that. Still, I ain’t shit. Don’t ever let me think otherwise, either. Those of you who read these know where I came from, who I am, and who I’ve always tried to be. I’m a storyteller, in all its myriad forms. I pray I never change.

If I’m being honest, I dread events like that. It’s not that I don’t love being in front of people and talking about wildlife or writing or whatever else, but I always fear that they’ll realize I’m just some nobody who weaseled his way in somehow. It’s almost like I’m afraid to be found out. Yet, to those people, I guess I was the real deal. I pulled it off.

After I was done signing books and talking to the amazing people who came to see me, I let out a sigh of relief. Phew. Here’s to checking one more event off the list and somehow surviving my anxiety to tell some sporadic stories about my weird life. I almost always feel that burden lifted afterward. I am humbled and often regret how I get leading up to those moments.

People often ask me what I’d do if money weren’t a factor. I believe it would be all the things I do “off the clock.” I want to save the world and tell you about wildlife and wild places. I want you to know you’re loved and that your story matters. I would love to speak, film, photograph, and write about my various adventures for a living wage someday. One can dream.

I’ve been dangerously close a few times. I see others doing it. I know it’s possible. With most things I love, there is no road map. So, as always, I’m figuring it out as I go. Despite how things seem lately, it does feel like magic is happening. I’m praying all these creative endeavors coalesce into something that gets noticed, and one day, someone gives me an offer I can’t refuse. Until then, here’s to trying, failing, and trying some more.

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Stan Lake is a writer, photographer, and filmmaker based in Bethania, North Carolina. His work has appeared in Dead Reckoning Collective, The Havok Journal, Reptiles Magazine, Lethal Minds Journal, and other outlets, and he directed Hammer Down, a documentary about his 2005 deployment in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom with Alpha Battery 5-113th of the North Carolina Army National Guard. For The Havok Journal, he often writes essays and reflections about war memory, veteran life, the outdoors, and everyday experience. You can find his books, collected works, and social media at www.stanlakecreates.com.

As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.