I’ll Settle for Purpose

I wake up each morning wishing I could hurry the day up and crawl back into bed. Apathy or Armageddon be damned; I just want to sleep these days. I used to wonder how people became hermits, and now, I’m living it. There have been weeks when I have only left my house to walk to the mailbox. Life ebbs and flows seasonally, and it feels like I’ve been listless longer than I’d like to admit.

In early 2020, the first waves of compassion fatigue decided to take root within me. The constant onslaught of traumatic happenings burrowed its way from screens to my brain; it had me worn out. Six years later, and I’m still torn between averting my eyes and charging into the fray for whatever cause boils my blood today. There’s something new every day, and my “give a shit” meter is hovering just above E.

As someone built for service, I long for my life to feel meaningful. I want to know that the things I write move people. I need to feel like the work I do at my job makes a difference in the world. I want my passion to infect others to do good. But what happens when there seems to be no passion left?

The folks who used to watch my wildlife videos always commented on how happy I looked while mired in swamps with animals that could kill me. Those places of adversity, danger, and sheer beauty are what move my soul. I know I’m the happiest when I get to not only find cool critters but film them. It gives me immense joy to teach people about the world around them, yet I find it nearly impossible to get out and do that very thing anymore.

Part of my issue boils down to sheer logistics. I spent several years building a dedicated crew that I trained to film my exploits and accompany me into the southern wilds. Now, most of them are married with children and have moved on to more responsible adult pursuits. It’s not that I can’t go alone and enjoy nature and even capture it on video, but there’s something different about sharing that with friends in real time that I miss.

I’ve shared this sentiment in the past, and people come out of the woodwork saying they’d like to come on an adventure, but once it’s time to hit the swamp, they seem to disappear. I get it. This is a weird life I’ve chosen. Sometimes I wish I could just be normal. I wish my brain didn’t spiral out of control constantly. I wish I could rest guilt-free. I’ll settle for purpose. Regardless, this is a solvable calculus. I aim to fix it or work toward it soon. Maybe just writing these complaints down will help me take steps to that end.

There are only so many ways to write that I’m burnt out. This isn’t a plea for solutions or advice, just me processing a very barren season for the lesson buried within the rubble. It’s funny because most of my life I’ve chased something I can’t quantify: the ever-elusive status of having “made it.” But I’m learning that isn’t even a real thing. To an outsider, I’ve made it already. I have articles published multiple times a week in a publication I dreamed of writing for, thanks to The Havok Journal. I have a new book with a publisher I deeply respect: Dead Reckoning Collective. Still, I keep reaching on my tippy toes for something just out of reach.

I know folks way more successful than I am in fields I’d kill to be relevant in, and they’re still striving for the same purpose I currently seem to lack. Maybe we’re all after something we can’t define. Maybe we’ll get there one day. I’d venture to say we won’t know we’re there when we get there, as life has a way of feeling the same. The high highs tend to lead to the lowest lows, and the cycle repeats forever.

The only way out is through, so I suppose for now it’s one foot in front of the other, working hard to get wherever we’re destined to go. It doesn’t matter how I feel; I know I’m on the right path, and I’ve got to keep slogging my way forward. Even though I’m not exactly where I want to be, I know I’m on my way. I should take my own advice and go outside, cup my ears, and listen for frogs; they should be calling any day now.

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Stan 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.