Purpose, Fiery, Frozen

I envy people who have a purpose that so consumes them that they are willing to burn their worlds down to achieve it.

I’m a little afraid of them as well, to be honest. I feel, inside of me, a burning angst to get out and fulfill my dreams, but somehow, somewhere between the fire stoked and the engine it’s meant to run, there’s a disconnect.

I know my why. I know my how. And still, at times, I feel like a victim of some sort of motivational locked-in syndrome, aware of everything around me, everything that needs to happen, that could happen, but I can’t force my muscles to move to get it done.

Hell, I wrote a novelette about the torture of it called Jeopardy. It was published just over a year ago in the December 2017 issue of the Scarlet Leaf Review. I’m in the process of converting it to a single issue comic book, for the purpose of building up a portfolio.

It won’t make me millions, but I’d kill to write for Marvel or DC, or better yet, have my own ongoing creator-owned series through Image or Vertigo.

Of course, all that sounds like bragging, and it’s hardly the point. Most days, I can get myself to write something, though I go through lazy stretches or stretches where I’m so dejected, I can’t muster the effort to click on OpenOffice. It’s literally too hard. Too fraught.

It burns me up inside to know what I want and still be seemingly incapable of actually acting upon that desire. It is an internal threshing machine that mows down the fields of purpose without turning any of it into actual fuel for propulsion.

Freedom. Growth. People being decent to each other. Writing novels that attest to the essentially good nature of humanity, despite all the examples to the contrary. Fighting to create a world where our better halves are able to overcome the regressive, fixed mindsets of the past in favour of one that continues to grow. That’s what authoritarian rule is all about – maintaining the status quo. Free societies allow movement. They allow change. They allow growth.

That’s what I want. A world where people are free to do what they want to do, that they are, in fact, encouraged to do so and to do so with kindness. Basically, a free-for-all with one caveat – do what you will and allow others to do the same, without violence. It’s a world where we can make mistakes, test our mettle or not, to just do and be who we want to be, without prejudice, in a state of constant growth and peace.

That’s what I want.

Unlikely, I know, but it’s where I’m headed, in my mind. My problem is getting there. It’s one thing to write the book. It’s a totally different thing to publish and promote it.

That’s where purpose meets the wall. It’s not enough to write a book, but writing the book seems to be all I can do. Getting someone to read it, hell, even allowing someone to know it exists… that’s a whole other thing.

And that’s where purpose is failing me. If I’m truly passionate about it, says every trite piece of entrepreneurial and self-help pablum out there, I’ll move heaven and earth to birth it into the world.

But I don’t. And it burns inside so hot that I can barely control it. Is it a lack of passion that causes such a fire? A lack of purpose?

I do not know, but I suspect I must find out quickly, before it’s too late.