CREATING AND MAINTAINING PURPOSE—EVEN WHEN IT FEELS WORTHLESS.

Monday Mutiny | 2.19.2024

I have a hard time doing the same thing over and over again without finding fulfillment in it. At some point, it begins to feel more performative than creative—and when that happens, I lose interest. It’s that simple. It’s the reason why I’m not currently posting on Instagram, it’s the reason why I’ve chosen not to write another history book (despite finding some real success with the first three), and it’s the reason why I’m writing this today.

I need some change.

Kelsey and I were talking earlier this month, and with her suggestions, I’ve realized that I’ve come to a point where I need to mix up these newsletters from time to time. Because if I’m getting bored writing ‘em, you’re probably getting bored reading ‘em.

So, rather than forcing myself to always work within a rather limiting format of five items (which I will still use when it feels appropriate), I’m going to begin focusing these newsletters on a single thought or topic: a story worth telling, an idea that I might be overthinking, an emotional challenge that I’m actively working through, etc.

And, right now, I find myself spending a lot of time thinking about “purpose.” Specifically, how to keep going when it feels like all the time that you’re committing toward something is starting to feel worthless. Over the years, I’ve felt this way quite often—finding my inner dialogue, on multiple occasions, plagued by one of the three following questions:

1. What’s the point?

2. How can I both rejoice in and resent something that I feel I’m “meant” to do?

3. Is it still purposeful if it’s not paying my bills?

So, if you’ve asked yourself anything similar lately (or ever), you’re not alone—and I hope my own experiences can help provide you with some answers. However, before we get to the questions above, I believe some backstory on my life (and career) is beneficial to understanding who I am and why I’m writing what I’m writing.

Also, for clarity before we proceed, I do believe “purpose” is something that is more often than not created over time—although, it can also be found by accident (something that crosses your path, or something that you failed to see was always there). However, regardless of how you come across it, purpose requires work, seeking to both improve and reinvent yourself constantly.

Lastly, I know “purpose” is a broad term, and I’ve specifically left it broad to allow you to fill it in with your own definition. “Purpose” can be anything from transforming the world through art, helping others manage their pain, inventing something that changes the course of humanity, or any other long-term goal that drives you to get up in the morning. But whatever it is—and whether you feel you have one or not—the fact is: we all desire to have a “purpose.” Because having one gives our life meaning and direction.

NOTE: If you’ve already heard me share my story on a podcast, or if you’ve read bits and pieces of it before in older newsletters, feel free to skip all the way down to the line that reads: “WHAT’S THE POINT?”

Back in 2013, I felt invincible. Truly invincible. My career was taking off, I had just moved into a cool loft-style apartment in Downtown Salt Lake City (prior to this, I had been living with my parents while I tried to find work as a writer), and I’d also just purchased myself a new truck (used, but new to me). And, for the first time, I really loved what I was doing for work: I was writing. I was finally getting paid to do exactly what I wanted to do; more importantly, what I felt like I was meant to do. And there was nothing anyone could say or do that would change my mind.

Over the next few years, my career continued to grow within the advertising world, as did my following on Instagram and Twitter, which I used as outlets to share jokes and concepts that were deemed “too crude” for my day job. In 2016, I moved to Las Vegas for a promotion, and in early 2017, I moved to New York for yet another—which also meant that I was now living in the mecca of the literary world. Mark Twain, Herman Melville, Edith Wharton, Edgar Allen Poe—“New York is where real writers live,” or at least that’s what I told myself back then.

I lived in NYC for two years, and during that time, I released two more books, my presence on social media exploded, I landed hosting gigs, and I had different publicists writing me every month eager to represent me. In the eyes of many, “I’d made it,” but in my own, I hadn’t even begun to create something that I was truly proud of because I wasn’t doing the kind of writing that I really wanted to do. So, in late 2018, I quit my full-time job as a Creative Director because I was unfulfilled, bored, and honestly, distrustful. I knew it was time for me to leave. I felt it. It just wouldn’t have been fair to anyone that I worked with to continue doing what I was doing the way that I was doing it.

But when I quit, I had every plan of finding another full-time gig; I did not intend to strike out on my own. I still wanted the comfort of another full-time job so I would at least know that I could pay my bills while I pursued my creative desires on the side: screenplays, novels, and anything else that required serious storytelling.

At the same time, I moved to Los Angeles to be closer to Kelsey since we had been doing a long-distance thing for a bit. And, in L.A., I thought for sure that I would be able to use my connections to find some work in screenwriting—but if that failed—I could always get back into another Creative Director role at an advertising agency because I was damn good at my job despite growing apathetic to it over time.

Except, life had other plans for me. Nothing worked out in screenwriting, and I never so much as received even an email back to any full-time role that I applied for, inquired about, or pursued. NOT ONE. So, I had no choice but to find a way to make a living doing my own thing. And, for the first time in a long time, I questioned whether or not “writing” was what I was meant to be doing. I questioned my purpose.

I no longer felt important. I no longer felt like my work was enough for others to take notice and hire me. I no longer had the financials to back up my ego and tell me that my writing was worth something—that I was worth something. And, let me tell you, it fucking crushed me. I felt like I had achieved success as a writer then fucked it all up when I decided to leave NYC at the peak of it all. I had realized my dream, then turned my back on it. Perhaps it wasn’t perfect, but I was getting paid—why did I walk away from all that?

I regretted my decision for months on end, allowing it to slowly eat away at me. My confidence was shattered, my bank account was drained, and I was fucking tired.

Then, in May of 2019, a friend connected me with a literary agent who was interested in representing my work. She had previously become familiar with my writing after her daughter had shown her some of my history posts on Instagram, but my friend’s recommendation was enough to convince her to set up a meeting. Her and I spoke on the phone, she completely understood the kind of man and writer that I was/am, and I signed with her. In a matter of weeks, she was able to sell the rights to my Fucking History series, and I no longer needed to look for a full-time job. I had the money to pay the bills and focus on the kind of writing that I wanted to be doing. But nothing really changed. I’d gotten exactly what I’d asked for, but I was still unhappy.

Why?

Looking back, I believe this is when I first asked myself this question:

WHAT’S THE POINT?

And I’ve found the best way to answer this question is by simply imagining your life without doing whatever it is that currently has you in a state of doubt or confusion.

• If I wasn’t _______, what else would I do with my time?

• If I wasn’t _______, what else would I find fulfilling?

• If I wasn’t _______, what else would give my work/life meaning?

If you can’t think of anything else, well, that’s your answer: the point of it is because there’s nothing else you’d rather be doing. Coming to this realization allowed me to develop a newfound appreciation for my work—which has led to me finding more worth in the act itself—as opposed to the external outcomes: money, likes, shares, notoriety, positive commentary, etc. Over time, I’d lost sight of the purpose and developed an addiction to the attention.

Now, it’s been more than five years since I left the consistency of a full-time job and bi-weekly paycheck to become an independent writer (not by choice in the beginning), and life has felt like a never-ending cycle of feast or famine ever since. When it’s good, it’s been great—but when it’s been bad, it’s been borderline hell. However, despite all the shit, the frustration, the heartbreak, the stress, and the uncertainty—I’ve always kept writing. I’ve never so much as even pursued an alternative route. Even when it has felt like I was wasting my time with another book, another contract, or another lengthy post on social media.

Nevertheless, believe me when I say that I’ve wanted to quit on at least a thousand different mornings, despite the fact that there’s nothing else I’d rather be doing.

Just because you love it, doesn’t mean you’ll never be pained by it.

Which brings me to the next question . . .

HOW CAN I BOTH REJOICE IN AND RESENT SOMETHING THAT I FEEL I’M 'MEANT' TO DO?

Well, why is Baked Alaska considered one of the hardest desserts to make, but also one of the most delicious dishes if it’s done correctly? Because the recipe requires extremes; particularly, the proper combination of hot and cold. In much the same way, the most meaningful work and the most profound lessons in life are often accompanied by extremes of both emotion and time.

“Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do.”

—Steve Jobs

In life, anything that elicits deep emotion and fulfillment will undoubtedly elicit stress as well—especially during times of repetition and hardship. It’s only human to feel drained by what we care about because we pour so much of ourselves into what we love. However, if you find yourself resenting your work more than you’re rejoicing in the process, that’s a tell-tale sign that it’s time to take a step back and refocus.

Just as alone-time is valuable in a romantic relationship, time away from your work is often a necessary step in maintaining the feeling of purpose. Because, chances are, after some extended time away, you’re going to feel lost without it.

Perspective, in all areas of life, can only be found by taking a step back.

Lastly . . .

IS IT STILL PURPOSEFUL IF IT’S NOT PAYING MY BILLS?

The short answer: yes.

The more realistic answer: it’s easier when it does.

Sure, I make a living with my writing and it truly is the one thing that I feel called to do in life. In other words, my purpose does pay my bills. But would I still do it if my income wasn’t based on it? Yeah, I would. Because I was already doing it long before it became my career. I wrote short stories and made my own comics as a kid (drawing and writing comics helped me sit through many hours of church each Sunday), I wrote music articles in college simply because I liked attending concerts, and I’ve used the written word to explain my own emotions—and share my life experiences—years before I ever thought of making a career out of it.

I think social media has prevented a lot of people from finding their purpose because they are either too distracted, convinced to give up too easily, or straight-up misled into thinking that something isn’t worth pursuing because some so-called guru in a sixty-second video told them about an Etsy store that makes $100,000 a month selling colorful toilet paper, or some “life coach” bragged about making $10,000 a day selling a morning routine, or some other [insert another inflated ego and likely untrue scenario] has made them feel stupid for wanting to pursue something because they can’t make a ton of money doing it.

Here’s the truth: your purpose doesn’t have to be something in life that makes you a millionaire. If it does, that’s fucking great. If you can both pay your bills AND find lifelong fulfillment in your work, you’ve hit the jackpot. But if all your music does is encourage people to get up and dance at the local bar every weekend, or if your only art show encourages a group of kids on a field trip to go home and pick up a paintbrush, or if your novel that never hits a best-seller list makes at least one person feel less alone—isn’t that purpose enough—particularly if you enjoyed doing it?

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My point to all of this is to say, “Thank you.”

Thank you for allowing me to do what I do because your support does make it easier when times are tough. Thank you for sticking around through all the ups and the downs, the reiterations and the messages lost in translation, and both my personal and professional life changes.

And, for those of you still grinding away—seeking to fulfill your purpose each day—I’m right there with you.

-Kyle, aka “The Capt.”