My Own Soul’s Warning

When someone asks what I do, my default response is: “I’m a writer.”

Usually that’s good enough, and the conversation progresses from there, but each time I told that lie in 2023, a pang of frustration and guilt would surge through me. I have long believed that we are what our actions portray, and as someone who was not actively writing, the statement “I’m a writer” was patently untrue.

Why lie?

Why is the default response “I’m a writer”?

Why not match the words with what my actions reflect?

These questions plagued the entirety of 2023, and I’m happy to report that with the dawn of 2024, I’ve found my answer.

I always thought that if I was living my life in the service of others, I was living a good life. I still believe that to be true, but my application of that view has changed drastically. In dedicating my life to other people, I began to live for other people. My wants and desires fell by the wayside, as I changed parts of my identity to match my company; adopting a social camouflage to ensure maximum compatibility and to create as little friction as possible.

Little by little, these compromises chipped away at my sense of self, and resulted in chasing a life that I never wanted, following a career path I didn’t love, and adhering to values that contradicted the pillars I’d constructed in childhood to define Tucker Partridge.

I believed I was doing right. Life is about compromise. Martyrdom is the pinnacle achievement of humanity. Self sacrifice to the point of destruction in pursuit of higher truth is the path of enlightenment.

Why wasn’t I writing then?

If I had reached enlightenment, why couldn’t I put pen to paper?

My actions couldn’t match my words, because while “I’m a writer” was true at one point in my life, the identity that crafted that default answer laid dormant. Cognitive dissonance corrupted the process such that I found myself in creative paralysis — constantly called to write, but unable to articulate my own viewpoint.

I wasn’t living my life authentically, and therefore was incapable of crafting an authentic viewpoint.

The latter half of 2023 involved much work in the shadows. Constant introspection kept me static, unable to exit the hinterlands of self discovery. This was necessary stasis, not imprisonment, but rather a genuine self-audit to finally resolve questions that I had neglected to answer.

Who am I?

What do I want to do?

What is my purpose?

I believe that I’ve found those answers.

The “essence” of Tucker Partridge can be described thusly:

I like to write, watch the Razorbacks, and argue about movies with my friends. I believe that we’re only as wealthy as the least among us, and that I’m called to see everyone as human beings on their own terms. I believe that we should feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and house the homeless. I believe that the purpose of life is to be an endless font of love, because everyone is entitled to know love, including myself. I believe that in giving that love, we build the solidarity necessary to fight the injustices of the systems wrought upon us.

I’ve reoriented my life to match these beliefs. I live in Fayetteville, Arkansas again, surrounded by friends and family who will pour love into me so that I may in turn pour it into a community that has given me everything I have. I work at a mission-driven non-profit now, so that even in my work, I will be adhering to my values.

It’s now, after all this self-discovery and movement to align with my own values that I find myself writing effortlessly, answering the call from an old friend and greeting it with warmth and fondness.

Anyone who has known me for any length of time knows that my favorite band is The Killers. Their music resonates with me such that my “Best of The Killers” playlist on Spotify is essentially just their discography. However, one song has resonated more loudly recently: “My Own Soul’s Warning” from their sixth album, “Imploding the Mirage.”

If you could see through the banner of the sun
Into eternity’s eyes, like a vision reaching down to you
Would you turn away?
What if it knew you by your name?
What kind of words would cut through the clutter of the whirlwind of these days?

I hear the words. The words my soul speaks are loud, and cut through the clutter. What a privilege. I’m done trying to go against my own soul’s warning.

And in 2024, I will finally be able to truthfully say with full self-confidence, “I’m a writer.”