You wake up. You’re tired. You’re older. It doesn’t feel like anyone believes in you. You’ve not achieved your goal yet. You’re not sure you ever will. It is exhausting. You’re exhausted. A quiet part of you is constantly whispering that you should quit. You’ve gotten good at ignoring it, but you still hear it. “Maybe it’s right,” you think some days, “maybe I should.” But you’re making progress, you’re sure that you’re almost there. You don’t want to quit. Something in you feels incapable of quitting. The pressure is enough to make you weep. Sometimes you do.

If that resonates with you at all, I invite you to read on.

Whatever it is that we set out to accomplish in life, our setting out in the first place is almost certainly a sharp departure from what would have been our path of least resistance. We don’t tend to aim to do things we’re already on rails to achieve. Instead, we tend to aim to do things that are far off over there; over hill and dale, into the bush, into the thick of it, into the unknown.

Unknown as it may be to us, there’s a feeling of familiarity about it. Something intimate.

There’s something out there, in the dark, in the place we’ve never been but are compelled to venture toward, that calls to us, that pulls on our invisible strings. It is as if a part of us is already there, a small but curiously loud part, and it is desparate to have us reuinite with it.

That’s what this is unknown place is to us, somehow: it is our proper place.

It is not easy to stay the path toward this place. Think of all the challenges which beset Odysseus on his journey back to Ithaca. Those challenges, concocted through intention by the very gods, serve as strong metaphors for our own obstacles.

Those closest to us will sometimes want us to quit, giant brutes will occasionally come along to block our way, sometimes we will encounter distractions which threaten our ability to remember what is important to us, and too often will varied temptations promise something better if only we change course. All the while, we are unsure whether the way we’re going is the correct way and whether the place we pursue will be as we imagine even if we do, one day, arrive at it.

Odysseus reached the shores of Ithaca with none of his original crew. He was the sole survivor of his decade-long return to his proper place.

For eight of those ten years, he voyaged alone. No companions, no support to speak of, and no reassuring voices moving him along toward his home. This is, perhaps, what makes the Odyssey so compelling: it is one of the oldest stories of an individual never giving up despite overwhelming odds (and gods!).

But the Odyssey was, and is, just a story.

There were no sirens, or cyclops, or hydra, or sentient boat-consuming whirlpools, indeed there wasn’t even an Odysseus. The Odyssey is a myth. But it is useful to us as an allegory.

We are alone on a difficult journey. There are forces that threaten our successful arrival. And yet, just as Odysseus was, we are compelled to pursue our proper place at all costs and in spite of all difficulties and antithetical forces.

Unlike Odysseus, however, we do not have to journey alone. Others are journeying to the same place we are, or to a place very nearby it. Our proper place will, no doubt, be the proper place of many others. And so, out there, somewhere, are crew mates who we’d be glad to have and who would, likewise, be glad to have us.

Stoicism is the pursuit of an excellent moral character. This is the nostos of a Prokoptôn; what we are pulled to seek out and develop a path toward at all costs. And this pursuit is lonely, which makes it all the more difficult, but it does not have to be. Others are on this same journey – others who can share in the rowing, carrying, and lifting – but they are very likely not our next door neighbours.

Instead, they are scattered around the globe, mid-journey, floundering as much as we are. If only we could find one another.

To bring those seeking this same “proper place” — those working on building excellent moral characters, in their own domains of expertise — together, to benefit one another so that we might all benefit the world in the ways we desire to.

It is not easier the improve our characters with others around, but crew mates make it much easier not to abandon our journey when the going gets tough.

If you’re a practicing Stoic looking for community, guidance, and camaraderie to help maintain your practice, I’m extending you an open invitation to join Prokoptôn, a private, members only, Skool community for committed practicing Stoics. Monthly 1:1 coaching, with me, is included with the membership.