On A Mission

I’ve been asking myself an interesting question lately:

When does the mission become a problem?

I’ve been working on the Truth Party for about six months now, and the fact of the matter is…

I’m having the time of my fucking life.

I wake up excited about it.

I make videos. I write. I talk to people. I listen to people. I come up with crazy ideas. Some of them are good. Some of them probably need to be taken out behind the barn and quietly put down.

But I’m engaged.

I’m alive.

And I’m having fun.

So when does that become too much?

Because there’s a strange line between purpose and obsession.

We admire people who dedicate themselves completely to something.

An entrepreneur works eighteen hours a day and we call him driven.

An artist paints all night and we call her passionate.

A scientist spends thirty years solving one problem and we call him dedicated.

But there’s obviously another side to that.

At some point, a mission can stop being something you have…

and become something that has you.

I don’t want that.

I don’t want to wake up one morning and realize that John Eagleton disappeared somewhere along the way and all that’s left is the Truth Party.

Because I’m still a person.

I’m a father.

I’m a grandfather.

I’m a friend.

I’m a writer.

I’m trying stand-up comedy.

I’m somebody who likes meeting people.

And recently I’ve discovered something else:

I’m looking for love.

That one surprised the hell out of me.

At 69 years old, after two marriages, four children and this long, strange life I’ve lived, I’ve realized I don’t want to spend the rest of it alone.

I want to find my person.

And initially I thought:

Well, I’m working on the Truth Party…

and I’m looking for love on the side.

But I’ve started thinking that’s the wrong way to describe it.

I’m not looking for love on the side.

I’m looking for love alongside it.

There’s a big difference.

Because I don’t want the Truth Party to become my substitute for having a life.

I want the Truth Party to be part of an extraordinary life.

And ironically, this whole project has taught me that.

I’ve spent weeks walking up to strangers.

Nearly a hundred conversations with people I probably never would have met otherwise.

And somewhere along the way, the project stopped being entirely about politics.

It became about people.

I started noticing them.

Listening to them.

Enjoying them.

And occasionally meeting somebody and thinking:

“Holy shit. Who are you?”

That’s something I didn’t expect.

The political experiment turned into a human experiment.

And the human experiment started changing me.

That’s why I think the warning signs are actually pretty simple.

If I stop sleeping because I can’t stop working…

problem.

If I start spending money recklessly because I’m convinced everything I touch is going to change the world…

problem.

If somebody I respect tells me an idea is terrible and I become incapable of hearing them…

problem.

If every conversation becomes the Truth Party…

problem.

If I sit across from a beautiful woman having coffee and spend forty-five minutes explaining voter participation…

John, we have a fucking problem.

Because at some point she’s going to say:

“So…do you have any hobbies?”

And I’ll say:

“Democracy.”

That’s not getting me a second date.

But right now something different seems to be happening.

The mission isn’t making my world smaller.

It’s making my world bigger.

I’m meeting people.

I’m hearing stories.

I’m becoming more curious.

I’m trying things I never thought I’d try.

I’m standing on comedy stages.

I’m writing.

I’m making music.

I’m walking up to strangers.

I’m putting myself in situations where I don’t know what’s going to happen next.

And I’m even opening myself up to the possibility of falling in love again.

That’s not retreating from life.

That’s running straight toward it.

And maybe that’s the test.

Does your purpose make your world larger or smaller?

Does it make you more curious or more certain?

Does it make you want to meet people or avoid them?

Can you laugh at yourself?

Can you change your mind?

Can you take a day off?

Can somebody tell you you’re full of shit and you can at least consider the possibility that they’re right?

And most importantly:

Are you still having a life?

Because I don’t want my tombstone to say:

HERE LIES JOHN EAGLETON.

HE FINALLY GOT VOTER PARTICIPATION TO 90%.

NEVER DID FIND ANYBODY TO HAVE DINNER WITH.

Fuck that.

I want both.

I want purpose.

I want adventure.

I want friendship.

I want laughter.

I want somebody sitting next to me at the end of the day who couldn’t care less how many views the latest video got.

Somebody who can look at me and say:

“Okay, Mr. Save-America…

put the fucking phone down.

Dinner’s ready.”

And I’ll put it down.

Because maybe that’s the difference between having a mission…

and being consumed by one.

The mission should give you a reason to live.

It should never become a reason to forget that you’re living.