The Who - The Seeker

The Price of Self-Destiny is Worth It

My all-time favorite photo of The Who

1. There are approximately 17 million books on the art of self-actualization, each promising a path to personal fulfillment. Add to that another three million songs, all echoing the same yearning. There’s a surplus of self-help programs, apps, meditation practices, and a seemingly endless parade of fictional characters embarking on their own odysseys of self-discovery. Among all this noise, only a precious few truly resonate. For me, The Who’s The Seeker and a line from Tom Robbins stand out:

   The price of self-destiny is never cheap, and in certain situations it is unthinkable. But to achieve the marvelous, it is precisely the unthinkable that must be thought.

   -Tom Robbins, Jitterbug Perfume

   The journey — how often has this concept been recycled, dissected, and commodified? How many endless hours are wasted in the pursuit of some elusive purpose? The idea that one must “find oneself” suggests that we are somehow lost from the very start. We relate, empathize, commiserate. We crank up the volume on The Seeker, driving aimlessly toward a horizon that never arrives, hoping that the next town, the next bottle, the next song will provide the answers we seek. We pour ourselves into heartwrenching country ballads, sipping whiskey in dimly lit bars, searching for meaning in the bottom of a glass.

   But like the sharpest poker players, it’s not the triumphs we remember. It’s the defeats — the sharp, unyielding clarity of failure.

2. We dwell on missed opportunities and wrong turns, obsessed with the question of what might have been. And so, I’ve kept myself fully engaged in this relentless pursuit, accumulating credentials and experiences, checking boxes on a manifest of hopeless romantics who’ve invested in the idea that there’s something more — something just out of reach. But what if the journey isn’t the point at all? What if all those miles, all that searching, is just a distraction? I find myself now, not on the road, not in a bar, but in a classroom, with the quiet certainty that maybe the journey was never about finding something out there. Maybe it was always about creating something within. I’ve traveled far enough to know that becoming a professor isn't just a destination, but a way of making sense of the miles already covered, a way to turn the unthinkable into something marvelously thought.

3. I’ve sailed through hundreds of thousands of miles, carving a path across the world’s oceans, twice encircling the globe. I’ve sat with experts, gleaned knowledge from those who claim to understand the world. But wisdom is elusive, even when you consult the legends.

   I asked Bobby Dylan
   I asked The Beatles
   I asked Timothy Leary
   But he couldn't help me either

   -The Who, The Seeker

   I've touched down in 57 countries, every continent stamped in my passport. I’ve watched the sun rise and fall countless times, but it’s the sunrise I always return to. Sunrises are for the survivors, the ones who make it through the night. I’ve survived more than just the dark; I’ve walked away from gunfights with people who were trained to end lives. There are images seared into my mind that no amount of distance or time will ever erase.

   Along the way, I’ve collected names like scars. There are the ones given by blood — father, son, brother, uncle, cousin. The military has its own way of naming you, like some fraternity with a dark sense of humor. I’ve been called Chief, Boats, Wheels, Motown, and when the occasion is rare enough, Q. Each name is a marker, a testament to the miles and the moments that have shaped me.

   I’ve searched in the depths and the heights, and what I’ve found is that the adventure itself matters little to anyone but those I love and those who love me. Titles have been thrust upon me, whether I wanted them or not. I’ve been cast as the enemy, the bad seed, the adversary. I’ve played the roles of best man, vengeful beast, and the thing best kept behind glass.

   But there’s one title I’ve yet to fully embrace, though it’s been looming on the horizon. Professor. Professor Thompson. A heavyweight champion, battle-tested, with three million songs in his head and a cast-iron jaw, ready to teach. This country, these United States, needs educators who can walk into a room like a fistfight in $500 shoes. Because power and intelligence aren’t mutually exclusive. Professor Thompson. Write it down. I’m fucking coming.