Cold Open: Garage Floor Confession
I was sitting in my garage last Saturday night, ostensibly “organizing tools” but really avoiding the pile of responsibilities waiting inside. Netflix was streaming The Lord of the Rings on my phone, because apparently I’m twelve, and I found myself watching Frodo leave the Shire for the hundredth time.
And then it hit me like a poorly thrown wrench: When do I go on an adventure?
Sure, I’ve never fought a dragon, but I have battled a leaking water heater at 2 a.m. while my family slept peacefully upstairs. I’ve never crossed into Mordor, but I have navigated the soul-crushing terrain of a parent-teacher conference where my kid definitely did not turn in that project. These aren’t exactly epic quests, but they’re… something.
Sitting there surrounded by half-finished projects and good intentions, I wondered: Maybe there’s a version of the hero’s journey for guys like us. Ordinary men trying to do something extraordinary with our one short life. Maybe we don’t need a wizard to show up at our door. Maybe we just need to stop waiting for permission to begin.
What Is the Hero’s Journey, Anyway?
Joseph Campbell spent his life studying myths and stories, and he discovered something remarkable. Whether it’s ancient Greek legends or modern Marvel movies, heroes all follow the same basic pattern. He called it the Hero’s Journey, and it breaks down into three acts that feel familiar even if you’ve never heard the term.
Act 1: The Call to Adventure (also known as: your life falls apart just enough to force action). Something disrupts your normal world. It could be external—a job loss, a health scare, a relationship crisis. Or internal—that growing restlessness that whispers, “there’s got to be more than this.” The hero initially resists, because who wants to leave their comfortable hobbit hole? But eventually, they cross the threshold into the unknown.
Act 2: Trials and Transformation (basically, everything sucks and you grow anyway). This is where the real work happens. The hero faces tests, meets allies and enemies, confronts their deepest fears, and slowly transforms. It’s messy, painful, and usually involves some version of rock bottom before breakthrough.
Act 3: Return with Wisdom (you try to pass that wisdom on, and your kids ignore you). The hero comes home changed, carrying hard-won insight. They try to share what they’ve learned, though half the people around them think they’ve lost their minds.
This isn’t just ancient mythology. It’s a roadmap for how humans actually grow. Every meaningful change in our lives follows this pattern, whether we realize it or not.
Why Most Men Don’t Go on One (Until It’s Too Late)
Here’s the uncomfortable truth. Most men wait for life to force the journey. We drift along until divorce papers land on the kitchen table, or chest pains send us to the ER, or we wake up at fifty wondering where the last twenty years went.
I get it. Modern life is designed to keep us comfortable and distracted. We’ve got phones that deliver endless entertainment, jobs that provide just enough security to avoid risk, and social media that lets us feel accomplished without actually accomplishing anything. We tell ourselves we’ll start that business “someday,” we’ll get in shape “after this project,” we’ll have that difficult conversation “when the time is right.”
Meanwhile, we settle into a passive existence. Waiting for adventure to find us instead of going out to find it.
I’m writing this not because I’ve mastered the hero’s journey, but because I’m tired of being a spectator in my own life. I’m tired of watching other people’s adventures on screens while my own potential gathers dust, just like those tools in my garage.
What a Modern Hero’s Journey Could Look Like
Forget slaying dragons. Today’s hero’s journey might look like finally starting that side business you’ve been talking about for three years. Or having the courage to go to marriage counseling. Or getting sober. Or writing the book that’s been rattling around in your head. Or simply deciding to become the father you needed when you were young.
The pattern is the same, but the battlefield is internal:
- Leaving comfort means stepping away from the routines that keep you safe but small. It’s turning off Netflix to work on your business plan. It’s choosing the hard conversation over comfortable silence.
- Facing trials means confronting your own insecurities, time constraints, and that voice that says you’re not qualified. It’s wrestling with father wounds, imposter syndrome, and the fear of failing in front of people who matter. It’s showing up even when motivation fails.
- Finding allies and mentors might mean joining that accountability group, finally calling a therapist, or reaching out to someone whose path you admire. It’s admitting you can’t do it alone and swallowing your pride long enough to ask for help.
- Returning changed means becoming the man your younger self needed. A better father, husband, friend. It means being willing to share your story, even the messy parts, because someone else needs to hear that transformation is possible.
A modern hero’s journey might be a forty-year-old man going back to finish his degree. A divorced dad learning to cook so he can feed his kids on weekends. A guy choosing to break a generational cycle of anger or addiction.
These aren’t movie-worthy adventures. But they’re the real work of becoming human.
So How Do You Start One?
If you’re waiting for Gandalf to knock on your door, you might be waiting forever. Here’s what I’m learning about beginning your own hero’s journey:
Step 1: Recognize the restlessness. That persistent voice saying “there’s got to be more” isn’t dissatisfaction. It’s your soul trying to get your attention. Stop numbing it with distractions. Start listening to what it’s telling you.
Step 2: Name your dragons. What are you actually afraid of? Failure? Success? Judgment? Not being enough? You can’t slay what you won’t name. Write them down. Make them concrete. Fear thrives in shadows but withers in daylight.
Step 3: Choose the first hard step. Not the perfect plan. Just the next right thing. Something that costs you comfort but gives you clarity. Maybe it’s signing up for that class, scheduling the tough conversation, or finally clearing out the garage to make space for something new.
Step 4: Invite an ally. Heroes need companions. Find someone who believes in your growth more than your comfort. Tell them what you’re attempting. Ask them to check in. Don’t go it alone. Even the Lone Ranger had Tonto.
Step 5: Mark the moment. Declare it. Write it down. Tell someone. Create a ritual. Plant a flag. Make it official in whatever way feels meaningful. This isn’t just another Monday. This is the beginning of something.
I’m writing this from basecamp, not the summit. I’m lacing up my boots alongside you, not waving from the mountaintop. But maybe that’s exactly what we need. Someone willing to admit they don’t have it all figured out but who’s committed to figuring it out anyway.
Final Reflection: What If This Is the Start?
Maybe the hero you’re waiting for is already staring back at you in the bathroom mirror every morning. Maybe you don’t need to “find yourself.” Maybe you need to forge yourself, one choice at a time, one small act of courage building on another.
The call to adventure isn’t always dramatic. Sometimes it’s just the quiet recognition that the life you’re living isn’t quite the life you dreamed of. Sometimes it’s simply admitting that you’re capable of more than you’re currently demonstrating.
Your journey won’t look like anyone else’s. Your dragons will be uniquely yours. Your allies may come from unexpected places. But the pattern is reliable: departure, transformation, return. The framework is ancient. But your story? It’s still being written.
The ordinary world is comfortable. But comfort isn’t the point. Growth is. Becoming is. Leaving something better than you found it—that’s the point.
I’ll go first if you will.
The Focused Fool Newsletter – Growing As Men. Leading As Fathers.
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