Haunted by Glory: Achilles and the War Within

I have a confession to make – I'm obsessed with Greek Mythology. 

So much so that I’ve written songs about it, poems, even fictional retellings of classic tales set in modern technological worlds. 

There is something spiritual in mythology – how it mediates between past and present, between the evolutionarily-bound human condition and modern quest for meaning demanded inherently by each of us. 

Mythology gives us a guiding light, ignited from subconscious anthropologic lessons and pointed by an inner commitment to authenticity and understanding our selves and desires at ever-deepening levels. 

Throughout my journey of self-understanding and meaning-making, there has been one mythological hero who continually hoists his spear into my cranium, especially in times of stagnation or complacency (some call it low season, or even peace). 

The character is Achilles, legendary Greek warrior whose defeat of the Trojans made his name last through the ages. Yeah, you know him. That dude who died from a heel injury.

The guy Brad Pitt plays in Troy. 

Achilles’s story is profound not because of his prowess in the Battle of Troy but rather because of a choice he made before it started. That is when his mother, Thetis, a sea nymph with prophetic abilities, foretold two possible pathways for his life. 

In the first, Achilles abandons the war with Troy, finds love, and lives a lengthy, fulfilling life with a wife and children. But when he dies, his name is lost forever to obscurity.  

Also, according to ChatGPT, Greece likely loses the war without him and its empiric downfall begins much earlier. 

In the second pathway, the one he chooses, Achilles goes to war, wins, and his name becomes legend, praised in the mouths of men for millennia. But Achilles dies in this battle and never finds lasting peace or love. 

This choice between glory and mortal contentment, albeit on a less epic scale, has haunted my existence for over a decade. It is the symbolic source of my anxiety and indecision. 

And I’m guessing I’m not alone. 

The story of Achilles necessitates answers to these questions: 

Is a life best lived one in which you pursue your passions, your inner calling, your glory, with everything you've got, regardless of what you sacrifice on the way?  

Do you dedicate your entirety to it, at the opportunity cost of social relationships and love, and despite risks inherent to its more-than-likely highly competitive and impacted path? 

Or is it best to seek a comfortable life, one not without challenge, but where passions are backburnered in pursuit of some ingrained vision of happiness? 

I first sparred with Achilles during college applications. I was 18 and deciding on a Major, knowing it would be difficult to switch once locked in. My heart was in music and writing, but I had minimal experience in them and understood how low the chances were of making a career work long-term. 

Being naturally gifted in math and science, I instead opted for an engineering degree with a high average entry salary. This was the safe route, and it felt a smidge like giving up, like I was letting Achilles stomp all over me in his goldenboy boots. 

It was the smart choice, but it took a part of my soul with it. 

In college, Achilles persisted. He wouldn’t let me go that easy. He persuaded me to chase a Minor in English, improve drastically at guitar, and enter the university’s poetry contest multiple times before placing 1st and skyrocketing my confidence. 

For a time, Achilles was appeased. 

Then I entered the real world, performing monotonous tasks behind a desk for most of each day with little energy left at the end for hobbies. 

It wasn’t long before Achilles came knocking. But I didn’t answer, convinced I needed to focus on my career, to transmute it into something I enjoyed. 

Two years of this and I hit the low of my life, stuck in a job I didn’t care about, unmotivated to create in what little time I had, and regretful of the path I embarked upon so long ago. 

I felt trapped, ridden with anxiety, knowing Achilles would never cease in his spearings until I surrendered to one path or the other, until I went all-in on my dreams or else sold them off for good in exchange for complacency. 

Then one day, at the bottom of the trough, I realized this was never what he wanted. 

Achilles was not an exterior all-or-nothing force of nature endlessly guilting me for not chasing my dreams. Achilles was me. Or part of me. My shadow. The subconscious piece that knew complacency was never going to cut it. 

He was an illuminated beacon on foreign shores to follow when seas grew dark and turbid. Anxiety only came when I rejected his shine, when I chose instead to steer aimless into the storm-filled black of night. 

I didn’t need to be a famous rockstar or prestigious author, I didn’t need to pack up and move to L.A. in a desperate pursuit of such lofty identities, I didn’t need to toss away everything I worked so hard for, I didn’t even need to change paths. 

But I did need to listen. To hear the call of Achilles, to prioritize space for him in my life, to realize there was no me without him, that the beckoning for creativity would never cease and that my world, safety net job or not, must always be in orbit around it. 

I have not flawlessly adhered to this lesson since.  

I fall pendulously into fits of passionate creation, then fits of unmotivated anxiety. This is natural. The ebbs and flows of existence. It’s okay. But what I try to remember within those twisting, perilous causeways is that the anxiety always serves a purpose. 

It is Achilles atop the mountain, calling me back to myself. 

Today I have a job that keeps me intrigued and indirectly improves lives through advancements in life science technologies. It’s not my life’s passion, but it grants ample time for creativity in off hours, which I take advantage of with varying consistency yet feel more inclined by the day to commit to a routine that permits a fulfilling, creative life. 

Perhaps one even the real Achilles would be proud of. 

I’d settle for Brad Pitt. 

In addition to this blog, I present to you a reading of my poem, “Achilles”, which – you guessed it – is a poetic take on these same ideas. Please let me know your thoughts and hope you enjoy!