The Pull of the Dark: A Chautauqua on Keeping the Fire Alive

There’s a quiet pull in life that draws us inward—a kind of darkness that waits for everyone. This is about learning to tend your own fire, to keep showing up, and to find warmth even in the coldest places.

Lou LaMedica

Oct 5, 2025

The Pull of the Dark: A Chautauqua on Keeping the Fire Alive

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The Pull of the Dark: How I Learned to Keep My Fire Alive

“The most important thing each of us can know is our unique gift and how to use it in the world. Individuality is cherished and nurtured, because, in order for the whole to flourish, each of us has to be strong in who we are and carry our gifts with conviction, so they can be shared with others.”

— Robin Wall Kimmerer,

Braiding Sweetgrass

There’s a pull in life that nobody really talks about. It’s quiet, steady, and strong—a kind of gravity that draws you inward. You start to shrink a little, pull away from people, lose touch with the things that once made you feel alive. I didn’t know to expect it. Nobody told me this was part of being human.

For a long time, I believed the body could fight off sadness the way it fights a virus, quietly and automatically. But after living with this feeling for 35 years, I’ve come to see it doesn’t work that way. The pull of the dark is part of being human. You have to tend your own fire.

That fire isn’t just about staying alive. It’s about purpose. Everyone carries something they’re meant to bring to this world—something no one else can. Only you can know what that is. When you find it, even in small flashes, it gives meaning to the effort. It’s what keeps the flame from burning out.

For me, that purpose has become clearer over time. I feel it’s to help others shine—to help them believe in themselves, to see what they might not yet see. Maybe that’s what tending my own fire is really for: so I have enough light to share.

Tending that fire takes attention—movement, connection, purpose, light. Some days that means walking in the woods, cooking a meal, or playing the congas. Some days it’s taking a bath while reading, listening to a great record, or laughing with my family. Other days it’s something smaller—smiling at someone new, letting someone in during traffic, checking in on an old friend, or giving a genuine compliment just because it feels good to share a little warmth.

I learned this most clearly during my last deployment to Afghanistan. That could have been a dark time, away from my wife and living in a war zone. But I built a rhythm for myself: running six days a week, finding a drum set in the base church to play during lunch, sitting outside at night with a drum pad and practicing rudiments under the stars, and making a lifelong friend in Frank Losi.

I didn’t lose six months of my life during that deployment. I found a way to live in a place that wasn’t made for life. I once heard that lyric, “We found love in a hopeless place,” and I think that’s what it was—finding light, rhythm, and a bit of peace where it shouldn’t have existed at all. In fact, it became the fertile ground for my transition into entrepreneurship.

The dark still calls sometimes, and I believe it always will. But now I know to expect it, and I know what to do. Keep showing up as only I can. Keep stoking the fire.

If my kids ever read this, I hope they understand that feeling low or lost doesn’t mean something’s wrong. It just means you’re alive. Life won’t tend your flame for you, but if you learn how to feed it, it will light your way through anything.

“Know what’s enough. Build what matters.”

Walking Into Someone’s Shadow — When Other People’s Darkness Lingers

Lou LaMedica