As a freelancer, I’ve mastered independence, built routines, met deadlines, and delivered quality work. But sooner or later, the hustle wears thin. What’s missing isn’t more work—it’s purpose, and the community that sustains it.

🎙️ What Simon Sinek & Suzy Welch Say

On the A Bit of Optimism podcast (Episode 174, aired May 6, 2025), Simon Sinek and Suzy Welch discuss Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. Suzy points out that Maslow added a sixth level—self-transcendence—beyond self-actualization, where purpose and serving others become defining needs.

Welch shares compelling research: Only about 7% of people ever claim they truly know their purpose, and those who do report more direction, meaning, and resilience in life.

Sinek and Welch agree on another vital point: purpose is awakened and sustained in community, not isolation. We thrive when we share our journeys, wrestle with meaning together, and hold each other accountable.

🔎 Are You Struggling with Purpose?

Use these reflection questions to uncover where you are—and where you long to be:

1. Do you wake up excited about your work, or go through the motions?
2. Can you articulate your “why” beyond income and outputs?
3. Have you ever wondered if your work matters?
4. Do you feel stuck when it comes to your next meaningful step?
5. Are you drawn to others’ projects and values, but haven’t found your community?

If one (or more) of these resonates, you’re in a space many freelancers know too well: ambition without clarity.

🤝 Why Community Matters for Purpose

Purpose isn’t an iceberg—it doesn’t float alone. It’s shaped in dialogue, reflection, and co-creation. Listening to others share their personal projects and breakthroughs often reveals sparks of our purpose.

Sinek and Welch point out that group exploration enables us to see ourselves more clearly, especially when we witness someone else articulate theirs. Purpose is often discovered in conversation, not solitude.

🚀 Introducing The Story Thread

To bring these insights into real life, I created The Story Thread—a supportive community for professional and retired professional storytellers. Here’s what it’s all about:

• Connection and clarity—We meet monthly on Zoom to discuss what we’re working on, wrestling with, or dreaming about.
• Collective insight—sharing our personal storytelling projects often uncovers why we do what we do.
• Purposeful belonging—this isn’t a coaching session; it’s a space for honest reflection, encouragement, and shared growth.

📨 Join Us

If you’re a professional—or retired professional—communicator, photographer, videographer, or storyteller, I’d love to invite you to The Story Thread.

• Facebook Group: Write me at Stanley@StanleyLeary.com to get added.
• Monthly Zoom: Let me know if you’d like the meeting link—we’d be honored to have your voice in the circle.

Let’s discover purpose together, not apart.

👉 Podcast Timestamps

Here are two timecodes to reference in the episode:

• 00:05:30–00:06:30 — Simon introduces Maslow’s sixth level (self-transcendence)—our need to contribute and belong.
• 00:07:45–00:09:00 — A rich exchange on why community, not solo hustle, holds the key to purpose and sustainability.

Temple head coach Dawn Staley commands the floor with focus and fire during a matchup against Georgia Tech on November 18, 2007, at Alexander Memorial Coliseum in Atlanta. Her sideline intensity wasn’t just strategy—it was leadership in motion, a picture of what it means to coach with conviction.

Ever dealt with a difficult client who couldn’t calm down?

Maybe it was over a missed deadline or a last-minute change. Maybe they sent a message that felt way more intense than the situation called for. In those moments, it’s easy to label someone as “high-maintenance” or “difficult.” But what if we stopped to ask—What if they never got the training that maybe we were lucky enough to receive?

Or maybe—we didn’t either.

A Powerful Insight on Emotional Maturity

In a recent conversation between Simon Sinek and Dr. Becky Kennedy (watch it here on YouTube—start around the 18:10 mark), Dr. Becky shares a transformative insight:

“All of us come into the world with the capacity to feel all the emotions adults feel. But we don’t have any of the tools to manage them.”

That means every outburst, every meltdown, and even subtle moments of shutdown can be traced to one question: Did someone teach us how to feel what we feel and still stay in relationship with others?

If the answer is no, we don’t grow out of that—we carry it with us into adulthood, into our work, and into every client conversation.

Why This Matters for Photographers and Communicators

Those of us working in the gig economy aren’t just creatives—we’re negotiators, peacekeepers, and brand managers. And we do it without formal training in leadership or emotional development.

Leadership isn’t reserved for someone with a corner office. It’s how we:

• De-escalate a panicked bride on wedding day
• Calm an anxious CEO during a headshot session
• Respond to late payments or vague feedback with grace, not defensiveness

Understanding emotional regulation is one of the most important leadership tools, and many of us never knew it was part of the job.

When Emotions Flare: What To Do

So, how do we lead emotionally when tension rises—whether in a photo shoot, Zoom call, or inbox?

Here are six simple steps:

You Don’t Need a Title to Lead

This is your leadership if you’re a freelancer, storyteller, photographer, or communicator.

It’s the ability to create safety when others feel unsafe. It’s the choice to respond instead of react. And it’s the courage to do the inner work that ripples outward in every client relationship, every project, every post.

You’re already leading.

You just may not have called it that yet.

✨ What About You?

Have you ever paused and handled a difficult moment differently, and it changed everything? Or did you realize you were reacting from a place of emotional habit, not leadership?

I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments, or share this with someone who needs it.

Caption: This photo means a great deal to me. I’m pictured with Bill Bangham, one of my closest friends and longtime creative companions, and Eugene Richards, whose work has constantly reminded me that deep empathy and care for one’s subjects are not only possible but necessary. In many ways, this moment reflects the rare gift of being understood in a craft that often feels like a solitary path driven by relentless curiosity.

One of the hardest things I’ve had to come to terms with—especially as someone on the Autism Spectrum—is how difficult it is to find friends who will genuinely listen when I start talking about the topics I’ve taken a deep dive into.

These aren’t just casual interests. I don’t just “like” something—I dive in. I read, I re-read, I wrestle with the concepts. I chase it down rabbit holes, not for minutes or hours, but sometimes for years. Whether it’s storytelling, photography, theology, business practices, or even trumpet technique, I don’t let go of a topic easily. It sits with me, and I process it deeply over time.

But here’s the thing: that deep-dive thinking isn’t always welcome in everyday conversation. Even my wife, who loves me deeply and supports me in many ways, has her limits—especially when the topic doesn’t interest her like it does me.

That’s one of the fundamental challenges for those of us wired like this. For many people on the Autism Spectrum, deep curiosity is a kind of internal engine—it never shuts off. I’m constantly asking, “How can I do this better?” And I figure that out by repeatedly learning, revisiting, and reworking ideas. I don’t just want to learn something—I want to understand it from every angle. And I often want to talk it through as a way of thinking out loud.

But when you bring that intensity into regular conversations, you notice the blank stares—the polite nods. Or worse, people changing the subject. And slowly, you begin to pull back. You learn to bottle things up, to process quietly, because it feels safer than overwhelming someone you care about.

And it’s not just people on the Autism Spectrum who feel this. Those with ADHD, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD), Giftedness, or even those who identify as Highly Sensitive Persons (HSP) often experience this same struggle—being so consumed by a topic that you want to share it but not having many (or any) people who want to go there with you.

It can be lonely. And for me, it’s something I have to keep navigating.

I’m learning to seek out relationships where deep conversation is welcomed. I’ve found a few trusted friends who don’t flinch when I circle back to a subject I’ve already talked about a dozen times. They know I’m not stuck—I’m still learning, refining, and growing.

If you’re someone who relates to this, whether you’re neurodivergent or just deeply curious by nature, I want you to know you’re not alone. This intense engagement with the world is a gift, even if it sometimes feels isolating. Don’t stop learning. Don’t stop asking questions. But also, don’t stop searching for those rare people who can sit deep with you.

They’re out there.

And if you’re one of those people who can listen with patience and curiosity. You’re more valuable than you know.

A photojournalist is more than a passive observer in the moments before a shot. Eyes alert, breath steady, hands ready—but what about the mind? What about the internal lens we rarely develop until later in our storytelling journey?

The best photographers aren’t just seeing—they’re feeling, anticipating, and eventually reflecting. In Brené Brown’s words, they’re practicing metacognition: thinking about their thinking.

The First Awareness: Observation

When we begin photojournalism, our first superpower is visual observation. We study light, read rooms, and frame interactions. This is what Brené Brown would call situational awareness—we notice what’s happening around us. It’s the first lens we learn to use.

The Second Awareness: Anticipation

With experience, we begin to anticipate. We can feel a moment building before it breaks—a hug, a tear, a confrontation, a prayer. That’s anticipatory awareness. We pre-visualize scenes not yet born. We understand the rhythm of emotion before it shows itself.

But all of this is still about them.

The Final Awareness: Ourselves

Here’s what often comes last, if at all: self-awareness.

And this is where metacognition comes in.

At around the 15:55-minute mark of the podcast, Simon Sinek, Adam Grant, and Brené Brown talk about metacognition not just as an intellectual exercise, but as a lived skill—being conscious of your internal reactions, patterns, and how you show up. For photographers, this means asking:

• How am I affecting the space I’m in?
• Am I shrinking the energy in the room, or expanding it?
• What does my face, posture, or silence communicate to others?

This connects beautifully with Vanessa Van Edwards’ idea of Resting Bothered Face (RBF). In her YouTube video “Fix Resting Bothered Face [RBF] with these simple tweaks” (around 1:30–2:00), she explains how our neutral expressions can unintentionally appear closed, judgmental, or even annoyed—especially in emotionally charged or vulnerable settings. Our unspoken presence can speak louder than our camera ever could.

Beyond the Camera

Metacognition matters even more when the camera is off.

Our presence still frames the moment in debriefs, classrooms, and communities. We’re still storytelling—but now through tone, timing, and emotional openness.

So, the question becomes: Am I aware of my awareness? Am I paying attention not just to what’s happening, but to how I think about what’s happening—and how that shapes the people I’m with?

Coaching Connection in an Isolated Craft

Photojournalists often work alone. This solitude is both a gift and a risk.

So, how do we coach ourselves—and our peers—toward greater community through metacognition?

1. Mirror Check

Before you enter a scene, please look at your face. What’s it saying? Is it open? Curious? Judgmental?

2. Reflect, Don’t Just Review

After the shoot, don’t just cull images. Ask: What was I like in that space? Did I bring presence, or just presence of mind?

3. Invite Feedback

Ask trusted subjects, students, or collaborators: How do I come across when working? It’s one of the most vulnerable and powerful things we can do.

4. Practice Emotional Rehearsal

When entering emotionally charged scenes, prepare yourself, not just your gear. How might you respond internally? How will you ground yourself?

Closing Frame

You’re not just capturing the story.

You’re part of the story.

Your metacognitive presence—your ability to be aware of your awareness—transforms your craft from visual witness to relational catalyst. It turns isolation into connection and builds community even when you work alone.

And maybe, in that awareness, we discover that the most powerful lens we ever develop is the one we turn inward.

As someone who’s spent a lifetime listening to people’s stories, I’ve learned that what we often admire most in others—their creative voice, passion, and impact—is born out of pain. It’s not just talent or opportunity. It’s what they do with difficulty.

I recommend a powerful two-part podcast interview with National Geographic photographer Cory Richards, hosted by Simon Sinek. Cory’s story is filled with raw honesty about success, struggle, depression, and finding purpose through a camera lens. It’s not just about photography. It’s about being human.

What stuck with me were Cory’s outlines of a four-part process he’s developed to stay grounded when life—and identity—begin to unravel. He calls it his framework for agency, and it’s something every creative, every missionary, and every person in ministry or leadership could benefit from reflecting on.

Cory Richards’ 4-Point Resilience Framework

1. Agency Is Everything
When things go wrong, the temptation is to blame or collapse. Cory talks about choosing not to live as a victim, even when the pain is real. Instead, he focuses on what I can do next. This isn’t about ignoring the hurt. It’s about reclaiming the power to respond.

2. Discovery Demands Discomfort
Growth doesn’t happen in our comfort zones. Cory reminds us to lean into the pain—because that’s often where the real learning begins. Whether it’s grief, burnout, or self-doubt, we can’t grow if we don’t face what hurts.

3. Certainty Kills Curiosity
The more sure we are, the less we tend to ask questions. Cory points out how dangerous that can be, especially in storytelling. Curiosity—about people, places, even ourselves—keeps our work fresh and connected.

4. Adaptation Leads to Evolution
When life changes (as it always does), we have two choices: cling to what was or grow into what could be. After experiencing a personal and professional collapse, Cory learned to reimagine his role and purpose. That’s when transformation began.

Why This Matters for Storytellers

Whether you’re a photographer, filmmaker, missionary, or nonprofit communicator, this framework speaks to more than mental health. It speaks to the soul of why we tell stories in the first place.

Many of us teach, mentor, and work alongside people trying to make a difference. But we can’t guide others if we’re not also doing the work within ourselves. Cory’s process reminds us that even in our lowest moments, we are still capable of purpose.

If you’ve ever felt overwhelmed by the tension of trying to do meaningful work while fighting your own internal battles, I hope this interview gives you language, perspective, and hope. I know it did for me.

Let me know what speaks to you after you listen. This is one of those conversations that lingers.

In 1990, I lost my job with the International Mission Board. Budget cuts. One day I was doing meaningful work I loved — work I believed in deeply — and the next, I was packing my things.

Later, I lost another job at Georgia Tech.

And now, looking back over the past 20 years of running my own business, I’ve started to notice a pattern. I have incredible seasons with clients — I walk with them, help tell their stories, see real transformation — and then that chapter ends. Sometimes it’s budget. Sometimes it’s new leadership. Sometimes it just… shifts.

Every time this has happened, I’ve faced a tough question:
Who am I, when the work stops?

When your identity is wrapped up in what you do — the title, the paycheck, the projects — and that goes away, it can feel like you go away with it. You start to wonder:
Do I still have a purpose? Do I still matter?

For a long time, I wrestled with that. But somewhere along the way, I started seeing things differently.

That shift really took shape when I read Simon Sinek’s The Infinite Game. He makes the case that life — and especially meaningful work — isn’t about winning or finishing. It’s not a race to a title or a trophy. It’s about playing the long game. An infinite game. One where the goal isn’t to “win” — it’s to keep playing with purpose.

That’s when I realized something important:
The work may end, but the calling doesn’t.

Each job loss, each client transition, each unexpected pivot has actually refined my calling — not erased it. My deeper purpose has always been the same: to help people tell stories that matter. To shine light where there’s hope. To give voice to truth, beauty, and purpose.

That’s not tied to a single employer or client.
It’s tied to something deeper — my why.

Here’s what I’ve learned along the way:

• Losing your job doesn’t mean losing your value. It may just be clearing space for something new to emerge.
• Your identity has to be rooted in something deeper than your business card. Titles and gigs come and go. Purpose endures.
• Pivoting isn’t failure. It’s movement. It’s growth. Sometimes it’s even grace.

So if you’re in a season where the work has ended — or you’re wondering what comes next — I want to encourage you:
You’re not done.
You’re not without meaning.
You’re just being invited to play the infinite game a little differently.

Keep showing up.
Keep playing with purpose.
Keep telling stories that matter.

For a deeper exploration of these themes, I highly recommend listening to the podcast episode “Where Is Simon Going?” from A Bit of Optimism. In this episode, journalist Cal Fussman interviews Simon Sinek, delving into topics like identity, purpose, and the concept of the infinite game. Their discussion offers valuable insights into how we can navigate life’s transitions and remain true to our calling. You can listen to the episode here:

Insights from a Mentor Who’s Walked This Road with You

One of my greatest joys is teaching and mentoring young adults, primarily through my work as a mentor in NPPA, YWAM, and our international storytelling workshops. I’ve spent much time listening to 20-somethings open up about what’s really going on in their lives—not just creatively or spiritually, but personally.

And one question comes up a lot:
“Why is finding real friends after high school or college so hard?”

That disconnection can feel overwhelming, whether fresh out of DTS or starting to build your life and calling. You want deep friendships. You want people who “get you.” But somehow, it’s more complicated than you expected.

You’re not imagining it. You’re not alone. And—this is important—you’re not doing anything wrong.

Mel Robbins, a respected author and speaker, has done some excellent work recently in explaining what’s happening during this season of life. I want to break down some of what she shares and weave in what I’ve observed walking alongside young adults for decades.

The Great Scattering: Why Friendships Feel Like They’re Falling Apart

In school or during DTS, friendships form naturally. You’re living together, eating together, and praying together. You’ve got a built-in community.

But once that season ends? Everything changes.

People scatter across cities, countries, and even continents. Life gets busier. Priorities shift. Friendships that once came easily now require effort.

Mel Robbins calls this transition “The Great Scattering.” And it’s one of the most significant emotional shifts in your 20s. You suddenly realize that friendship isn’t automatic anymore. It has to be intentional.

What Makes Adult Friendships Stick

Robbins says lasting friendships usually need three things:

1. Proximity – You need to see or connect often.
2. Timing – You’re in similar life stages or can relate to each other’s experiences.
3. Energy – There’s a natural connection or shared purpose.

If even one of those is missing, that relationship might need extra effort or not work long-term. This doesn’t mean you failed. It just means the season or context has changed.

Real Friendship Takes Time

Another thing that surprises people: how long it takes to build close friendships as an adult.

• Around 74 hours of quality time can form a casual friendship.
• Over 200 hours are usually needed to build a deep one.

So when people say, “I don’t have close friends yet,” I often remind them—they probably haven’t had the time yet. Friendship is a slow burn, not a spark.

A Mentoring Mindset: Let Them

Robbins teaches something I often use when mentoring: the “Let Them” mindset.

If someone flakes on plans, let them.
If they don’t prioritize the friendship, let them.
If they go quiet for a while, let them.

This doesn’t mean you stop caring. It just means you stop chasing. You let people show you how much capacity they have for friendship. And you let yourself move forward without resentment or guilt.

What I Tell My Students (and My Kids)

If you’re in this season of figuring out who your people are, here’s my encouragement:

• Friendship gets harder, but it also gets richer. You’ll start finding people you choose—and who choose you back.
• Be the kind of friend you’re looking for. Consistent. Curious. Kind.
• Don’t confuse loneliness with failure. Most people are lonely. But few are willing to admit it. Your courage to press in is part of what will build your future.

And if we’ve crossed paths—on a YWAM base, in a workshop overseas, or through storytelling—I want you to know I see you. I know this road can feel lonely sometimes. But I promise: the deep, soul-filling friendships you’re looking for can be built. They just take time, intention, and grace.

I’m cheering you on.