The Dumbest Life Changing Moment in History (Mine)
- Julian Vane
- Jun 16
- 3 min read
There are moments in life when you pause and think, How did I end up here? For me, it happened somewhere between a speeding government SUV, a deaf man screaming about motivation, and me leaping over gravestones like I was being chased by guilt itself.
When You’re in the Wrong Movie But Still Have a Speaking Role
I was thirty years old, working as a cameraman for the Assistant Secretary of Defense. Which already sounds like a lie. I had no military background, no clearance, and the closest thing I’d shot before that was a low-budget wedding where the bride cried because the cake was dry.
We were driving over the Memorial Bridge at what I’d estimate was Mach 3. His assistant was behind the wheel, probably hoping to hit a pothole and end this shared nightmare. Meanwhile, the Secretary of Defense—let’s call him “Deaf But Motivated”—was briefing me not on the video we were about to shoot, but on life.
“You have to push,” he shouted, while not actually looking at me. “You have to push for what you want!”
Push for what? My pancreas to keep functioning under this stress? My soul back into my body? It was 9:00 a.m. and I was basically in The West Wing directed by David Lynch.
The Gatekeeper and the Gravestones
We arrive at Arlington National Cemetery. A place where silence is sacred, and so is showing your ID. The guard at the gate does his job like a rational adult.
“Identification, please?”
To which the SecDef, God bless him, yells, “I’m the Secretary! I don’t need permission!”
Spoiler alert: apparently he did not need permission.
And we’re through.
We drive into a sea of gravestones, the kind of quiet you feel in your sternum. It should’ve been reflective. It should’ve been somber. Instead, it was sweaty, tense, and vaguely reminiscent of a Mob drop-off. He tells me to get ready to film. I give the cue. He walks—in the wrong direction.
When Your Subject Salutes the Wrong Funeral
He’s deaf in one ear. I wave. He doesn’t see. I shout. He doesn’t hear. He’s now saluting a completely unrelated funeral of a soldier whose family is weeping five feet away. Meanwhile, I’m hurdling over tombstones trying to stop this PR disaster before it becomes a symbolic reenactment of America’s foreign policy.
I’m filming him anyway, because what else am I going to do—pull rank? I didn’t even get a parking pass.
And there it was: my life-changing moment.
Why Gravestones Make You Reflect (More Than a Therapist)
If you ever want to experience an existential spiral that’ll force a midlife rebrand, try leaping over military gravestones while chasing a half-deaf motivational speaker. It puts your 401(k) and morning meditation routine into perspective.
I realized I wasn’t chasing a career. I was chasing relevance. I had confused “working for important people” with “being important.” They are not the same. One has a pension. The other has panic attacks.
Lessons From the Crypt: What That Day Taught Me
Here’s what I learned from that blurry, haunted sprint:
Never confuse access with purpose. Just because you’re behind the scenes doesn’t mean you’re in the story.
If a job makes you question your existence, believe it. That’s your nervous system trying to fax your brain.
Deaf men yelling life advice over bridges may be right, but they’re still yelling.
You don’t find purpose by chasing people in suits. You find it when you stop and ask yourself: Would I do this if no one saw it?
Your Life-Changing Moment Probably Won’t Be Dignified
We always imagine our turning points will look poetic—rain on the windows, a song playing softly, a quiet “aha” moment. No. Mine involved sweat, panic, and sprinting through an active burial.
But that was the day I pivoted.
I started saying no to work that felt hollow. I stopped chasing “importance” and started building something honest. I started writing darkly funny blog posts about life, capitalism, and crypto scams. And weirdly, I feel more like myself than I ever did filming government funerals.
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