Now With 100% more Swamp Imagery!

I have nothing original to say.

I don’t even have an original way to say what’s been said before.

I look for answers and find none. I desperately cling to the scraps of experience I’ve endured, hoping to glean a life lesson, morality tale, or epiphany in anything I do. I don’t do much. I understand nothing; sometimes I trick myself into believing I do. I don’t.

I am not unique. I’m not bad or good, I’m not the smartest or the stupidest, I don’t know great suffering and haven’t tasted glory. I’ve chosen comfort over meaning. I think about meaning, idly, while I lounge and recline. I think about it just enough to make me sick. No great passion burns within. I know I will make it to tomorrow. I always have before. I’ll make it to the day after that too. I will try to make it as painless for myself as possible. I suspect there must be more to life than avoiding pain, but the secret hasn’t fallen into my lap.

I’m sinking into a swamp of failure. My head barely bobs above the putrid bog of mediocrity. I lack the energy to keep myself afloat; I’m just waiting for the scum and frog piss to fill my lungs. I think about reaching for a log, but the filth is warm. I can sink below the algae and rot here forever. I don’t even know enough about swamps to use this metaphor.

This is the part where I’m supposed to discover some fundamental truth about myself or the universe. That part isn’t going to come. I’m not unique.

I don’t want to drown in my metaphorical swamp, but I think I might anyway. I want answers. I want purpose. I don’t know yet if I’m willing to do what it takes to find them. I don’t know what I could possibly do. Comfort is alluring. It’s more than most get. I may die of comfort. I don’t think I want to though.

Am I willing to turn idle thoughts into grueling action? Or can I quell these silly thoughts of something more with enough distractions?

Will I ever have anything original to say?

Will anyone care to hear it?

I think it’s up to me. Nothing terrifies me more, creeping chillingly at the edge of my comfort, than that thought. It’s up to me. Am I capable? Am I willing? I’ll try to be. I’ll try to try to be.

Reluctant Veteran: I'm so complex!

I never wanted my time in the army to define me. I didn’t even want to acknowledge that it was a part of me, yet I keep bringing it up in just about every blog entry. The truth is that I was a soldier for 5 years and I can never escape that, no matter how badly I want to. Being a veteran, even a reluctant one, carries with it so many conflicting emotions that I can barely make sense of. I’m not proud of my “service;” I hated every day I was forced to put on that uniform. I was disgusted with most of my fellow soldiers, the situations we were put in, and the seeming lack of reason to anything anyone ever did. I don’t believe I was helping to uphold some altruistic values, but a pawn among countless other pawns shuffled around for the gain of people I would never see. I feel ashamed to have worked in Iraq and Afghanistan, and the propaganda work I did as part of a Public Affairs Office fills me with guilt.

I’m not saying all soldiers should feel this way. There are those that truly believe in the American ideals of freedom and justice we were “defending.” There were and are hard working honest to god heroes doing what they think is right in our nation’s military, just as there are undoubtedly in any nation with a standing army. I respect those people. The fact that I was never one of them only adds to my shame. I suffered the hardships and inconveniences of war, but never believed in the purpose for it. I lived a lie for 5 years, and that has taken its toll.

I carry the burden of shame and guilt as I struggle to find a place in the civilian world. It seems obvious to me that I’m different than everyone else, and that any “regular” person can see I’m not one of them. I didn’t belong in the army, and now I struggle to figure out how to belong out here with the rest of you. And yet the feeling of being a veteran is full of contradictions. I find myself rolling my eyes at the “hardships” people face in their everyday lives. The trivial problems and complaints of well-to-do whiners put me on edge. I’ve seen real pain and true suffering, and anything less seems like it’s a gift wasted on the selfish masses. I feel inferior and judgmental at the same time. I hide my military past and do my best to show no signs of that former life, yet I’m convinced I have some deeper understanding of life thanks to all I was forced to see and endure. There’s simply no way to be whoever I would’ve been had I not enlisted when I was 18. Somehow I have to balance these conflicting feelings inside me and discover how I can live my life from here on out.

My father is a career army officer. A colonel who graduated West Point Military Academy 25 years ago. He truly believes in the army values that I see as blatant hypocrisy: “Loyalty, “Duty,” “Respect,” “Selfless Service,” “Honor,” “Integrity,” and “Personal Courage.” Based on my experiences, I can barely type those words without my upper lip curling into a righteous sneer. He believes them though, and has done his best to exemplify them for most of his life. He sees my time in the army as something to be proud of, and a shared experience we can bond over. This fills me with more conflict, guilt, and shame. I respect him for what he’s done and his devotion to causes and ideals he believes are right while at the same time rejecting those ideals and causes for myself. I’m reminded of my five years of misery every time I speak to him. His voice swells with pride as he mentions names and places I’d do anything to forget. My rejection hurts him, but I feel as if I have no choice. More guilt. More confusion. More shame.

Today several West Point cadets are staying at my father’s house; they’re in town for some presentation to high school kids or something. He wants me to stop by the house and meet them. I imagine I’m expected to offer a little insight into active military life as a young person, to give them a little taste of the enlisted man’s experience. I couldn’t be more uncomfortable and downright terrified by the prospect. I feel that I’m simultaneously above and below such an act. Honesty would disappoint my father and probably confuse a couple of idealistic overachieving kids intent on a future I despise. Extolling the army’s virtues is out of the question; I’m no longer a member of its Public Affairs office and I’m desperate to live by MY values, if I ever figure out exactly what they are. I feel like I owe it to my dad to see these kids. I know they’ll be judging me as much as I’ll be judging them. I never dreamed my life would be filled with conflicts like this, but I guess I just have to deal with them. I don’t know if I’ll ever make sense of the conflicts and paradoxes slugging it out inside me. I have to try, I guess. Just like we all do. I guess that’s life.

Time to go meet some West Point kids.

Inner Narnia and the Hitchhiker

My apartment complex is hidden deep within a thick patch of tropical Florida forest, accessible only by a lone magical road winding under the green canopy of foliage. The combination of the lush vegetation and charming old fashioned little street lights along the road has led to the nickname “Narnia” among me and mine. You’ve got Narnia Road, Inner Narnia, and Deep Inner Narnia. Inner Narnia is where I take my dog to romp and frolic, sometimes throwing sticks for him and sometimes just relaxing on the abandoned couch someone was kind enough to leave there for me. It is peaceful and serene, and semi-private. Not completely private though. For that, Krypto and I must venture into Deep Inner Narnia. We need only push through the outermost layer of trees and suddenly we find ourselves in a private land meant only for us. Instead of the dense and wild brush found in Inner Narnia, Deep Inner Narnia consists of neat rows of pine trees. The ground is covered in a lush carpet of the long pine needles which have fallen to the ground and turned red. The vibrant contrast between the red forest floor and the bright green of the healthy pines in the afternoon sun never fails to make me rub my eyes and nod approvingly. The pine needles on the ground aren’t prickly or sticky, I can lie down on the forest floor and enjoy the plush comfort they provide while gazing up at the cloudless sky. Until summer descends upon Florida, bringing oppressive heat and flooding Inner Narnia with mosquitoes by the legion, nothing can keep me from enjoying the simple solitude of afternoons in the forest.

The outskirts of Inner Narnia carries with it no such guarantees of privacy. Every once and awhile someone will walk by, heading to or from Narnia road, perhaps to the bus stop not far from my sanctuary. If they pass by too closely, Krypto will bark and growl at them, perhaps thinking of Inner Narnia as his territory as much as I do. We’re not the only ones looking for a slice of serenity that only nature can provide, though. The other day I was joined on my abandoned couch by a kid who must be about 18 or 19, who had been passing by before my dog’s protective barks drew his attention.

“Don’t you like white people?” he asked, as Krypto stood guard by the break in the fence that leads to Inner Narnia. I chuckled good naturedly and called my beast back, but Krypto still didn’t trust this newcomer. I hated to have my meditation intruded upon, but I smiled at the interloper as the fur on Krypto’s back rose to attention and he leapt comically back from the new guy. The kid smiled back; the thing about Krypto is that, though he’s a large animal, his goofy ears and deerlike prancing fails to intimidate. He quickly won the dog over with a tennis ball he’d been carrying, though he made it clear he’d need it back as it wasn’t his.

“So, where do you live?” the kid finally asked.

“In there.” I replied, gesturing toward Narnia Road. “You?”

“In there.” He said with a nod. “With my brother. Just giving him time to cool off. He’s mad because his friend got shot by a black guy the other day.”

“Yikes.” I said. I flung an acorn at Krypto, who caught it and tried to eat it. I knew I was going to hear this kid’s story whether I wanted to or not, but strangely enough, it didn’t bother me. Such is the power of Inner Narnia and its cushionless couch.

As we tossed things at the dog, he explained that he lived with his older brother in the same apartment complex as I. Earlier that day, his brother had gotten mad at him and closed his chat with his girlfriend. This was a problem for the younger brother, because he was planning to move in with her and she was about to give him her address. She lives in Ohio.

“Unfortunately,” the kid said “My dad and my brother don’t have enough to get me a ticket, so I’m going the old fashioned way. Just gonna walk and hitchhike my way there.”

“Wow.” I replied. He explained that it wouldn’t be the first time he’d traveled like that. Once he hitchhiked his way to New York, even though his dad called the cops on him. He was only a minor then, and hadn’t told his father he was leaving.

“I told him I left a note, but I guess he never saw it.” He explained. After chatting a little more, I gathered up Krypto to head home. The kid said he’d walk back with us. He clearly loved Krypto, offering him sticks and talking to him the whole way back. When we parted ways to return to our separate apartments, he waved goodbye to the dog.

“Good luck getting to Ohio.” I offered as he walked away. He nodded.

“Later.”

Hopefully his brother had calmed down by the time he returned. If not, I suggest he walk out into the woods, sit on the couch, and toss acorns at a dog. Works every time.