Melodramatic? Yes. Also True.

“Reality hits physically and mentally as the desert heat seeps into every pour of my body. As the sweat beads beneath my clothes the skin screams for reprieve underneath my body armor. To add more discomfort besides the environment, the blast of jet engines from a Chinook helicopter fight me as I push against their force to board via the rear ramp. That familiar smell of jet exhaust, a smell I became accustomed to from training on tanks and other helicopters with the 101st Airborne Division, chokes me as an emotional lump in my throat further restricts my breathing. This lump formed by the emotional environment, an environment created by separation from all that is important to you; your family, your girlfriend, your friends, the familiar and comforting elements of your country. I’m gone from everyone and everything. Alone.”

The above describes my arrival back in Iraq. My arrival, despite being three months after I had originally reported, was quite a shock to one’s senses. Reality’s unique smack to the face. Ever walked down the street looking at your cell phone or talking to a friend and run smack face into a street lamp or street sign? You’re simultaneously aware and confused about what had just happened. Streets are littered with obstacles and its entirely acceptable that from time to time in moments of distraction or focus on a particular object or person that we give the definition of obstacle to these objects. A street lamp lights the street at night creating safety, a street sign guides our travel ensuring we arrive at our wanted destination. Yet at these moments in our reality they are obstacles not municipal aides.

The Chinook was my obstacle that brought me sudden awareness, confusion and scorn for its existence. This military shuttle moves personnel and equipment throughout the country ensuring that units can fulfill their missions on the ground. Its a piece of transportation nothing more. Yet this flying bus ignited intense emotional and physical discomfort that I forgot all enjoyable past experiences with these behemoths and wanted nothing more than for it to fall apart rivet by rivet.

I knew I was going back to Iraq for many months now. Yet I didn’t realize that I had not accepted this reality. I took immediate comfort and strength from the fact that I had done it all before. What I hadn’t accepted was that the country was the same yet my experience within its boarders was going to be totally different. I’ve stepped off these vehicles in training and in a combat zone before but the biggest difference was that instead of a trusted and well known soldier walking beside me, a dear friend even, there was a nameless, unknown human figure beside me. These transport operations are conducted at night and there’s a strict no light policy, so I couldn’t even look at my travel companions in the hope of recognizing a familiar face when I reported for work in the morning.

“Hey, we arrived together last night, right?”, I would say. “Yea, we did, didn’t get much sleep last night though,” they’d reply. Then we’d go on to exchange names, where we worked, who we were working for, where were our living quarters. At least I’d gain some type avenue for social interaction, but this was not the case. Upon coming back into the Army I underwent a series of re-integration training. Nothing extensive and at times pointless check the block events stating that I was “fully” prepared to be sent to a combat zone despite being gone from the military for a year and a half. Throughout this training I had met a few individuals and became pretty friendly with a few. However we were all being assigned to different units or being deployed to different countries.

Humans are pack animals and especially during times of great stress and anxiety we seek comfort in another person’s presence. The helicopter ride smacked me in the face and I had no one to talk to about it. It brought the physical manifestation of those words printed on my orders that had changed my life so unexpectedly, Assigned To: In Support of Operation Iraqi Freedom. All I had was an assigned trailer number that was to be my home for the next 8 months and a building location to report to for work orientation.

Observations, memories, feelings, doubts, fears, anticipation, excitement, dread swirled around in my head and chest as it does for any soldier in this type of situation. All types of media have described a service member’s unbreakable bond they have with their comrades. The most important aspect of this relationship is that these people to your right and left are an outlet to relieve the pressure of the boiling stew of emotions inside of you. An expression that many military leaders use is, “If the soldiers aren’t complaining then something’s wrong.” I never understood this expression entirely but I understand that a way for a soldier to endure such hardships is to “bitch” about it with their buddies. You find comfort and fortitude in knowing that others are experiencing the same pressure.

When I looked to my left and right there was no one. My buddies weren’t with me, my soldiers who I had trained with and led in the past were nowhere to be found. I experienced a form of loneliness so foreign to me, so alien that the only thing I could do was focus on unpacking my gear and seek refuge in sleep. My rebirth into a world of uniforms, weapons, orders, regulations and the occasional life and death situation had begun. How was I to mentally survive the coming months? Would I buckle under misery’s weight or would I make use of this time that I have to myself?

Again, that question was how I came to this category of my blog. The posts are being written in current time but were influenced by events in my past. More to come.

Getting Started

"Why am I doing this, this blog? Why am I writing my thoughts to be posted on some website for others to read? Will people even be interested in what I have to say?"

To anyone who may stumble upon this or if you're a friend of mine who I've directed this thing to, welcome. I recently spent a year overseas serving in the US Army. The experience was not new to me but a distinct difference between previous deployments and this one was that this time it was not by choice. You see when you sign a contract with the Army it's for a set period of time separated between active duty time and individual ready reserve time. The IRR is a period in which you remain on the Army's roster but you aren't obligated to actively participate in training or be affiliated with a particular organization, you're on stand-by.

I left active duty in the summer of 2007 and began my civilian job and life in Washington, DC. A year and a half later I received orders via a FedEx package stating that my services were needed. These particular services were to be assigned to an organization that was preparing to leave for Iraq and they were a bit short of personnel to fill certain positions. It's like when a school district has a list of substitute teachers and one of their full-time teachers needs to take extended leave, maternity leave for example, and they call on someone from their list to fill in. A distinct difference between these two circumstances is that the military doesn't give you a choice to turn down the offer. Official orders, ones with a Department of Defense letter head and some high level officer's signature, are law and failing to report for them are punishable under the the military's legal system.

Not wanting to have the possibility of being pulled over for some traffic violation and while the police officer checks all my credentials, that god awful time when they sit in their cruiser while you sit on the side of the road and people driving by stare and the red and blue lights from the cop car put a spotlight on your shame and embarrassment for all to see, an AWOL (absent without leave) marker pops up and then be hauled off to military prison, I reported as ordered for duty last Spring. I did enjoy my time serving in the active duty Army and my decision to leave was not out of anger, disappointment or spite. I felt like I had fulfilled my needs and interests, I was self satisfied with my service. I had realized that even though I enjoyed my time that I wasn't going to make it a career. Being a young man in his mid-20's, money in the bank and other career interests, I felt like it was the right time to move on and see what else out there.

Yes, the military makes violating your contract a punishable offense and the ramifications of not reporting could be severe, but I still like to think I would have reported otherwise. It's still something I wrestle with in my mind. It's like if you found a wallet in the mall that was filled with cash yet no credit cards or identification. Do you keep the wallet and justify it citing Child's Law of "Finders Keepers" or do you turn it over to security and feel a sense of pride that you did something you'd expect others to do if you had realized you lost your wallet at the mall? I can't be 100% with my answer to this, like I can't be 100% with my decision to fulfill my contractual obligation to the military.

I had just moved to a new city, a new job, a whole new way of life. I didn't know if this new life was going to be something long term but I was in the process of figuring it all out. Isn't that what were all suppose to do, fulfill The American Dream that was pushed upon many of us in school and at home? It's a simply stated yet complicated thing to execute. I had done my time in the Army, I had served in a combat zone, I did my job to the best of my ability, wasn't I deserving of the freedom to move on? Those orders put a stop to all of it, a gargantuan millionaire benefactor to some charitable organization rain check. I had to put my personal journey (I hate that expression by the way, sounds so pompous, but can't think of anything better) on the shelf, packed away my business suits and laced up my boots.

My thoughts about this particular situation are the subject of future posts, but the situation plays a significant part for this post "Getting Started". "Why am I doing this, this blog?", well I learned something about myself over the past year away from home, doing something that I was obligated to do but not wanting to do. Since I was a short term filler, a temp, I didn't get really close to anyone. I can remember temporary office assistants rotating through my civilian job's office. Sure your cordial and friendly with them but you don't get too close because they could be gone at any minute. Without getting into too much detail, I had a lot of time to myself, a lot of time to think. While in sense having the social door shut a creative door in my mind opened. I'll go into more detail later but this creative side had been locked away for quite some time. I began to put all these thoughts on paper, well digital paper, and I'm a bit proud of some of it.

This blog is a door stop, a piece of wood wedged into the door frame to keep it open. I get self satisfaction out of this, so the first question is answered. The last question, "Will anyone be interested in what I have to say?", has not been answered. So I'm "Getting Started" and we'll see.