Wanting More

I sit here at my lonely desk. My company isn't bad, but the racket of the days drag and slap across my face has left me wanting to be home. I wish I had enough imagination right now to close my eyes and feel the hot water of a shower beat against my back and neck. I feel sticky and nasty with a little sweat.

I start to cook up some food for this weekend in my make shift kitchen of the barracks, my soon to be once again home. I feel for those who go to prison for the living conditions they endure, but for me the punishment is for the good I've done and not the bad. I'm twenty four and haven't lived in such a tight-confined, rule regulated by the man place since I was in high school, and even then my parents didn't give me half the amount of stress that this place sometimes can.

I look at the finish line, and then remind myself that I still have the rest of the race there to run. I focus on what I need to do to better myself, and not just for myself. I look to prepare the lot of these young men to carry on the fight, to protect the freedoms I hope to enjoy a year from now. That, and to help them protect themselves from the bullshit, the grind, and death.

North Carolina is a nice place this time of year. I yearn to smell that first grass cut, and in the mean time sit on my porch with a cold beer. This summer appears to be a gauntlet in my path to freedom, and a North Carolina summer can be grueling. It's my senior year and I'm looking to enjoy it. The baseball park in Durham is going to be a hot stopping point for me, and I know I'll see you there. The lake, or the mountain, or the gorge, they all have sent their invites, and I've RSVP'd for both you and I. This summer, it's challenge, I will prevail.


Seniors OH TWELVE

Just Another Day In The Life

Waking up to my neck now stiff and yelping with pain, I look at the fluorescent lights hovering thirty feet above my head. I move my neck emphatically to bring less pain, and make sure that no one else has moved, or that I haven't missed something. I check my watch. I don't remember what time we were supposed to start this whole thing, but I know better, no timeline is to be trusted. 

I push up off of the cold concrete floor, and back onto the oddly shaped wood bench. I feel as if the harness I am wearing is now part of my body. It's a beautiful day through the window, but it's been a few hours since I've stepped outside. The parachute resting on the bench, attached to my back is one that I have never jumped before. A new model, and though I'm very trusting of the rigorous testing of this equipment, and confident in my abilities to successfully leap from an aircraft while in flight, I'm still a little nervous. 

The bay door lifts with a racket and the C-130 aircraft is taxiing down the runway to where we will have to walk to it. Most of the time, I dread this part as much as any. Tired, sweating and carrying enough equipment to sustain for a week, you usually way around 400 lbs. It's a waddle, not a walk, and it's painful from the shoulders through the hips down to the knees and feet. This time though, in the clear blue North Carolina sky, I only carry the parachute today, and my body is thankful.

I've been in the harness for over three hours before we start to walk on the tarmac and towards the plane with it's tailgate down and awaiting our entry. That's a short amount of time considering that the manifest for the jump was conducted three hours before that. The propeller and engines blow loud enough that you can't hear without a yell, and the exhaust helps to make you sweat. We get tightly seated like sardines in the vessel and prepare for our take off and flight.

The seats are cramped, but spacious when you don't have any equipment for combat, just the chute and a helmet. The plane takes awhile to get ready, but eventually we are on our way. The initial start makes you lean against the buddy to the rear of the aircraft, as you sit perpendicular to the direction of flight. Eventually, after the rough jostling of the bird you're in flight and should be on the way to getting sick. The turbulence doesn't keep you awake, but it's quicker than you think and you're being told to stand up and hook up. The door is about the only light that lets in, and it's over and under the silhouettes of the paratroopers anxiously waiting the little green light to turn on.

The jump master gives a slap on the ass and a go, and the cable starts to pull. You feel the yank of a jumper outside the aircraft, his shoot just beginning it's first stage of deployment. You extend your arm straight out and walk behind the guy in front of you towards the tunnel of light. You hand your static line off to the safety and turn towards the door. You don't think anything at that point. There is not being scared, only perhaps the excitement of shortly being out of the parachute harness that's been your purgatory between relief and comfort. The first portion always is the same for me. I look at the horizon drop quickly, and then my head is forced into my chest and all I see is the sky, the plane, and maybe the confused look on my face.

The opening shock isn't bad, but then again I grew up spending summers at the local theme park. I look and make sure that the parachute is actually open, and then look around for others in the air. Yesterday was clear out, with no wind and Carolina starting to green beneath my feet, some 200 yards below. I float down like a feather, but feel like a brick. The ground comes, and with it comes me holding my breath and trying not to look down. Everything I've done to this point is entirely unnatural. I hit the soft sand of the drop zone and the parachute covers me. The silk, I can't seem to find it's end, and I'm buried. I crawl out and unhook. Urination is all I think of, and from a knee, liberation. 

Pack up the shoot, now freed of the harness. It's a little bit of a walk for me to the turn in point, but probably a lot of bit for you. By the time I get there, the sweat has dried on the sides of my face, and I feel the coarse red clay on my cheeks that's been attracted by the southern humidity. It's only taught me about myself, but maybe not about life, just an experience to hold in my deck of cards. Perhaps there's more that I don't see, miserable and tarnished from the experience up front. 

All the way?

Bounce Back

Life will always have it's challenges, it's up and downs, it's successes and disappointments. It's inevitable and learning to accept that is sometimes very hard. We often live in a world full of faith in who we are and what we are meant to do, and that is challenged on a daily basis by factors that we often times can't control.  That test of our faith creates doubt, and though as Shakespeare said, "modest doubt is the beacon of wise." We sometimes carry that modesty a little far.

I've faced challenges all of my life, just as you have and everyone else who has lived on this planet. We are struggling against a lot of odds that we have, over time, eliminated their effect on living. We have food and water and shelter. With these basic needs already covered and taken for granted, we focus on self improvement and the things we 'want' in life but don't necessarily need. These are what we call dreams, and most of us never truly dream of our true potentials. We seek what we can see as attainable, not realizing that if we work a little harder, bounce back a little faster, have more faith in ourselves that we can dream bigger, and achieve more.

It wasn't until week three of SFAS that i realized how limited I would think about my physical capabilities. There I was with a rucksack and a contraption on my back with more weight than I even weighed. Every step was pain, and misery in almost every muscle. My brain was yelling, screaming for me to quit at every instance. I told myself that I would not, that I could not! I made it the 6 miles of misery with 185 lbs on my back and the soft sands of Camp MacKall underneath the soles of my feet. I had done it, and in the process of the physical pain had forged mental toughness. Had realized my potential was not even close to being met before this, and not even now.

Those obstacle we face in life, they are there to teach us about ourselves. We may find one to hard to carry or hard to cross and turn around. We fill our minds with doubt about surpassing them, and end up putting mental blocks on ourselves, that we can't do what is extremely possible. Opposition in our minds eye is often the greater of the opponent than our actual physical one to face. Even if we fail a first time, we much use a cliche or ultimatum as some kind of motivation to continue on, to try again. Because trying again is the moral victory we seek for self strength and courage. We will fail, we will not always make it to the top, but we must be willing to try again, and never settle for anything less than reaching our bests. Our doubt combats our faith and only we can choose who the victor is.

I've doubted plenty in my life. One thing that I will never allow doubt to creep in on; is myself. I will never doubt my own abilities. Perhaps, sometimes, I will not dream of their full potential,  but whatever potential I presume I have, I will meet. There will be times when I fall short of what I'm after. If I try and try and try again and still fail, I will hopefully have the clairvoyance to understand if I can't defeat this obstacle, then perhaps I'm focused on the wrong one. Perhaps it's not the obstacle that I should be focusing on, but what lies beyond that obstacle. No one says that you have to defeat every opposition faced, so long as you make it to the end of the course.

Innovation, perseverance, clarity and resourcefulness are the parts of my tool of faith. I use that tool to fight doubt, and in the end that faith will bring me success.

Doubt whom you must, but never doubt yourself. -Christian Bovee