Military Memoir

Very recently a friend asked, after almost ten years invested, why I left the military. It was an honest simple question and one I was asked before. I answered with honesty, but strangely I didn’t even understand my entire answer. It made me think about that point in my life. I mean, I was about halfway to retirement. At the time (and still today) I felt as if I had nothing left to give the military and the military had nothing left for me. Yet, in it all, I was paid to do something that I love very much. No, not be a soldier, I hated that. Very much in fact. What I love to do is hike and enjoy nature. To be out in the natural world alone (or at least with only a few people) and just being. Essentially, my last couple of years in the military I was a section sergeant in charge of a LRRP and LP/OP team for an OPFOR unit somewhere in the deep desert. What does that mean? LRRP = Long Range Reconnaissance Patrol. LP/OP = Listening Post / Observation Post. OPFOR = Opposing Force. Hope that clears it up a bit. Anyway, before any more confusion arises. This was in the nineties, three full years before 9-11 and all the crap afterwards. My job essentially was, once a month or so, my team and I (2-4 men total) would be dropped off (by some vehicle or another) out in the desert. We would hike several miles to a hill or small mountain top with all of our gear. Find a good place to watch a given area and wait around for the attack (wargames) and then report enemy positions and movement. That was it, and those memories are some of my fondest in the military. My other job was very administrative and was about 75% of military life. I hated it and had been hating it for two solid years by that point. Ironically (yes ironically not coincidently, or is it?) these are some of the worst memories of my military career. I distinctly remember considering, upon my separation from active service, joining the National Guard and feeling physically ill at the prospect of continuing to wear my uniform. Yes, I had the distinct physical sensation of having to vomit. As I stated, I strongly felt I had nothing left for the military. Why do I dredge all of this up? You ask as you sit there snidely judging me. I really only want to understand why also, because I don’t. Is it my gypsy blood (yes my masculine genetic donor was a gypsy, my real father is the one that adopted me) that curses me to forever need to roam? Is it my artist’s personality that feels it must constantly try to experience to things? Is it some weird sense of preeminence about my future (that’s yet to happen)? Honestly I don’t know. This blog is simply one of those examinations of myself. However pompous that may seem, I don’t really care. I do know this. I have some really fantastic memories of how beautiful the deep desert can be. The morning sun slicing across the landscape, creating shadows that highlight every detail of the terrain. Kangaroo Rats scurrying about over my gear and boots as if we weren’t even there. How a full moon can make that stark desert ground bright with eerie blue light and a visibility, similar to twilight except for the black sky, for miles. Observing packs of coyotes stream from their holes and move in a haunting choreography as they run. Seeing the stars blaze in a moonless night and truly understanding how the Milky Way earned it’s name while also comprehending why ancient astronomers found such fascination and mystery in the night sky. These memories I will always cherish and I realize I may never experience again (at least not to that level of immersion). When I stop and try to feel it all. Truly let myself feel what it meant to have left the military. It’s not the practical things I miss. It’s not the discipline nor the pay nor chance for a retirement check. It’s those lonely desert nights, staring up at the stars in awe. Flipping through my battered little star chart guide which my great love had bought me, just for those nights. I existed there on those hills, full of life yet empty and clean. It was as if I was as close to God as I would ever get.