Bing! Bang! Boom! Bomb - Day!

It happened October 6th, 2009.

I remember thinking, if we hit an IED and I'm sitting this way, I'll break both of my legs. I adjusted my posture, pulling my feet underneath me, as opposed to wedged under the seat on the other side of the RG-33. I moved my weapon to my side, and gripped it just a little tighter.

Less than thirty seconds later, I was thrown violently against the seat belt straps secured across my shoulders, connecting at my navel, and I found myself thinking, "If the walls hold, I live, if they collapse, I die."

Today was my second Bomb-Day. The second year that I've lived since my truck drove over a 200lb home-made explosives packed roadside bomb. Since that bomb exploded with a direct hit under the driver's side seat of our MRAP. Since we were thrown over sixty-five meters. Since the twenty-two ton vehicle flipped ass over teakettle two and a half times.

My second year alive, with movement newly appreciated.

My second year healing, and becoming exactly who I want to become in person and spirit.

I like that person...

The person I've worked to become.

I am happy. No. I am fucking excited; at peace, and ecstatic all at once. I've found a passion for people, where I had been lacking before. My motto had once been, "I love dogs and horses. I tolerate people," but now the highlights of my life have transitioned into meeting and connecting with the endless droves of amazing spirits in this world. No matter race, creed, upbringing, nor belief system, I truly believe EVERY SINGLE person I meet can teach me something about life, even indirectly. I wake up feeling amazing daily, and appreciate the fact that I'm able to push my body without yet having found its limits, that I can continue to see, breathe, feel, walk, dance, especially run. There is no anxiety, angst, nor drama in my life. I haven't had an argument with anyone for what feels like an eternity, and even that short spat was a direct result of being locked in a car with someone for three weeks without reprieve.

Over the last two years I took the ideals by which I wanted to live, tucked them away, and poured over them intensely over days and nights alone in the wilderness. Alone in my cabin, Alone on long runs with a voice recorder. I fought the common desire to "fix" myself for others, and focused on my personal desires and my needs. I realized over time, although extremely difficult in practice and challenging to maintain without hypocrisy, complete acceptance of people with different views from your own is a lofty but completely worthy goal. I feel at this point I have mostly reached it. Not absolutely. I hate to speak in absolutes.

What are absolutes, anyway?

I admit, I catch myself every once in a while making a bold, unfounded judgement, but the beauty of my progress is: I catch it, address it, and try my best to adjust it. So, I have mostly reached it. This has relieved the vast majority of stress from my life. Accepting people's right to hate, love, read, be bashful, abrasive, correct, incorrect, educated, uneducated, greedy, giving, clothed, naked, upset, happy, crazy, lovely, etc. has been my lofty goal.

It's been a challenge to truly accept and grow to believe wholeheartedly, but I'd say learning to understand that thinking differently is not born from being incorrect or deficient is one of the first steps to loving yourself completely. When you learn that a person who thinks man was created by one great being with white skin, brown hair, and blue eyes is no more correct nor incorrect than a person who believes whole heartedly that Wonderbread is the most incredibly nutritious supplement to your diet, and can accept it as a mere difference in opinion as opposed to right or wrong, you're on your way. How can you tell somebody that something they truly believe is incorrect? How can you tell a culture because they live not how you do, that they are doing something wrong? How can you tell someone's heart to not love the person it loves? You can't. Time to get a sense of humor about life.

I graciously refuse to debate something about which I'm not certain, which I consider interesting, because certainty is fickle in itself. The few things about which I am certain are that I'm in love with me, I'm in love with a man that's momentarily in Texas, using ten percent of the energy you'd use to complain about a situation instead to fix it will generally solve the problem completely, people are inherently good, unless the consequence is life, limb, or eyesight, rushing is generally not necessary, and one should never try to change a single cell of another human being.

I've found myself understanding that I own nothing and nobody, and I'm absolutely unwilling to be possessed. I'm much more comfortable in complete, long periods of solitude, and I find myself seeking them often, nearly every day, to make sure that I'm connecting with the little girl inside without the distractions of socializing. I no longer feel a need for extrinsic praise, congratulations, or credit for the things I do. I've gotten to a point where impressing others means absolutely nothing to me. I showered yesterday for the first time in almost two weeks, and before that it had been another two and a half weeks.

Living in Alaska as a rafting guide will do that to you.

I've worked towards ceasing judgement based on any physical standards (there, of course, are gut reactions that betray me periodically, and the new mission is to squelch them.) I've found what I like about myself, and have worked to grow much stronger in those traits. I'd rather lose an acquaintance (not a friend because an authentic friend would never demand such) than change a part of myself to appease that person's insecurity, and I could only hope that those around me would value themselves just as strongly and unflinchingly.

I've changed my hair color because I like it. It's fun, ridiculous, and at the same time, my peacock-esque blue, green, purple hues act as a natural filter for me, keeping people who would judge me as juvenile and punk on first glance away from me. Thereby creating an existence devoid of judgemental, critical, assuming people. I sold and gave away the vast majority of my worldly possessions, moved into my back seat-less Rav4 and drove myself to this lovely town of Haines, Alaska. Most of the scant things I left behind were destroyed by the recent flooding of central PA, and so now I have truly what I brought with me and barely anything more outside of some protected paperwork and a few boxes of books.

I've recently noticed that checking my Facebook leaves a funny taste in my mouth; something like an unsettled stomach in place of what used to be a fun little way to contact people. It makes me wonder how people are so easily sucked into "world news" and the media's manipulation. It's like watching a really bad chess game unfold, and realizing you can't point out the obvious mistakes because somebody will always get upset that you ruined their strategy. The new ticker in the right upper corner seems like a deliberate attempt at simplifying life's activities into technology...ticking away as a reminder of every moment you waste staring at a glaring computer screen instead of living in the natural world that exists right in front of you.

I've grown to dislike Starbucks. I like mom and pop shops. My heart hurts if I'm ever forced to step into a mall, a Walmart, or a Canadian Superstore. I haven't sat down and watched a full television show in Alaska yet. It's only when I'm in the lower 48 that the sedentary convince me to sit and watch the mindless images on the screen, and even then, I seem to get too anxious to internalize it.

Newsflash: I smoke herb. Sorry if you've known me for much of my life or my entire life and this shocks you. Sorry if you think less of me. I'm not sorry for the fact that I enjoy pot. I'm sorry because you judged me and as a result are going to miss out on a great relationship or friendship as a result of your preconceptions. I used to be completely against alcohol and weed...not anymore. If I must work, I'll refrain, but most evenings and whenever I have the day off, I burn. I don't have dreams that way, but also, I really like it. I drink much more socially than I did in the past. I've grown comfortable with alcohol in a way I never though possible as a younger adult, and quite frankly, I love a drink in the morning, be it a mimosa or Carolans in my coffee. Here's where I'd naturally quip, "Don't judge me," but if you do, quite frankly, I don't care.

I've become very comfortable with myself and my body. I do not blush if I'm seen naked. I often find myself a little irritated that clothes are even necessary in the first place. Just another law taking away a simple freedom to be comfortable in your own skin. I can't even be naked most places if I'd like to. I've done some more art projects, and I see no shame in using the body for art. Those of you who are reading this who haven't been watching the transition over the last two years are probably shocked. Those of you who've paid attention might be thrilled.

I haven't worn a watch since March 2010. I gave my Garmin to my dad, and ceased keeping training logs for my running. I run according to my body's desires. I use no music. I don't even spend money on technical running gear anymore.

I've grown the courage to say exactly what I mean when I want to express myself. There are no silent, brooding moments in my interactions with people. I've begun to demand the same from anyone I keep in my world.

Mostly I've been striving to achieve what I call an authentic life. I have begun to surround myself only with those I prefer. I simply do not associate closely with anyone else. I have become brutally honest about my indifference to the mundane "problems" of consumers. I don't give even a quarter of a fuck what new shoes are on the market, or what upgrades I could get for my Iphone. My phone is $29.00 of pure sophistication. It does what I want it to do. Text and call. Sometimes it even stays connected through an entire conversation.

In working towards my authentic life, I go out of my way to be selfish. I will do something only for me...and this is how I will remain satisfied with my world. What do I mean by this? Simply that if I find myself wanting to do something for the respect, admiration, acknowledgement, acceptance, or approval of others, not because I truly desire or need to do it, I will not lift a finger to complete the task. I will not coddle a person because that individual or observers would like me more for it. I will not run a race so my friends will rave about my speed. I will not climb a mountain to brag about how high it was. I do these things for the sheer, utter enjoyment I glean from the challenge of accomplishing them. I share my stories about them in order to to spread my excitement and energy for them, and for this reason alone. In this way, I truly enjoy everything I do, and rarely can become disappointed by a person's reaction to what I choose to do. It has become very difficult to embarrass me, because that means I would need to be taking other people's opinions of me and my actions, and make them matter to me as my own.

I've realized that anger truly only destroys you, and only you. Allowing yourself to hate and be angry at somebody (especially if you don't exercise authenticity and keep it to yourself) will eat you alive, give you bad energy, and bring you down. What will it do to the other person? Not a damn thing. I realize that you are told this from the time you are a child, but if you really want to understand it, pay attention to yourself. The next time you find yourself sitting next to someone you think is irritating or obnoxious, and you find yourself crinkling your nose, slanting your eyes, furrowing your brow, or throwing nasty looks their way hoping they catch your discontent, stop and focus on how you feel. Notice the negativity, and the effects it has on your energy. Notice how distracted from doing something productive or positive you've strayed, and then breathe, relax, and smile or smirk even. Think. If it won't matter in a month, it shouldn't matter to me now.

So, in this second year of newly appreciated movement, I have much for which to be thankful. Everytime I gasp for breath, feeling the burning lactic acid build in my quads as I push my body harder with each step, I'm reminded that my bomb day could be completely different, and not by choice of my own. I could be spending it motionless in a hospital bed, or seated in a wheel chair, using a cane or without sight. Yet I'm not. I spent the first hour awake teaching a Morning Muscles class to a lovely group of ladies, another hour doing Zumba with even more lovely ladies, ran up a mountain with yet another lovely lady, had tea with a great friend, who also happens to be a lovely lady and who gifted me a pair of silver earrings inscribed "PEACE," and later spent the afternoon and evening with a man the Universe should thank for existing.

Happy active Bing Bang Boom Bomb-Day to me.

Palpable Perceptions: Positive or Pessimistic?

She feels she has lost everything. It's been three years since her husband left. He walked out the door without looking back, leaving bitter words hanging in the stagnant air of loneliness, and what's worse, he took everything but the furniture. He left her with the furniture. What's a chair without the matching painting? A grandfather clock without the accompanying oriental rug? What used to be their home has since become a shell of her house. Three years it has been, and she has clung to the things he left behind as reminders of a love that once was.

Recently her employer told her she was no longer a necessary asset to the company. Granted, she didn't enjoy her job, but everyday she had been faithful to it, as she had been to her husband. Yet it, too, had betrayed her. 4 more weeks would she have an occupation, a paycheck, an excuse to get out of bed in the morning and face the day. 4 more weeks of dreading the sedentary day, but dreading more the quiet, empty nights in the shell of her house.

Her children would rather be with their father, that's obvious enough. Two of them are grown already, and refuse to come home for holidays. She still decorates the tree every Christmas with their traditional ornaments, bits of memories from the good times, in hopes that one or four of them will drop in to visit. She feels fully and utterly alone in an infinitely cruel world. The bank is threatening to take her home, since she has had a hard time keeping up with the payments after he turned his back. She has sold everything she could without making a visible dent in how she was living. She still eats on the fine china, although she disagrees with the blue swirly pattern slightly, and sips from their crystal wine glasses (a wedding gift) nightly. She and her husband had known the mortgage would be a challenge for the two of them, but when it became just one, it was simply impossible. Three years of defaults. Three years of scrambling to stay above water. Three years of misery, and she would soon have absolutely nothing to show for it.
~~~~~~~@~~~~~~~~
He woke up this morning to the crisp fresh air of another Christmas morning with nature. His breath formed small puffs of steam in the chill as he yawned, quietly taking in the soft pastels of an infinite sky moments before sunrise. To him there was nothing like seeing the first rays of light peeking over the sharp silhouette of a distant snow capped mountain, and he waited with the anticipation of a child listening for the click clack of reindeer hooves on the roof Christmas eve. This was his reminder that there was a world out there yet to be explored, enjoyed, and that he would be free again soon enough.

He scanned the rest of the hilltop, as he quickly thought through past Christmas celebrations he'd enjoyed. Scenes scrolled through his memory, all of them focusing on smiles of loved ones, moments by the fire, the beauty of being alive and comfortable. Back in the world of reality everyone was still sleeping soundly, save the four who were scanning the surrounding valley for any movement through their scopes. He glanced at his bag, black on immaculate white; a stark contrast.

He blinked away yesterday. He had seen the eyes of a man, full of hatred, full of murderous intent. A man at the far end of an AK-47, dressed in black, with an equally black, stony gaze. Half of the man's tight expression had been hidden by an apple tree, but he saw enough. The muzzle flashed, and in a moment he was in a river bed, screaming to his brothers around him, ensuring everyone was responsive; returning fire. They had made it up the hill, the one from which he was enjoying the quiet moments of predawn light, and only then had he realized how close he had been to not being around another day.

In his bag, there had been a plastic bottle of mango iced tea, a few choice bits of MRE, changes of socks, and a sleeping bag. Tied to the outside had been two mortars. Tired from the excitement of the day, he reached into his bag, only to realize his iced tea had spilled on everything. Pulling it out, to inspect the carnage, time stood still for a moment. There were three holes in the bottle. Upon closer inspection, he realized there were also six holes in the bag. The mortars escaped unscathed and so had he.

That was yesterday. Today if the snow holds off there would be an air extraction, and he would be able to get a shower and hot soup. He smiled thinking of a cozy night in his warm tent. The first rays of light crawled over the jagged peak, and touched his face. A gentle, warm caress in a bitter cold. This morning he was alive and being warmed by the sun's first light. Life is a gift.

The snow stayed at bay long enough for him and his team to get lifted from the landing zone they set up in a nearby clearing that afternoon. He returned to the Forward Operating Base, hungry and exhausted from the firefights and ground they had been covering over the course of the week. Upon entering the chow hall, he was greeted with the sign, "Well come to Christmas!" He couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. Far from everything, disconnected from home, alone in Afghanistan, and laughing. Life is good.

As the evening wore on, he decided to get into line to use the computers for his allotted half hour. He wrote his mom as often as possible to let her know he was OK. After an hour wait, he finally got to the computer. The homepage took a full 90 seconds to load, and he sighed as he worked his way to Facebook and GMail simultaneously in different tabs. By the time both had loaded and he was ready to begin communicating, he had 22 minutes remaining.
~~~~~~~@~~~~~~~
She had written him an email on Facebook. They had been friends for years, since high school. The bank was threatening to take her home, her things, what she thought of as her livelihood, and she was threatening to take her life. She believed God had taken everything from her, and she saw nothing but dark. No light. No exit, just the darkness of a perpetual tunnel with round disorienting walls.

She, in her warm three bedroom house, decorated with Christmas ornaments, was emailing him from Florida. He, who had just almost died, ate dry turkey on a bench in a tent, and wanted only to curl up by a fireplace with his dog anywhere, just received an email from her. He stared blankly at the screen in disbelief. There is so much good in the world. He knew it existed. He even knew that underneath the hateful facade of the man in black, there was a loving son, brother, or father. There is so much for which to live, but how could he explain this to a woman who couldn't see it through the thick veil of her own tragic portrayal of self?

She was torn apart by an obsession with a man who hadn't wanted her for the last three years. She had pushed away her children because they reminded her of him, and was now losing everything she held dear to her. Her house, her furniture, her car, her status. He didn't understand how she couldn't see this as an opportunity for growth. He began to respond to her email, trying to explain to her that change is not a detriment, but an opportunity for growth. He alluded to self worth, and acknowledgement of such. When you know what you are worth, your need to try to convince others of it fades. If he doesn't appreciate you, you can do it better yourself. Love yourself, people are drawn in by that love. You do not need a fancy car or a big house with nice things to convince people how great you are. Your soul shines through your eyes, your smile, your actions, and in this world, the people worth being in your life see those signs as clear as day.

He was concluding the email, expounding upon her positive qualities, reminding her of her kindness, her intelligence, her ability to love, when the moderator made an announcement.

"Commo blackout, guys. Sorry. Say goodbye and shut it down," bellowed the young soldier. He froze, with his finger poised above the mouse, ready to send the email. How horrible to lose somebody on Christmas. Never is there a good day, but on Christmas...It broke his heart. He changed his mind and added another thought before hitting send: Tomorrow's not guaranteed, my love. Live this moment as well as you can. It will get better. I have to go, there is a commo blackout. He knew she would understand what that meant. The family of the soldier who had been killed would have to be notified before he would be allowed communication with the outside world again. They would get visited this Christmas not by the jolly fat man in the red suit, but by two somber men in immaculate blue and brass.
~~~~~~~@~~~~~~~
She received his reply the next morning when she ambled from the bed to the computer to seek empathy or even just some sympathy on Facebook. She read his mail, and suddenly felt foolish. She began to sob, asking herself why she had been so blind. He was her best friend, and separated from his family constantly. He lived in a tent, and looked forward to nights that weren't spent in a sleeping bag on the side of a desolate mountain. She looked at her California king Temperpedic mattress, framed by her cherry oak headboard, and decided to retake control of her life. If the bank wanted the house, they could have it. She chose that moment not only not to take her life, but to truly live from that day forward. She would sell those things she had clung to as lifelines but actually held no value in her life. She would take off her wedding band and would not allow the bitter words she had tasted in his departure to remain in the stagnant air of loneliness one more day. She would make loneliness her home, embrace it, and get to know herself once again.

She decided to get out and job search, but this time, she would only do a job she enjoyed, even if it meant a pay cut. She would strip her closet of the endless throngs of stilettos, slingbacks, and clogs, and replace them with satisfaction in her naked self. This would be the first day, the first step of a journey to self love. She responded to him in an email saying such. He was her angel. He opened her eyes to the world, and she was eternally happy to have a friend like him in her life.
~~~~~~~@~~~~~~~
The afternoon of the 26th, the blackout was lifted, and Morale Welfare and Recreation room was unlocked. He entered to check his email once again, and write to his mother, who was probably beside herself with worry by now. He received his friend's response, and relieved, couldn't help but smile yet again. Hers was a soul too bright to be dimmed by the cruelties of accumulation, and the worship of inanimate objects. He closed his eyes, seeing clearly his mother's loving expression, hearing her light laughter, and for a moment, he was back in her warm home, enjoying a cup of chai by her side with a movie playing and the fireplace roaring.

He opened his eyes, wet with memories, and began his email to his mom: Hi, mom. I love you. I'm one day closer to coming home today. Merry Christmas.