'Fuck Euphemisms' and Other Sad Thoughts on Memorial Day

The other day, I found this meme on facebook -

I'm sure lots of you saw it. But in the constant stream of photos and memes and little blurbs I read throughout the day, it isn't very many that bring me to an abrupt stop such as this one did, for a moment making me forget everything else I was doing or thinking.

Maybe it's age. I am 30 now, after all. To me, this has always been the number at which you really enter the world of adults. Maybe it's the fact that my man is a veteran. That he could have been dead before I ever met him, as high risk a field as he was in. And while, to hear him tell it, the things he saw and the things he had to do (cutting a live bomb vest off of a dead suicide bomber, for instance), haven't changed who he is, I know they have. There is no possible way that they can't have done so. To see a thing with your own eyes changes it from abstract to reality. If one still feels that there is grace, honor and glory in death after witnessing it in this fashion, well... I suppose that is an individual perception. I am fairly certain that, had it been me, I would begin to regard humans much more like sacks of meat, and life as cheap. I won't speak for Josh though.

There will be people who do not like or agree with what I have to say now. I would take this moment to remind you that as long as my opinions are based on evidence, thoughtful consideration and logic, I am entitled to them, and you are under no obligation to feel the same way I do. If you still feel like bombarding me with hate mail, I guess that's ok.

I see people all over the internet posting things today that are somewhere along the lines of "Thank you to the people in my life who are serving or have served, for the sacrifices you've made to protect our way of life." But to me, there is something off with this line of thinking. Because it suggests that without each and every one of those sacrifices throughout our history, our way of life would not exist. And while I absolutely believe that this is true in certain cases, I don't think it is true of all of them. To me, there is no question that many of these ultimate sacrifices were avoidable, unnecessary, pointless. I find it much easier to swallow the argument that, had the Nazis not been squashed, our way of life could have been taken from us, than that same argument in regards to the conflicts that we've been a part of during the last 10 years. I can't look at pictures of our troops standing guard over poppy fields, and be confident that my government is really valuing the lives and sanity it is risking.

This is where people start to take it personally, especially if they've been involved, because it sounds like I'm trying to say their efforts were pointless. And I don't want that, because I sure prefer it when people like me, but I can't... take it back. Nor do I mean any harm or judgment. I just think that the potential horror we place on our military's shoulders should not be taken lightly, and it appears that it IS being taken lightly.

This is what Memorial Day means to me; it means that we should take a hard look at what we've done to our young men and women who've served and ask if the means justified the end. Have we gained enough in these endeavors to justify all the pain they've caused? Have we? If we could give those lives back and take away that pain, would our freedoms be gone? Would our country be conquered?

We talk about death in war in terms that are designed to bring comfort. We say that they died with honor. That their acts were selfless. We talk about glory, duty and dedication. And I just don't think that's fair. I don't think it's enough. Glory will not comfort your mother when she has to put you in the ground. Honor will not hold your wife in it's arms on nights when she is alone and losing her mind in grieving. Your legacy will not raise your babies to be real men, or women who know what a real man's love should be. Medals and awards will never erase the memory of your death from the mind of your friend who tried to carry you to safety.

Again, I'm speaking for myself. I don't think I'm the only one who feels this way, but I guess I could be. I know without a doubt that if Josh got called up and had to go back to Afghanistan where he died in the line of duty... I would want to ball all of those "comforting" words into a fist and break the jaw of every person who offered them to me as solace in place of his presence. His heartbeat. His warmth. His laughter. What the fuck would I care about honor while being crushed by such grief, and how dare you assume that words, air, could lessen that loss. But that's just me.

I think Memorial Day is a time that we should take a hard look at reality without euphemisms. War is hell. Death is ugly. Pain lasts for years and years. It changes everyone who is touched by it. None of this should be glossed over. None of it should be considered vindicated by the grilling of steaks or consumption of beer and maybe, if someone remembers to do it, a few words about honor and sacrifice. To me, what we should really be doing, is looking at photos like the one so poignantly captioned on facebook and asking ourselves if what we've done to these people, our sons and daughters, lovers and friends, was necessary. And we should, with the knowledge of the pain that is left behind by war, choose to be very very careful in deciding it is our only option in the future.

A year on the road and 3 decades into this crazy thing called life.

Today I am 30 years old, and in just a few more days it will have been an entire year since I got rid of all my shit except what would fit in one box and a backpack and moved onto the road to live like a nomad. Anniversaries and birthdays are not very important to me, generally speaking. You can't force any specific day of the year to be special, or to stand out. Best to let it happen organically. So, I won't be doing anything special to celebrate. What I'm really doing more than anything, is reflecting, and looking forward.

I still vividly remember being 14 years old and thinking that I would never be old enough to buy my own booze. Half the friends I had were no good and probably still aren't, and my decision making was highly questionable. I thought then that I was as adult as I was ever going to get, but I made it through adolescence and have arrived here intact, an actual grown-up. Sort of. So now, when I look at age 50 or 75 and feel like I have a world of time between now and then, I have to remember... I don't. 

The other day, while musing about how cool it would be to set up a fish wheel in the river near wherever we end up, and without realizing he was bringing up such a deeply existential question, Josh asked me where I pictured myself when it was time to retire. It occurred to me suddenly that while I do have a very clear picture, that's... really all I've got.

It looks like somewhere deep in the forests of the Pacific Northwest. Trees so old and so huge, their very presence makes you aware of how small you are on this planet, let alone in this universe. Everything around it is mossy, grassy, green and lush, with a smattering of wildflowers. There is wind rustling the pine needles and the wood chimes hanging from the eaves, and birds singing. There are no cars, sirens or other people's voices. There are probably a couple of dogs minding their own business while I work in the little greenhouse next to a relatively small cabin. Golden retrievers. Or maybe Rottweilers. I can see the river (or the ocean) about a dozen yards from the rocking chairs on my wrap-around porch, and on lazy days I can take a fishing pole down to the little dock and drop a line in the water for my dinner. Within a 3 mile radius is everything my body needs to survive. Within a 50 mile radius, there is a big city, full of friends, live music, cool bars and great restaurants... but my little spot is all by itself. No neighbors to see me if I damn well feel like parking my naked butt in the yard to write a letter or read a book. 

But that's not really an answer to the overall question he was asking me. It's just a picture. Where is this place? How do I make it mine? How do I get all the supplies needed to build it out to wherever it is? What does it cost? How do I pay for it? What is the chain of events in my life that leads me there? I can't just up and drive out of North Carolina to wherever this little sanctuary exists and set up shop. So basically... I don't have an answer. I never really have. The fact that 14 years old has turned into 30 years old so fucking fast makes it pretty clear that I had better come up with some of these answers pretty soon.

Otherwise I don't feel much different. There were no new gray hairs on my head this morning, no new lines of my face, no crushing feeling of being old or surprise urges to get hitched, have babies, or settle into any kind of normal routine. Only a clear sense of just how much life I've been fortunate enough to live in the year since I left Alaska, and how much I've learned that I would never have known had I not run off into the unknown.

I've lived in 6 different states and visited a few others. I lived in a little farm cottage on a big piece of land in rural Pennsylvania complete with a donkey, goat and a horse for company. I lived in what looked like a beautiful apartment in Alabama until we moved in and discovered the cockroaches (my worst fear) had claimed the place before us. We bought our now home; a 15,000 pound, 41 foot 5th wheel trailer that we tow behind our 8,600 pound king cab dualy Dodge 3500. We've put almost 5,000 miles on it in the last 8 months, from northern Virginia to Wilmington to Albuquerque to Austin to Jacksonville. We are 3 feet shorter than a Semi all-together and damn near as heavy. It's awesome. When we get tired, we pull into a rest stop and our house is right there. My shower, my kitchen, my bed.

Since leaving, I've visited the spot where the very first colony in America settled in the 1500's, on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. We went to the Wright Brothers Museum and saw an exact replica of the very first airplane ever flown. I went to Independence Hall in Philadelphia where the Declaration of Independence was signed in 1776, and then hit a concert and partied downtown until the wee hours. I spent two months in Austin, Texas, with a sunny little spirit I'd barely known before arriving but who I now count as one of my dearest and most unique friends. I got to visit my family's farm and my dad's parents, neither of which I'd seen in over 15 years. I climbed Enchanted Rock and hiked around Hamilton Pool. We drove forever up a steep cliffside to the hidden hot springs 3 hours outside of Albuquerque and watched the sunset turn the opposite rock face into pinks and oranges. Josh and I hiked all over Tent Rocks National Monument. We bought a Harley and I fucking love it. I caught a shark! I got to spend 8 days hanging out at practice at one of the very best fight gyms in the world; Jackson's MMA. I talked to 'the Natural Born Killer' Carlos Condit. I shook his hand. He smiled at me. Still haven't gotten over that one. I've been to the two biggest fights of Lauren's career, in Houston, Texas and Kansas City, Missouri, and in the process I landed my dream job writing for Fightland and the coolest editor I could have hoped for.

I own less than 4 boxes worth of material things. I've become an even better cook, with even less space or resources. I have no dishwasher or washing machine. I can pack up everything we own, strap the rest of it down, and be ready to bail out of any location for any reason in about 30 minutes. Hurricane coming? Gone. Running from the cops? Out of here in a flash. None of our license plates are registered to addresses at which we actually live now or ever will again (don't rat on me). I have learned to shoot a gun, and almost love them. I re-caulked my own shower. I alter my own clothes. I learned how to make friends with strangers without having an anxiety attack while doing it. I can fully pack for any excursion; plane, bike, international travel, you name it, in less than 20 minutes.

I've been through dozens of towns that all look exactly the same. Mom and Pop shops across the country have given way to the same 10 chain stores and restaurants. If there's a highway running through it, there will be a Walmart, a McDonalds, a few gas stations and hotels and very little by way of actual character. The best food I've had anywhere is still in Anchorage. I had no idea we had it so good at home as far as restaurants go. The best people, music and bars we of course in Austin. In fact, I pretty much knew this before I lived there for a while, but Austin is easily one of the best cities in America by a landslide. Albuquerque was gritty, Lebanon, PA was humble, Anniston, AL is the fucking armpit of the entire country (thanks Monsanto), Wilmington, NC is bad ass, and it's one of the oldest port cities in the country, Kansas City is full of friendly people (and trannys), and I still love Detroit.

This life isn't all roses, of course. I miss my family so much. I am still prone to random snippets of tears on days like today when I remember that a year ago I was standing around a fire surrounded by people who love me, because Jen always throws the best parties. I've met so many cool people that have made this excursion lack loneliness, thankfully, but we all know new friends just aren't the same as best friends. I miss the mountains painfully. Which is why I'll be taking a two week trip home in June for Summer Solstice, Primus, some fishing and some long overdue time with the people I love.

Til next time, friends.