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ok, i wrote a post similar to this, not that long ago, but i’ve been doing a lot of digging into military culture, military brat culture, the way military childhood affected me and others in preparation for what I hope will one day be some sort of book. but that’s not what i want to talk about now.

in the course of poking around on the internet, i found a forum where brats were talking about what it meant to grow up military. one comment in particular totally nailed down how i’ve been feeling lately:

  “I think the experience of finally “settling down” sometimes feels like “settling”, a betrayal of that particular survival instinct that never accepts stasis as a reality … Time displacement lurks in the corners of our souls, and the present tense of our lives is really a rehersal for some mysterious future tense. We have to learn to relax and let our present be our present tense, if that is possible.”

The first line is especially profound for me - one of my greatest fears in life is to wake up one day, five or ten years down the road, and realize i’ve “settled” for a life i didn’t want for myself.  so to counteract this, i do crazy things like start planning another move after i’ve only been in a city for six months, or switch jobs every year or so, or try to travel one week out of every month, or go live in asia for 2 1/2 months.

I also have an impossible time letting the present be the present. for as long as i can remember, i’ve been planning the next stage of my life - which goes back to being afraid of “settling.”  When i was in high school, i planned for college (applied early and got accepted my junior year, actually), when i was in college i rushed through to get married (finished in 2 1/2 years), after i got married, i started racing through cities, jobs, endeavors, ideas. 

for example i’ve always enjoyed writing, but i’ve never felt like i’ve found a specific “passion” on which to hinge my propensity for words. At first it was TV reporting, then it was TV producing, then it was cable TV. Throw in a mix of newspaper writing, PR, even some social minded endeavours and you get a good snap shot of the past few years.

i’m not sure i know how exactly, but i’m pretty confident that my inability to settle has something to do with my propensity to always be searching - whether that be for my passion, a job, a new place to live.

one of the posts on this forum was written by a guy who’s compiling info for a book of his own on what he says is the “sad legacy” of brats. on this point, i have to disagree. It’s true that i can explain a lot of my flaws and shortcomings by looking to how i was raised. (but isn’t that true of any introspective 20-something?) But i also have my upbringing to thank for some of the things i’m most proud of about myself, for some of my greatest relationships - most importantly the one with my family, and some of the most amazing experiences a person could want.

i’m not talking about some weird cult or compound or religion. i’m talking about the military community and why i think i feel differently than most other people when six fighter jets soar over the city as a part of fleet week.

living where i do, there’s always a significant amount of protest and discourse over anything military related, and fleet week means guarenteed controversy. in spite of that, there’s still a huge turn out, and to me it means a surge of patriotism.

i can’t explain it - it’s a sense of awe, a sense of pride in the idea of America. but i think what sets it apart for me is the first hand sense of sacrifice the people in those planes have had to make.  i don’t think i’m a better American or a better person - or even that i know exactly what those pilots and their families have been thru (they weren’t always just performing for fun and entertainment). as a military family, we’ve been relatively lucky. dad’s never been on the front lines. there’s been a sense of insecurity and danger at times, but as a family we’ve never been seperated because of a deployment for longer than four months or so.

i’m a member of the civilian world now - no longer my dad’s dependant, ryan’s only attachment is to the ready reserves - but i will always be military at heart. i will always have a place in my heart and my life for good ol’ fashioned american pride. for individuals and families who serve us in ways we often can’t see.
i don’t think i’m above anyone because six jets flying on the city skyline brings tears to my eyes - or because i’m getting a little misty as i write this now. i’m not more patriotic because when i stand with my family and sing the national anthem, i’m usually standing next to my dad in uniform.  i’m not saying i’m a better american because i moved from base to base every two years.

but i am a part of a community that relatively few belong to and relatively few understand - a community that will always be there for me.  i don’t have a hometown, or a place that i’m “from.” i don’t have many “friends from my childhood” and i don’t have roots.  but i have a community.

my parents are moving - where, i can’t say (military rules), but suffice it to say, they’re not going to be super-close by. don’t get me wrong, i’m SO excited for them and for this next step in our family’s life, since eventhough i’m on my own, i’m still affected by my family, of course. but the impending change got me thinking about my family’s dynamic.

as i’ve gotten older, i think i’ve become more attached to my family. when i graduated highschool i was more than ready to cut the apron strings, and happily went out-of-state to college. it only took one summer spent at home before i made college my new home, and was happily living in that vicinity year-round (minus holidays, of course). military life has made our family relationship extremely strong, but also further forged our independent personalities. i really never thought i’d care about spending lots of time with my parents. being together at holidays has always been important to us, since german and swedish tradition is still heavily incorprated into our lives. i knew we’d always be a close family, but that we wouldn’t be close, geographically, and that didn’t really bother me. until a couple years ago.

now, i don’t want to live next door to my parents, or even necesarily in the same town, or even state, although there would be something to be said for being able to go visit over the weekend. or see a ballet with my mom. or take my sister to the quirky places in my city i know she’d love. i just like having the ability to see them often. every few months would be nice, though not really do-able, but i definately want to be around them more than once a year.

this is something ryan always has given me a hard time for. i talk to my family at least once a week, i see them on a semi-regular basis, yet, i’d love to see them more. he doesn’t really “get” that. his family has a much different dynamic, and he relates to them differently for a lot of reasons - a big one, i think, is that he went away and lived in italy for three years right out of highschool. but something ryan articulated for me last night, after thinking about this move and what it means for me, is that my family is my sanctuary. besides ryan, they’re the only people i feel really GET me. i can be my true self around them because they know all my weird quirks and inside jokes. we have the same sense of humor and we share all those things you “get from your parents” - good and bad. in general, they are the only people i completely count on.

that’s not the case for ryan, for a number of reasons. not to say his family doesn’t have a good relationship, it’s just … different. and i’m not sure many people would say they have a family dynamic like i do - i know for many people it’s the opposite, and family is a big cause of strife. i’m FAR from saying my family is perfect, but they’re the best family for me - although it took me 20-some years to realize that. what i am saying is, eventhough i’m grown up, i don’t think it’s a bad thing to want to be close (geographically) to my family, or see them often.

ryan says he’s noticed that people who grow up and still live in the same place, close to family, have a harder time growing as a person because they’re still in their comfort zone, and you know what they say about growing and comfort zones. i say that’s probably true. i think, even if you LOVE where you grew up and really want to stay there, it couldn’t hurt to set a year or two or three aside and go somewhere completely different. just to try something new. but that’s just me - i have a thing for change.

so back to my family … i’ve been away from them for a while now, i’ve definitely done some growing, and i couldn’t really live near them even if i wanted to - since they still move every year or two. i think it’s all that, that’s led to my current sentiments about them. i am obsessed with change, but maybe i can be that way because i have a family that is rock steady.

people always comment on how weird it is that i’m married - because i’m so commitment-phobic. it’s true. i hate deciding to wear a hat, because i hate the thought that once i put it on, my hair will be messed up, and i’ll be committed to wearing that hat all day. it’s also true that i’m a little crazy. but my fear of commitment spans beyond my choice of head-wear.

one of my greatest fears is that i’ll get comfortable somewhere - in a job, a city, a lifestyle - and wake up one day, 20 years later, not having done all the things i wanted to do. so i have a HARD time commiting to a job, or a place i’m living, even if i REALLY love everything about my life circumstances. this is the case now. we’ve been here for almost a year and i’m already thinking about where i want to go next - not because i’m not happy here (i AM!!), but because i want there to be a “next.” i don’t plan on staying here forever. as far as my job goes, i’m six months in and it’s the first job where i haven’t actively been seeking out something else within the first few months.

i blame this, largely, on my military upbringing. i’ve never lived anywhere longer than three years, and that’s on the high end. the average was more like two years. i can’t imagine what it’s like to have grown up in the same place with the same friends and the same schools. sometimes, i start looking around (to move, switch jobs, careers, whatever) because i think there’s something better out there. but usually, it’s just because i know there’s something *else* out there. this can be good, because i’m always pushing myself to find that next step and to continue to grow. it can also be bad. i don’t want to live a life where i’m never content, not fully able to enjoy what i’ve been given. somehow, i have to find a balance between the two.

the combination of being a military brat and a commitment-phobe has meant something else, too. i don’t really have roots, i definitely don’t have a place i call home, and i only have a few “childhood” friends - and even they are technically from highschool and not “childhood.” surprisingly, this doesn’t bother me. i used to freak out at the thought that there would come a day when i’ll have to decide where i want to live FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE. then i realized, my parents are in their 50’s and they still haven’t “settled down” - there’s nothing that says i have to. and right now i’m not planning to. of course there might be that perfect circumstance where something clicks and i change my mind. but the way i look at it now, there’s no way i can see and do everything i want, live everywhere i want, accomplish everything i want, if one day i have to “settle down.”

so when people comment on the irony that i have such a problem with commitment and yet am married, i tell them i used up all my commitment-making ability on that one decision, and now i’m out. probably for the rest of my life.

…we have no great war, no great depression…

brad pitt says that in fight club. At the time it was true – I guess it’s sort of true now, thinking of our generation overall. But now we have the great blunder. I’m not sure what else to call the situation in iraq. I’m not even sure how I feel about it. Everything is so mixed. things go round and round in my head concerning this and I don’t really have everything hashed out. That’s not what I want to write about. What’s constantly on my mind, weighing on my conscious is the soldiers fighting over there – the ones that don’t come back … and the ones that come back only a fraction of what they were; physically, mentally, emotionally.

I think our nation has done a good job, whatever the public opinion might be, of still letting our soldiers know we support them. No matter how we personally feel about the conflict there. Still, I feel like I have a little bit different burden for these people –or maybe I don’t, and I’m just glorifying my emotions. Either way, their lives and sacrifice move me so much.

When we were dating, ryan dragged me to see We Were Soldiers – even though he knows I HATE war movies (this was the first and last time he did this). I cried through about half the movie (and I am not a movie crier) and by the end I was sobbing. We had to sit there long after the credits rolled and the lights came back on, so I could get everything under control. I couldn’t believe the way things had ended for so many of these people who gave themselves to defend our country. The line at the end of the movie haunts me to this day: something to the effect of, “these soldiers didn’t return to welcome home parties or parades. For many of them, the closest family they had were the people they fought with.”

How sad (on the nation’s part) and how profound. For whatever reason, I am unusually touched by soldier stories. Maybe it’s growing up in a military family and bleeding red, white and blue. Maybe it’s thinking about the fact that when people started to ship off for this war, the ones going were my age. Now they’re years younger. Maybe I somehow identify with them. Maybe it’s having married (at the time) a military man. Maybe it’s being able to remember exactly where I was when the world trade centers collapsed (something I’m sure will stay with all of us forever), wondering where this was all going and seeing scary thoughts run through my head: what if they send ryan. What if they send my dad (they did). What if I become, like, a candy striper or red cross nurse. . Maybe it’s a little bit of everything.

So probably because of all that, when I went to visit my parents in DC for Christmas, I asked my dad to have his aides set up a visit to walter reed army medical center. As a (extremely) patriotic family, and my dad in the position he’s in, it seemed like the least we could do (since we are some of the few who have access to something like that). Since dad’s people did all the work, I really didn’t think of it after I made the suggestion.

And I didn’t know what to expect. I think in my mind’s eye I saw us in a Shirley Temple-esque situation. In a dorm-style room, with dozens of men, us going from bed to bed, maybe passing out Christmas cards or cookies. (as things developed we were told we couldn’t bring cards – not everyone celebrates Christmas – or cookies – some soldiers were on strict diets.)

When we got there, we basically had a handler – someone from the hospital who had a pre-approved list of people who were ok with us coming to see them (gotta love the military). She briefed us on who we were going to see, and prepared us for the fact that some of the situations could be disturbing. Then I realized what I’d signed us up for, and I wasn’t sure how I would handle seeing a soldier who had a bandaged head because part of his skull had been blown off. Or someone with partial memory loss and no legs. he was only 19 or 20.

We ended up seeing about 3 or 4 people. I think what may have startled them at first was my dad. I’d thought about that at the last minute – I told my mom I didn’t want them to feel intimidated because of him. She brought up a good point though, saying it was probably a good thing for them – and a complement – to see someone in his place make a point of thanking them and spending time with them.

The first person we saw was doing fairly well, his family was there – his little son was laying on the bed with him. he’d lost several of his fingers in an explosion. He was pretty quiet. But the second guy we saw was a surprising burst of positivity. He’d taken his first steps in three months that morning. He’d had a sniper shoot him through his hip, so while his bones were healing he’d been lying down the whole time. When he finally got to the point where he could stand up, he was having to re-train himself to walk. He’d been in the ready reserves, working in the civilian world as some sort of contractor (I think). His wife was there – she was a pilot for delta. They were both extremely personable and positive.

The last guy we saw was the young guy with memory loss and missing both his legs. it was like he HAD the memory, he couldn’t bring it to the surface. He’d tell us about his time in iraq, and get hung up on the exact city they were in. his mom was there and she was also really positive, and patient. Helping him say what he wanted, without getting frustrated and saying it for him.

I know we only saw three people, and that’s barely a fraction of even the people who were in walter reed. But it brought the whole thing even nearer to my heart, gave it a face. I did make it though visiting with each person, and held myself together – thanks in part to my mom’s gift for ultimate diplomacy and chit-chat ability. I did tear up when we got on the elevator. Knowing if our generation had a great war, this was it. Even if it’s not a great war, it’s a great tragedy. In spite of how blessed we are as Americans and no matter who’s side of the debate you’re on, it’s hard to overlook the complete loss of life – and also the partial losses.

Just like I’ll always remember waking up in my loft bed and hearing a phone ring in my crammed room in sigma third long, the furthest dorm on biola’s campus, the morning of 9/11, I pledge to always remember a father without his fingers. A reservist shot by a sniper and learning how to walk. And a teenager without his legs, re-training his memory so he could tell me the name of his girlfriend.

i grew up pretty sheltered in a Christian/Air Force/ bubble - and looking back, i don’t think i’d really change much, eventhough it kind of turned me into “that girl:” the girl that thinks everyone’s parents encourage them to go to (a private) college and volunteer to pay. the girl that got a car soon after i turned 16 (it was “only” a VW!). the girl that knows she’ll always have her parents to rely on if that need arises. don’t be put off yet. i know that makes me sound pretty spoiled, but it really didn’t seem that way. i have extremely down-to-earth parents who did what was in their power to make my life better without, i feel like, leaving me with that pesky entitlement mentality. i really don’t know how they did it.

it may sound really “entitled” to say something like, “i didn’t realize till i was an adult that some people had to raise their OWN money to go to high school camp,” or make another such assumption. so i guess maybe it is true to a certain extent. but i don’t know that it’s really hurt me. i don’t feel entitled in the sense that i think the world should just hand me things. i’m willing to bust my ass for a good job, and prove my work ethic before i ask for a raise. willing to scrape by for a few years in order to save/invest a bunch of money that will hopefully secure our future.

if anything, i feel like the things i think i’m “entitled to” will only force me to work harder. i guess i do feel entitled to end up with a good job, living in a nice house, in the city of my chosing. able to take vacations if i want and help people out when they need it. is it bad to be raised in a house where money really isn’t an object (while still learning the value of a dollar, of course)? to look at things, experiences and investments objectively, for what they are, not in terms of how the exact dollar amount might make or break you?

what i DO think about is maybe i don’t appreciate all the things i have in my life as much as someone who, for example, “earned” their way through college. (but then, would they really appreciate either taking 6 years in school or having 100 grand in debt?) maybe they’re a little more hell bent on making something of themselves because they DON’T have something to fall back on. i look at ryan and his drive to make his financial plan work. some (like me) may call him obsessed, and there’s a lot of reasons for this - he loves finances and investment and real estate. he enjoys researching and taking on new projects. but i know a big reason he works towards these things is because he wants to create a different environment (in some ways) from the one he grew up in. in that respect he as an extra (or maybe just different?) motivation to make it work.

i also have a motivation, but my motivation is to create a SIMILAR environment to the one i grew up in. and i guess i do kind of feel entitled to that. i may sound spoiled but i don’t think i’m a brat. i’m extremely greatful to my parents for everything they’ve given me - financially, spiritually, academically, relationally - and while i may have “assumed” some things about life and finances while i was growing up, now that i’m older and wiser those assumptions have turned to complete appreciation for the life i was given.