(March 11) Second observation: I notice some folks around here beginning to show real outwardly physical signs of deterioration. It manifests itself in several ways; unhealthy weight loss… unhealthy weight gain… odd uncontrolled twitching… possible self-mutilation… and more than a few cases of premature graying and wrinkling. In the worst cases there are stories of complete mental collapse with a “pink-slip” back to the states. It’s like some crazy academic psychology experiment. Rats in a cage. Luckily a certain weight challenged and a self-mutilator roll-out for home in a matter of days. However some of those aging and twitching came into theater around the same time I did and also have one year tours. (Keep in mind I’ve only been here a few months).
During lunch I discuss the topic of folks around here “aging” in some way or other. I don’t mean the obvious “we’re all gonna die some day” sort of aging… I mean advanced physical signs of aging. The sort you see when the President enters office young and sharp and leaves grey and worn. I tell them my theory about stress and sleep deprivation and they all instantly relate to the idea. Out of the blue my mother calls me. It was very early in the morning for her. She said she couldn’t sleep (join the club) and decided that for some reason I needed to talk to her. After my “existential moment” and these crazy observations she was right I did need to chat. How did she know? (I classify this odd coincidence as a matter of the universal mind and couch it for a later entry.) Anyway we had a long conversation where I explained my recent revelations and my intent to smile and be happy. I then explained my theory of advanced aging. She says and I quote: “I’m sorry to tell you this but… the last picture I you sent… you’re looking old and worn-down…”
Mouth open… wind blows… crickets chirp… birds sing… Silence! (Dull mind – does not compute) Wait - I wasn’t referring to myself on this advanced aging thing I was talking about all the other…
(Dull mind still processing – remove cobwebs) “OH HELL!” … realization… “DAMN! Me too?!?”
Wait… was that a twitch?
This second observation cuts me like a knife across the palm (Yes again childhood - it’s a dangerous game we all play at least once in our life) She went on to explain that I need a mechanism to mentally escape from the 24/7 stresses. “You must find a mental break… You may want to take some time to meditate. Oh…and you have to find a way to get more sleep.” Ha easier said then done… And what’s all this about meditating. Cut to: image of me in a field wearing battle rattle - legs crossed - eyes closed - palms up - weapon across my lap - chanting. (Dull mind – does not compute) “Apocalypse Later – a revisited comedy of horrors”
I make my second slightly more complicated resolution for the rest of my tour: I decree that I will not grow old before my time. I will emotionally detach - take the high road and maintain a positive attitude regardless of the circumstance surrounding me… I will set the conditions for successful sleep and (Ugh – crazy hippy alter-ego) meditate as necessary – sans battle rattle (but I'm keeping the gun!). And most importantly I will try to help others detach even if it’s just for a couple of minutes. Just a moment of escape might lower the stress levels for everyone around here and make all the difference in the world.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Part 2 – Transformation: “I don’t want to grow up… I’m still a Toys R Us Kid!”
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2 comments:
Samurai focused a lot of time and energy into non-martial pursuits - gardening, poetry, painting, acting. It's the pursuit of balance: ninjo and giri - humanity and duty.
Maybe we can send you some cacti to start a Zen garden. ;)
Jeez Hollywood! Is this a blog or a made for tv movie on Lifetime! I'm out of it for a little while and you think you are aging. The good news is that we can get John Stamos to play you.
Okay, here is the plan for you not to age into a crusty bastard like I became - laugh. Laugh until your gut bursts and then laugh some more. What, there is nothing funny? Oh I beg the differ. That little Arkham Asylum of military propaganda is the G spot of humor if you know where to find it. Just think Catch 22 and avoid anyone who thinks they are sane. Above all - dance. Dance you pissy Texan, dance!
By the way, after nearly three weeks, I finally got home tonight.
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