Out here, I find myself operating like a single purpose machine. Like the machine that imprints "Louisville Slugger" on the side of baseball bats. I eat, sleep, and breath in order to do my job and to do it well. I find myself dreaming about work and it doesn't upset me. I am working 16-19 hour days and I get back to my tent feeling good about the day. A huge change when compared to the typical workday back home. The daily routine out here is unwavering. I typically wake up at the same time everyday, walk to the same shower tent, stand in the same spot when I brush my teeth. It goes on all day. I eat lunch and dinner with the same people at the same time at the same table while drinking the same drinks (Snapple Iced Tea and a water). This routine is a blessing and a curse. It's great because the days just blend together. Everyone I've met out here comments on how the days seem to crawl but the weeks fly by. The flip side, I find myself having tunnel vision.
I have received a BUNCH of care packages from a BUNCH of my incredible friends and family. Seeing your name on a box during mail-call is such a great feeling. It is a blessing on so many levels. You get the feeling like it's a christmas present that you (secretly) expected but were still unsure of it coming to fruition. I ask for breakfast snacks and I get Honey Buns. Are you kidding me?! I LOVE HONEY BUNS! I ask for microwavable food items and my mom sends me bowls of Chef Boyardee Spaghetti and Meatballs. I don't know if any of you know, but I grew up (and out) on those. My mom always said, "Mike, you're not fat. You're husky." Now THATS a good mom. By the way, thank you, Chef Boyardee, for the hundreds of pounds of Spaghetti and Meatballs that I've consumed in my life. I'm not even close to done.
My wonderful mother-in-law sent me a hand written card on an embossed personalized stationary. It was just a "I like to write instead of type sometimes...I love you and miss you." I don't know that I've ever missed my Mamma-Case so much. I know that the box she sent had awesome snacks and such, but that little letter is what I walked around and showed everybody. Just knowing that she sat down at the counter in the kitchen (taking author's liberties here) and wrote down some words because you missed me, that takes me away from this place.
Scott and Lisa. First and foremost, I tacked the pack of "Justin Bieber FAN-atic" trading cards up on the wall in our breakroom. Well played friends, well played. As for the immaculately packaged brownies, aligned 10 across and 10 down, each individually wrapped in cellophane then placed in a ziplok bag, and laid across the top of a box with care and precision, I had two major observations. The first, Lisa was responsible. I love you, Scott, but that was your wife's work. Second, I had the nagging thought that maybe I should test these before handing them out to everyone because it sure did look a lot like (what I imagine) "special brownies" are packaged like. I didn't test them and once I saw someone eating one while slouched in their chair with only their eyes above the desk, I immediately hid them. Don't worry though, we all sit like that. You know, like we all end up sitting at our work desk.
Mr. and Mrs. Davis. The nerf guns have gotten completely out of control. My in-laws sent me ones that shot 6 nerf-bullets. I was impressed. You somehow managed to find toys that shot something to the effect of 12 nerf-bullets. Then, you sent me two of each. Lets picture this. I, of course, am using the 2 new 12-shooters. David has the itsy-bitsy little pocket nerf gun you sent because he's a "itsy-bitsy pocket nerf gun kind of guy." (Kidding, David!) Jimmy has 2 of the 6 shooters, Kelly has the other 2. For those keeping track, thats 49 individual nerf-bullets in the air or impacting faces at any given time. Needless to say, nerf guns have now been banned in the office. Which presents me with a different problem, now I have 7 nerf guns just sitting in my room. "Willpower is the ability to resist temptation until you can be sure no-ones looking." That means I shoot myself often.
Leah and Clint, I just don't know what to say. I really don't. Cake-loaf? Brownie-Cake? All I know, is that the concrete block sized chocolate treat (there were 2) has been submitted to the Guinness Book of World Records for the largest "whatever it's called" in history. People in my office literally dropped to the floor in disbelief. Of course I don't mean literally, but yes, literally. I and everyone in my office are extremely greatful for you guys managing to create such a goliath treat.
I titled this blog "Priorities?" because, I appreciate all of you more than I can express. The packages you send take me home. I picture being at home stacking semi-illegal-looking brownies into the box. I picture myself in the toy section at the store finding the biggest, baddest nerf guns on the market. I picture standing with my wife in the kitchen while she bakes monster brownie/cake/loaf....things. Seriously, what is that thing called? I picture being with my mothers, both of whom I've never missed or loved more than I do right now. I'm sorry that I haven't thanked you all sooner, but work has to be high on my priority list too. I promise that I will do a better job of letting you all know how much I appreciate you.
PS. Chef Boyardee in a microwavable bowl and Honey Buns...This "husky" guy is having good dreams tonight!
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Winter or Spring?
So the warm weather is here. The last week has been in the 50's to 60's. When comparing that to the past month of 30's, 20's, and teens this is practically beach weather. The sun has been out and the clouds have been sparse. Beautiful weather. This is the weather I have been begging for and dreading. This is the weather that makes me feel selfish and selfless all at once. This is the weather that makes me smile and leaves me wanting to cry.
The month of February is the worst month for weather in Afghanistan. We had sub-freezing temperatures for 75% of the time. We had rain anytime it wasn't freezing and snow/sleet the rest of the time. That kind of weather weighs on you. I would open the door to my tent and be greeted by stone grey clouds, howling wind, and cold. Not a great way to start any day. There was no respite from the "under the weather" feeling. In a warzone like Afghanistan, winter means work consists of a lot of boredom. The insurgency isn't fought, from either side sometimes, in weather like that. The insurgents use that time to recruit, and rest. The coalition uses that time to refit, repair, plan, and plan some more. What this translated to, for me, was a lot of inner battles.
I was very close, on several occasions, to calling it quits out here. I wouldn't call it full on depression, but I absolutely hated my situation. I hate being away from my wife. I hated the fact that I couldn't walk out of our building and at least feel some sort of comfort from the sun on my face. I hated that I couldn't really do anything (not literally true, but it felt that way) in regards to fighting the bad guys. I didn't want to go to work, I didn't want to stay in my tent, I didn't want to spend time outside. I am sorry to all of you, but I didn't want to write about it either. My time at my computer was spent in worlds not at all related to the one I was living. I played video games (sorry, Margaret!!), I talked to my wife, and I read the news from back home. I did try to write a blog, though. I rambled on and on about the weather for about 3 paragraphs, then reread it and promptly deleted everything but the first sentence. Then I typed for what felt like hours and completed the first paragraph. That's when I shelved it. The weather was to blame. I told my wife that I just wanted the weather to change. That's all I wanted. I wanted sun and warmth because it would provide ME with enough comfort to get through the days. It's hard to imagine feeling guilty for something like that, but I did and I do.
A week ago the sun came out for good. I've found myself standing outside my office with my bearded face pointed at the sun. The warmth gets held against my skin by the beard and the breeze only hits me in the forehead and eyes. It feels so incredibily good. My attitude has improved tremendously and I have said at least once in the past week that I was confident that I would last a whole year out here. I've had some things go my way at work and so I've been excited to get into the office. I worked several 16 hour days and a 19 hour day. I felt better after those long days than I did for the whole month of February. I love my job. I love being a behind the scenes guy whose responsibility it is to assist the fighters in doing their jobs. It is on my shoulders to sharpen the tips of their spears and ensure that their shields are impenetrable. At least, that's how I picture it. It's that second piece that makes me feel selfish for wanting to feel the sun on my face.
Anyone familiar with the war in Afghanistan has heard of the "Spring Offensive." It is a term used to describe quite a few things. Firstly, it describes the beginning of the war for the new year. Both the coalition and the insurgency ramp up operations and don't let up until the winter comes back around. The coalition implements plans, hatched during the winter, to conduct operations that result in enemies being captured or killed. The insurgency does the exact same thing. Secondly, it describes a time of year. There is an unknown date that we all prepare for out here. It normally falls sometime in March. With it comes sunlight, cool breezes, and warmth. No one knows the exact date, but we all fear it because we know what comes with it.
In my line of work, I am usually one of the first to hear about rocket attacks, IEDs, TICs, and enemy and friendly KIAs. At 7pm everyday we have a meeting with all of the people in my office. The meeting is meant to bring everyone up to speed on what we, as an office, have done for the day. It's very informal and, like most things in the military, methodical. Sam briefs, then Tom, then Katie, then me, then... The phones in the office ring but the meeting goes on. People walk in and out, but the meeting goes on. Two days ago, a soldier was killed near FOB Tillman (where I worked in 2008). I knew as soon as anyone else that he was wounded, but alive. I knew as soon as everyone else that the medical helicopter was on it's way. I knew as soon as everyone else that the fighting was still going on around this soldier. And I knew the moment the soldier died. The meeting paused to allow everyone to utter their pain. "Dammit", "we lost one". Then the meeting moved on.
I hate it out here. I hate being away from my family. I hate that I have to pause at every loud sound. I hate that I live in a tent. I hate that I have to feel guilty for wanting warmth. But I hate that I lost a soldier. I hate the feeling I get when I think of what happens when they announce "blackout". I hate that I haven't done more.
I'm exactly where I want to be, everyone. I'm sacrificing by being out here, but I'm sacrificing nothing in comparison. I'm good at what I do and I'm going to keep doing it because the more I contribute, the less they have to. I'm not depressed. I'm not homesick. I'm steadfast. I'm not looking for support, because I've got all of the help I need from my God and my desire to help these men and women. I wanted to let you all know why I haven't written in so long. I love and miss you all. I will see you all again when my contribution out here is complete.
The month of February is the worst month for weather in Afghanistan. We had sub-freezing temperatures for 75% of the time. We had rain anytime it wasn't freezing and snow/sleet the rest of the time. That kind of weather weighs on you. I would open the door to my tent and be greeted by stone grey clouds, howling wind, and cold. Not a great way to start any day. There was no respite from the "under the weather" feeling. In a warzone like Afghanistan, winter means work consists of a lot of boredom. The insurgency isn't fought, from either side sometimes, in weather like that. The insurgents use that time to recruit, and rest. The coalition uses that time to refit, repair, plan, and plan some more. What this translated to, for me, was a lot of inner battles.
I was very close, on several occasions, to calling it quits out here. I wouldn't call it full on depression, but I absolutely hated my situation. I hate being away from my wife. I hated the fact that I couldn't walk out of our building and at least feel some sort of comfort from the sun on my face. I hated that I couldn't really do anything (not literally true, but it felt that way) in regards to fighting the bad guys. I didn't want to go to work, I didn't want to stay in my tent, I didn't want to spend time outside. I am sorry to all of you, but I didn't want to write about it either. My time at my computer was spent in worlds not at all related to the one I was living. I played video games (sorry, Margaret!!), I talked to my wife, and I read the news from back home. I did try to write a blog, though. I rambled on and on about the weather for about 3 paragraphs, then reread it and promptly deleted everything but the first sentence. Then I typed for what felt like hours and completed the first paragraph. That's when I shelved it. The weather was to blame. I told my wife that I just wanted the weather to change. That's all I wanted. I wanted sun and warmth because it would provide ME with enough comfort to get through the days. It's hard to imagine feeling guilty for something like that, but I did and I do.
A week ago the sun came out for good. I've found myself standing outside my office with my bearded face pointed at the sun. The warmth gets held against my skin by the beard and the breeze only hits me in the forehead and eyes. It feels so incredibily good. My attitude has improved tremendously and I have said at least once in the past week that I was confident that I would last a whole year out here. I've had some things go my way at work and so I've been excited to get into the office. I worked several 16 hour days and a 19 hour day. I felt better after those long days than I did for the whole month of February. I love my job. I love being a behind the scenes guy whose responsibility it is to assist the fighters in doing their jobs. It is on my shoulders to sharpen the tips of their spears and ensure that their shields are impenetrable. At least, that's how I picture it. It's that second piece that makes me feel selfish for wanting to feel the sun on my face.
Anyone familiar with the war in Afghanistan has heard of the "Spring Offensive." It is a term used to describe quite a few things. Firstly, it describes the beginning of the war for the new year. Both the coalition and the insurgency ramp up operations and don't let up until the winter comes back around. The coalition implements plans, hatched during the winter, to conduct operations that result in enemies being captured or killed. The insurgency does the exact same thing. Secondly, it describes a time of year. There is an unknown date that we all prepare for out here. It normally falls sometime in March. With it comes sunlight, cool breezes, and warmth. No one knows the exact date, but we all fear it because we know what comes with it.
In my line of work, I am usually one of the first to hear about rocket attacks, IEDs, TICs, and enemy and friendly KIAs. At 7pm everyday we have a meeting with all of the people in my office. The meeting is meant to bring everyone up to speed on what we, as an office, have done for the day. It's very informal and, like most things in the military, methodical. Sam briefs, then Tom, then Katie, then me, then... The phones in the office ring but the meeting goes on. People walk in and out, but the meeting goes on. Two days ago, a soldier was killed near FOB Tillman (where I worked in 2008). I knew as soon as anyone else that he was wounded, but alive. I knew as soon as everyone else that the medical helicopter was on it's way. I knew as soon as everyone else that the fighting was still going on around this soldier. And I knew the moment the soldier died. The meeting paused to allow everyone to utter their pain. "Dammit", "we lost one". Then the meeting moved on.
I hate it out here. I hate being away from my family. I hate that I have to pause at every loud sound. I hate that I live in a tent. I hate that I have to feel guilty for wanting warmth. But I hate that I lost a soldier. I hate the feeling I get when I think of what happens when they announce "blackout". I hate that I haven't done more.
I'm exactly where I want to be, everyone. I'm sacrificing by being out here, but I'm sacrificing nothing in comparison. I'm good at what I do and I'm going to keep doing it because the more I contribute, the less they have to. I'm not depressed. I'm not homesick. I'm steadfast. I'm not looking for support, because I've got all of the help I need from my God and my desire to help these men and women. I wanted to let you all know why I haven't written in so long. I love and miss you all. I will see you all again when my contribution out here is complete.
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