Where Did The Time Go?

Have discovered most difficult part of writing a blog: remembering to actually write the blog.

You would think that in four months of unemployment, I would have time to write additional blog posts, and you would be absolutely correct.  However! I have not managed to remember to actually update this poor neglected blog.  Sorry, blog.

In my last post, back in January, I mentioned that I had applied for the dream job. Have since applied for the dream job twice more and finally landed it! Hurrah! Now I just have to wait for the paperwork to get filed, the drug test to be scheduled, and all of the other hoops I need to leap through in order to actually go to work.  Annoying? Mildly.  Worth it? Absolutely.  Further proof that my mother was, in fact, correct when she constantly harangued us with the whole "Patience is a virtue" shtick.  Point one for mom.

In my free time, I have continued to take the Creative Writing class, which I wanted to do during my time as a hold in the Army.  As I mentioned last post, the only class I needed to earn my AA was Creative Writing.  Nothing like a sign from the heavens to make you a little happier about taking a class.  (If you have never taken a Creative Writing class, I highly suggest it.  It has made me a better writer, a better story teller, and taught me how to get those creative juices flowing.)

Speaking of creative juices, once those juices start flowing, it isn't restricted just to writing.  Next thing I know, I'm gardening, I'm making sure my peas are climbing their trellis correctly, I'm starting a gardening Instagram account, I working on my photography skills, I'm looking around the island for things to get involved in... Creative juices are fuel for the body.  This extra pep in my step helped me out drastically.

Getting out of the Army was difficult.  At times, it was flat out painful.  You think you have the next three years planned out, you're going to be moving to the coast, you're never going to have to live with the parental units ever again and BAM!  Suddenly you've got the knees of a forty-year-old, you're back home in the smallest town in the world, you're unemployed, and have no idea what to do.  It's disheartening.  It's miserable.  To be honest, for awhile I was pretty darn content to wallow in my misery and glare at anyone who tried to cheer me up.  I knew that the best way to combat that was to get on a normal sleep schedule and have something to look forward to that would get me out of bed in the morning.
One Saturday morning, I managed to wake up around eight.  Compared to my usual noon-ish wake ups, this was practically a dawn rising for me.  I sat up, looked at the yoga mat in the corner of my room that I had impulse-bought on Amazon a few weeks prior, and decided to actually go to yoga.
Shakti Yoga Studio in Key West is on one of the busier streets, has no parking lot (but plenty of street parking nearby), and doesn't look like much from the outside.  Walk inside, and you're in a little Indian-inspired oasis.  I walked through the doors and felt my stress go down.  I did one class (my second yoga class ever) and promptly purchased a month of unlimited classes.  I was at Shakti three or four times a week, I was sleeping better, and I wasn't wallowed in misery.  I wasn't wallowed in anything.  Finally, after two months of growling at the world, my mind was blissfully calm.
Has yoga been a magic cure?  No.  I still have bad days.  Heck, I have bad weeks.  But I finally know how to combat it.
All of us deal with stress at some point or another.  All of us handle it differently: some work out, some require meds, some just wallow until it lessens.  I can't tell anyone how to handle their stress or how to combat anxiety or depression, but I can say that nothing lasts forever and eventually it will improve.  Maybe not today, maybe not next week or next month, but someday it will get better.  The only thing constant about life is change.  Keep that little hope alive, and you'll make it through.

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

-Emily Dickinson

Until I write again,

Sam

Home Sweet Island

Returned to the island late on the Sunday before Thanksgiving and managed to surprise the daylights out of my parental units, caught of video naturally.  Spent the holidays bouncing around some of the largest cities in the country before returning back to my humble island paradise.  

The dream job has been applied for, but in the meantime I've been spending my days trying to make the most out of unemployment.  Hair care trials, gardening, cooking lessons, smoothie mixes, tea brewing, ruck marching, learning how to actually use my DSLR, volunteering, college applications, redecorating....

If the Army was good for anything, it certainly taught me how little I actually need in my closet.  Purging has been the activity of choice as of recently.  Redecorating has also been a high priority.  Going back to the room I grew up in was not exactly triumphant.  In fact, it felt rather depressing.  No one wants to live at home at 23 when just a few months prior they were convinced they were in a wonderful job and would never have to move home again.  However, I take heart in the fact that this very situation has turned out well for others, like Justin Halpern of the Sh*t My Dad Says fame.  

Spending day after day sleeping in, wearing sweats constantly, and focusing most of my energy on watching every season of The Killing and Sherlock (both of which I most highly recommend if you have any sort of brain and like puzzles), I eventually realized that I felt exactly the same way I had during summer breaks from high school.  About a week ago, I realized that the reason I felt like I was in high school was because I was in a room I decorated in high school.  

Thus, the plan was struck: to make myself feel like a grown-up, I was going to make my room look like that of a grown-up.  Throw pillows and paintings from Ross, candle holders from Pier One, and a coverlet from Amazon got me a new color scheme and breathed life back into my room.  Now I can listen to Ella and Sinatra without having to ignore the stuffed teddy bears and Beanie Babies on my shelf.  Tawdry historical romances with names like "To Seduce a Duke" and "The Highlander's Prize" have been replaced with "What I was Doing While You Were Breeding" and "How to be a Hepburn in a Hilton World".  The nail that once supported my high school project now hangs a golden map of the Western Hemisphere.  Little things that change the look of the room entirely.  Now to figure out what to do with the giant Victorian dollhouse...

Overhauling the room is just the first step.  Next stop is to overhaul the wardrobe.  I've come to notice that the girls' whose styles I often admire most never wear t-shirts.  Ever.  When it's cool, they were cute sweaters and designer flannel and cute tops.  When it's warm they wear flowy tanks and tops and all sorts of delightful summery things, none of which involve the typical t-shirt. So, the next step is to turn all of those t-shirts into a quilt of some sort and replace them with classy outfits.  The goal is to have people envy my style.  Why envy what is so cheap to have?  

Hobbies are the other new addition to my life, in an effort to fill the void left by the constant shenanigans of the Army. After having dozens of minions/siblings filling all of my time, I have found that I need a new way to fill my days.  At the risk of sounding terribly uptight, I spent a decent amount of time yesterday with my family's gardener discussing herbs.  As it turns out, this is the perfect weather to start growing herbs since it's chilly by Florida standards, highs in the low seventies, lows in the mid sixties... The parsley will likely die when it gets warmer, but the basil and mint will soak up as much water and sun as we can give them.  Perfect for pasta and mojitos.  

Nothing like a good college class to burn up the time as well, and as it turns out, the only class I require for my AA turns out to be the one class I wanted to take when I got home: Creative Writing.  That being said, the creative juices have been flowing like Niagara and here is the product of that, along with the two short stories written for class.  If you have never taken a Creative Writing course, I would highly suggest taking one as if brings a little extra umph to your writing.  

Off to buy more basil, mint, and other things that make me feel mature.  

Ciao

Sam

Gone Country

After finally escaping the mountains of Arizona, where better to stretch one's wings than Nashville?  I traveled here with the intention of visiting two very dear friends, but separately, so I find myself having to kill a few hours between check-out from my first hotel and check-in at the next.  After the very sweet front-desk agent at the Club Hotel Nashville near the airport allowed me to store my bags in their closet, I was pondering how to hide out when magically a downtown shuttle arrived, requesting a mere ten-dollar-fare for a round-trip into the heart of Nashville.  The driver suggested a coffee shop on the drive in and the five riders all agreed we should visit.  The first couple, two college aged females who were nursing their hangovers from the night before, were nabbed by the nearby Panera.  The other couple lasted a little while longer before finding themselves in a corner Starbucks.  I alone managed to continue the trek, following the misguided directions of the driver, referring to GoogleMaps, and finally finding the elusive coffee shop: The Frothy Monkey.

If the fun and funky vibe of the place didn't convince me this was the kind of place I'd been hoping to find, the reasonably long line confirmed that the fare was worth the adventure.  Operating on the equivalent of a college student's budget, I was keeping my fingers crossed that this place was more reasonable than the prices I'd seen on street-side menus.  I was not disappointed.  For a mere ten bucks (including tip), I managed to get a Plain Jane (everything bagel, farm fresh eggs, baby swiss and tomato) and a chai latte, plus great conversation in line and free wi-fi.  And really, what is a late breakfast without free wi-fi?

So now, I am ensconced on a barstool, surrounded by a unique blend of people, exposed brick walls, eclectic art, and the self-satisfaction of eating in a place that isn't a Starbucks.  (I am a #whitegirl, I do enjoy my chestnut praline frappucinos, however I do like breaking the trend of overpriced lattes on occasion.)  This also gives me time to think about all that has happened in the last week, namely ending my time in the Army.

To say leaving the Army was bittersweet is an understatement.
Will I miss not being allowed to sit next to a guy without a fraternization complaint being filed?  No.
Will I miss getting yelled at for taking a step while my phone is in hand?  No.
Will I miss having my hair having to be scraped up into a bun daily?  No.
Will I miss waking up at 0400 every morning?  No.

However, there's more to it than that.  I enjoyed going out into the field, I liked shooting guns and "playing army" in field exercises.  I was living every eight-year-old boy's dream: I got to go camping and play paintball and get paid for it.  The biggest thing I had in the Army though was the family.  It's been two days and I already miss giving my "little brothers" a hard time for their most recent infatuation and getting into bullsh*tting competitions with the ones more my age.

Civilians.  I have a new set of pet peeves and this civilian creature embodies ALL of them.  I don't understand how they can move SO slow.  I'm practically running circles around them and that's just my normal walking speed.  Keep in mind that I got the boot for a bum knee and I'm rocking a 25lb assault pack (backpack for you civvies) around town and that statement has even more kick.  Some guy in line was surprised I was carrying something so heavy around town.  Um, excuse me?  My buddies do between four and ten mile rucks with 35lb rucksacks, and that's only in training.  The real army?  Deployments?  That ruck is going to way closer to 90lbs.  This 25lb pup pack ain't nuthin.

Also, how can they be so rude??  Watching people rip the desk agents to shreds at the airport almost made me blow my top.  The beauty of the army is that as a private, you know what it's like to be at the bottom of the foodchain.  I've been a gardener, janitor, laundress, lunch-lady, tent-builder, and any other number of things.

My uncle told me that I am now part of a new fraternity.  I understand the lingo, the jokes, and so much more.  One of my all time favorite films is White Christmas, the singing-dancing film with Bing Crosby and Rosemary Clooney.  Classic.  Well, it is on Netflix and I flipped it on last night for a bit before bed.  At the very beginning, the exiting general directs a staff sergeant to take the "short-cut" back to base with the incoming sergeant, and as they drive away, the captain says "That sergeant will be a private in the morning."  I had never noticed that line before.  I can practically recite this entire film and I missed a joke with is actually quite funny now.  The beauty of the army, amiright?

So, into the civilian world I go.  I'll adapt with time, I know I will, but I will certainly never be the same.  I can't even imagine what it must be like to get out after years of service, after a deployment, after more training... I was only in a year and I'm having this much annoyance with civilians?  Then again my civilian access was almost nil, but still.  *Shudder*

Well, I will sit here and continue to enjoy my Plain Jane and Chai, both recently reordered, and continue to people watch.  Seeing fat people again is still blowing my mind. I was obese in the Army.  I'm considered slim now.  Maybe there will be some perks to returning to the real world.

-Sam

Visit the Frothy Monkey Website!

Because Shiny Buildings are Cool

Chai and Plain Jane *drool*

Irish Lass at Heart

In an effort to improve my mind and body, and being limited in the ability to improve my body thanks to the extremely restrictive profile I am currently on, I have decided to learn.  I've still got a some dead time as a hold to kill, so academic pursuits are the boredom crushers of choice.

Now, most of America is aware that high demand languages include Spanish and Chinese.  So, naturally, I want to learn Gaelic.  Because, reasons.

As an Irish girl by birth with a full blood Irish mother to keep me on the straight and narrow, I have always been fascinated by the Emerald Isle.  Childhood nights spent watching Riverdance and Lord of the Dance specials on PBS started the fire of Irish pride at a young age.  Add to that a best friend who was a tri-state champion in Irish Step Dance and a music major of a mother who loved Celtic music and you have a love of Eire born.  As I grew older, my fascination with Greek Mythology transformed into a love of all mythology, especially the mythology of the Celts.  I can blame some of that fascination on a romance novel series that referenced the Tuatha de Danann, which ignited a love of all things ancient, celtic and magical.

During the college years, much time was spent on Netflix and YouTube.  Watching The Boondock Saints led me to Billy Connolly's comedy skits (which are an absolute gut buster).  Then came the night I heard him talk about Ireland.  He said going to Ireland was like going home.  Something about the island just made you feel like you'd been traveling the world, waiting for this moment, where you are well and truly home.  I understand that completely, having seen photos of the Cliffs of Moher or wee Irish cottages and feeling that pang of homesickness despite never having visited.

Now, the big push behind my desire to understand all things Irish: my father.  Some people have dads who fish for a hobby, or work on cars, or ride motorcycles, or play soccer with the guys.  My father, being the history buff and computer geek he is, studies genealogy as a hobby.  My family tree is extensive, comprehensive, and impresses the shiz out of just about everyone I've shown.  I know in what counties, what cities, my ancestors lived in, how they lived, I even have old photos of some of them.  Recently, Pops was even contacted by a distant relative who lives in Dublin.

And so I've got a hankering to learn the language of my people.  And why not?  It's a fun parlor trick, and I'm friends with one of the few people in this country who is fluent in Gaelic and speaks it regularly with his father.  Learning languages is always easier with a tutor.

The past few posts have spoken of my desire for a grand adventure.  What better adventure than to travel back to the Old Country and study my family history and the mythology of the Celts?

Now if only I had a sudden windfall of cash with which to fund this adventure...

Off to find hidden, rich, recently dead relatives.

-Sam

The End is Near

Finally, after seven months, my time in limbo is at an end.  In a few weeks time, I will once again be free to roam without need of a battle buddy at my side constantly.  I will be allowed to go where I please, when I please, visit my room whenever I like, go to the doctor whenever I like instead of at 0430 in the morning, drive myself places instead of relying on a shuttle that has a different driver each day with their own interpretation of the schedule, drink alcohol, go to bed when I want and not have to worry about doing bed checks, sleep past 0445 on weekdays... People who say transitioning from this is no different than transitioning out of college are full of bull-hooey.
My travel plans for leaving here and for the holidays are already in place with tickets bought, I'll be hitting up a few major cities in the brisk winter weather, get to see my beloved Chicago at Christmastime (my favorite time to be in any major northern city), but most importantly I'll be able to see the friends and family I was unable to see for the past year.

Of course, now that I am out of here, the first thing everyone worries about is getting a job and going back to school.  The popular option in the eyes of the wise elders in my life is that I ought to go to a big wig school in DC or Saint Louis or a city like that, get a degree in Political Science, and go be a brilliant government contractor.  Would that be lucrative? Yes.  Would I likely be good at it?  Yes.  However, I hated government in school.  Hands down least favorite subject.  Is it ironic that I hate studying the very thing I joined to protect, along with the citizens of this great nation?  Yes.  But I find the inner-workings of the American Political System to be tedious and boring.  Sorry.

Thanks to the plethora of articles that cross my Facebook feed daily, I am aware that the modern American woman often has no idea what the f...udge she wants to do with her life until she's about thirty, and that this indecisiveness is perfectly normal.  That doesn't make you feel like any less of an idiot for being completely at a loss as to what you should do with your life.

I've got a helluva college back-up thanks to the GI Bill, I just need to decide what to do.  There are a large number of states who will waive the residency requirements for in-state tuition for Vets, which makes my life that much easier because my lovely GI Bill will pay 100% of in-state tuition costs, so picking a place to study is one problem.  Picking what to study is another issue as well.

I've tried and failed nursing school, and I've tried and ended up broken in the Army.  While neither plan worked out, I did enjoy both of them immensely.  Would becoming an EMT be a good way to join the two?  Possibly.  I also like to travel and love to study languages, so maybe working with a travel agency or a college's study-abroad program would work best with my dreams.  Or maybe I should go to culinary school and enjoy becoming a pastry chef or a sous chef.

This is one of those times where I really just wish an estranged uncle would come out of the blue and give me ten million dollars so I could just travel around and unload some of the wanderlust that has plagued me since last winter.  I just want to get in my trust Subaru and drive as I did the summer of 2013.  Or, better yet, head to Ireland to do some research about the family and the lore of my people.  And party like the Irish girl I am.  Naturally.

At this point, I've decided a couple of things.
One, I will take everything day by day.  Today has enough stress as it is, today does not need the stress of tomorrow or next week to fill it.
Two, I will stand up for the things I want and stop trying to live my life for others.  Family is important, and respecting family is something I value highly, however if living the life your parents dream and dictate for you makes you unhappy, you need to find something that makes you happy.  Your family will get over the "disappointment" and will be happy that you are happy.  That's what family does.
Three, I will stop living so safely.  If the Army taught me anything, it is that something can happen in a moment that can alter your life forever.  You could lose a leg from an IED blast, get shot, die, end up paralyzed, etc.  Granted, my chances to experience IED blasts or getting shot have been greatly reduced thanks to being medically discharged, but the same principles apply in the rest of the world: you never know when you'll end up in a car crash, get diagnosed with cancer, have a heart attack... The world is a dangerous place.  Live the life you want to live while you can.  Don't be on your deathbed, wishing you had climbed more mountains or jumped out of more planes or swam with more sharks.  Sit on that bed and tell your kids and grandkids about the badass life you lived, and how you hope they have such adventures.
Four, I will stop settling.  Find someone that makes you happy, and then hold onto them with all your might.  Someone who brightens your world with a text or a phone call.  I've watched Sleepless in Seattle about a dozen times over the last month and I'm happy to say I've found it.  "I was just taking her hand to help her out of a car, and I knew.  It was like coming home, only to no home I'd ever known.  It was like... magic."

So, now I just wait for the moment I can sign out of the barracks and be free for the first time in nearly a year.

-Sam

Breaking the Silence, and Monotony, With the Possibility of a Grand New Adventure

Few things are as hard to deal with as failure.  Failure when success was so close to being firmly in your grasp (or as firmly as success as ever grasped by twenty-somethings in modern America)?  Talk about a painful punch to the ego and self-belief.  After months of being in limbo, it looks more and more as if this soldier will be a soldier no more.  Now what is a soldier to do when she never got the opportunity to really be a soldier and is about to be kicked out into the cold?  That is the dilemma that I face today.  

There is the safe options of going home to the sunny state of Florida and going to some college that dozens of my high school classmates attended and graduated and continuing on the boring, expected life I had intended when I graduated high school.  There is also the option of moving in with a favorite relative in the midwest and attending a university said relative works at and getting the degree my family feels would be a good fit, plus meeting a smart guy with a bright future while I'm there.  The little rebel inside likes the idea of doing something totally in the opposite direction like attending culinary school in a city I've never been to, or just packing my bags and going to Africa to live with some nuns I know from back in the day for a few months.  

The point of today's post is that I am the typical American twenty-something.  I have no idea what to do.  No driving force to do anything in particular.  I'm not one of the people who wanted to be a doctor from the time they were four with their first Fisher-Price Doctor Kit and have that enviable motivation to go through Med School no matter how difficult it is.  When asked what I wanted to be in first grade, I said I wanted to be a banker model pilot.  All at once.  Banker because my dad was one, model because I liked how beautiful models were and a pilot because I loved Top Gun.  Looking back, I can tell you exactly who inspired each one of my many career aspirations over the past twenty years with the exception of one.  I wanted to own a dude ranch, and I have no idea who... Nevermind.  My best friend went to one one Christmas and I liked the idea.  See? Not a single aspiration that's ever been mine because it's what I want.  I wanted Engineering because the grown ups in my life told me how much money I'd make (I wanted to work in third world countries or for companies to make things run better with Industrial Engineering).  I wanted nursing because it has a solid future and I wanted to work in Africa.  I went for the military because all the people I respect most have a military background and I needed to feel like I could depend on my own strength instead of needing others.  I tested accounting, education, and a few others because people said that's where they always saw me.  The truth is, the only thing I know I want is to travel and to affect people.  

So this is the beginning of my road.  The beginning of trying to figure out what the hell I'm doing.  I know now that figuring out what you want to do for the rest of your life is stupid because no one knows what they want to do forever when they're twenty.  You're going to have a few different careers through your life.  I just need to figure out the next five years.  Who knows, maybe I'll do trade school after trade school and then become a stay at home mom and use my plethora of skills to save money on various household expenses like auto repair, haircuts, massages, fancy meals, etc.  

The dream is to be driving through East Asia or Africa writing a blog about my adventures, but the chances of that happening? Who knows.  All I know is I have a big wide open door in front of me and about thirty different roads to pick from, and one of those annoying friends who is constantly right telling me that I need to do something for me, take a risk, and forge my own path.  

Whelp, here goes nothing...

Philanthropy? Sure, let's try philanthropy.

It's amazing what you can achieve when you have a plethora of time on your hands.  Case and point: found out my battle buddy has family in Arkansas.  They had about 50 tornadoes hit in a 24 hour period over the weekend and his house and most of his town was turned into rubble, he lost friends, family... His town and the surrounding areas are destroyed and the death toll keeps rising.  Some friends in his company gave him a few grand and I decided to help the cause, so my battles and I started a GoFundMe account for him and shared it on Facebook.  $100 so far, we'll see how much can be raised. 

I will tell you right now that the look a person gives you after you give them a wad of cash after they've been living in hell for the last few days?  That's the stuff I live for.  That moment where you realize you've made the world a little better. 

As far as projects go, this one is a lot more productive than the menial tasks I was planning (ultimate trail mix is still in the works, but raising money for a national tragedy takes precedence.)

Off to make the world a better place...

Sam