It is no secret or surprise that the worst times to be apart from you significant other is on the holidays. This is hitting me really hard right now. In the 3 years and 3 months that the boy and I have been together, we have missed all four Valentines Days and all four of my birthdays. We have missed three of the four of his birthdays. We did not spend Thanksgiving together until 2011, we did not spend our anniversary together until our 3rd anniversary this year. We have been lucky with Christmas, spending two of the three together, and for that I am very grateful. It is just tough on big days to spend it alone and scared.
It becomes more tough when I have to hear people tell me that they understand when they very obviously do not. Believe me, I have sympathy for your long-distance relationship. I know how much it sucks to be apart on important days, or even on insignificant days where you're just lonely. I have sympathy. But do not tell me you understand unless you live in constant fear that the next day he may be shipped off to war, to miss the next 7+ months of holidays. Do not tell me that you understand when you know exactly when you will see him again. Do not tell me you understand when he is safe and sound at his home, with no more threat to his tomorrow than you and I have. Because a civilian long distance relationship is just not the same as a military one.
I had an interesting conversation with the girlfriend of an Army Reserves soldier the other day. I told her that it sucked that he is missing her prom, but at least he was home quite a bit. She got super defensive. I did not mean it as an argument. It was a fact. And she rattled off a bunch of time periods in the next year that he will be gone and home and then a deployment. Now, when he is deployed, it is NO different than when an active duty service member is deployed. It will suck. It will be scary and lonely and hard. No difference. Between branches, Active, Reserves, or Guard, it will be equally challenging for the ones waiting at home (although I do think job plays a huge role in the way the ones waiting at home cope). However, in this list trying to tell me that her man is gone just as much as mine is she stated that he would be home for three months. Three months! Do you know the last time my boy was home for three months? Four years ago. Before he joined the military. Do you know where her boyfriend goes after a month-long training in Germany? Back to the same town she lives in. Do you know where my boy goes after a month-long training? To a base nine hours away. He used to go back to his base in Germany! Aside from deployments, the longest she ever has to go without seeing him is one month. Aside from deployments, the longest I have been without seeing my boy is seven months. Longer than the average length of deployment in the Air Force.
In this conversation she talked about how he would miss her prom and her graduation and he would be gone for the Fourth of July. Again. I have sympathy, believe me I do, but refer to my previous list. Add to that my high school prom, my high school graduation, every event I have ever participated in that people might come to support me in, band banquets, honor society initiations, and my college graduation. You know what noteworthy event that I have been apart of that my boy has been here for? None.
The message is this: Don't tell someone you understand when you don't. You may be trying to help, but it doesn't help. It is hurtful. It is hurtful to tell someone that you understand what they go through when you have no idea. It minimizes their experience. This blog was long and angry, and for that I apologize, but take this message to every aspect of your life. If you don't understand, have sympathy and empathize with the person, be there and listen and support, but do not tell someone that you understand if you don't.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Friday, January 27, 2012
Nothing Will Ever be the Same Again
It has been nearly 5 months since my boy has returned from his deployment. The time he spent away, the months leading up to it, and even the months since, have changed me in ways I never anticipated. Everyone talks about how deployment and time in war changes the service member. At the extreme end of things there is PTSD, but even if they are not plagued by PTSD, almost all of them are changed in some ways. Usually they have shorter tempers, they are more diligent and observant, they are easy to anger, easy to frighten, withdrawn, suffer from nightmares, feel distant, feel isolated, etc. etc. The list is exhaustive. Everyone talks about these things. They are unfortunate realities of war. But what no one talks about is the lasting effects for those left behind. Everyone knows the family suffers while their loved one is deployed, but no one talks about it lasting past their return. For me, this was not the case. The boy's deployment has changed me in a lot of ways. Many of them for the worst.
Even though the boy is not deployable for a few more months, I find myself constantly anxious about a potential re-deployment. We have no knowledge of another deployment planned. There is no reason he should go again in the next year. But still, every day, I am terrified they are going to send him back. I know they can send him back with only a few days warning. I know it is incredibly unlikely, but it can happen. I find myself worrying about it constantly.
Even though the boy has been back for months, I find myself worrying about him and being scared exactly the same way I was when he was deployed. While I know he is not deployed, I know he is at his base safe and sound, I worry that I will never fully believe that he is safe again. Even when I am with him, holding him in my arms, I feel like he is in danger. I feel like he may be shot at or blown up any minute. I find myself constantly anxious and scared and worried. Always. It is exhausting.
Even though I know the news will not bear my boys name I have to change the channel at the first mention or image of war. Even history documentaries about war. I can't handle them. On campus there is a war memorial in our student union. My boy's best friend is named on that memorial, as he attended this university before joining the military. Before being killed in action in Afghanistan. Even before the addition of his name to the wall, but even more so since then, I cannot walk through that entrance without tearing up. It is too real. Too scary. I never want my boy's name added to that wall. I never want his name added to any wall. He does not belong on a memorial. None of them do. None of them should have died. Ever.
I can't see someone in uniform without being convinced that they are going to deploy. That their loved ones are going to cry every night. That they might be injured. That they might be killed. That if they return, they will never be the same again. That their families' lives will never be the same again. That nothing will ever be the same again. That nothing will ever be beautiful or happy or shiny again. I can't see an American flag without picturing it folded into a triangle, being handed to a spouse, or a parent, or a child. I can't get these images from haunting me. Constantly. I know I need to not think about them, and I've done a lot of things to try to get these images out of my mind, but when I wake up again, when I come home again, when I lie in an empty bed again, when I come back to life, as I inevitably must, the images come flooding back in. Even five months later, these thoughts have not stopped. They have not slowed down. They do not stop when I hold him in my arms. Will they ever stop? I only hope. I am tired of crying.
Even though the boy is not deployable for a few more months, I find myself constantly anxious about a potential re-deployment. We have no knowledge of another deployment planned. There is no reason he should go again in the next year. But still, every day, I am terrified they are going to send him back. I know they can send him back with only a few days warning. I know it is incredibly unlikely, but it can happen. I find myself worrying about it constantly.
Even though the boy has been back for months, I find myself worrying about him and being scared exactly the same way I was when he was deployed. While I know he is not deployed, I know he is at his base safe and sound, I worry that I will never fully believe that he is safe again. Even when I am with him, holding him in my arms, I feel like he is in danger. I feel like he may be shot at or blown up any minute. I find myself constantly anxious and scared and worried. Always. It is exhausting.
Even though I know the news will not bear my boys name I have to change the channel at the first mention or image of war. Even history documentaries about war. I can't handle them. On campus there is a war memorial in our student union. My boy's best friend is named on that memorial, as he attended this university before joining the military. Before being killed in action in Afghanistan. Even before the addition of his name to the wall, but even more so since then, I cannot walk through that entrance without tearing up. It is too real. Too scary. I never want my boy's name added to that wall. I never want his name added to any wall. He does not belong on a memorial. None of them do. None of them should have died. Ever.
I can't see someone in uniform without being convinced that they are going to deploy. That their loved ones are going to cry every night. That they might be injured. That they might be killed. That if they return, they will never be the same again. That their families' lives will never be the same again. That nothing will ever be the same again. That nothing will ever be beautiful or happy or shiny again. I can't see an American flag without picturing it folded into a triangle, being handed to a spouse, or a parent, or a child. I can't get these images from haunting me. Constantly. I know I need to not think about them, and I've done a lot of things to try to get these images out of my mind, but when I wake up again, when I come home again, when I lie in an empty bed again, when I come back to life, as I inevitably must, the images come flooding back in. Even five months later, these thoughts have not stopped. They have not slowed down. They do not stop when I hold him in my arms. Will they ever stop? I only hope. I am tired of crying.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
A Year in Review
I can easily say 2011 was the worst year of my life. I know I had some amazing opportunities in studying abroad and seeing the world, but I also had some of the darkest times of my life. I started off the year by sending my fiance to Afghanistan to do the most dangerous job in the world. Over a quarter of Air Force war casualties do my boy's job. Keep in mind only about 1000 people in the Air Force do it at all. They are a small, tight-knit community of heroes. I dealt with it okay for the first half of the deployment while I was abroad. Then I came home, and everything fell apart. The same day I got back to the States my friend's brother committed suicide. I was stuck in an airport and couldn't be there for her. I got home, there was a funeral, there were tears, and there were times trying to cope. It was hard. It was tragic. Only a few days after his funeral, my boy's best friend was killed in Afghanistan. It was tragic and sad and scary. It made me realize exactly what we were facing. Exactly what could happen. It was hard. I attended his funeral about a week later. It was the first military service I had attended since my grandpa died when I was 10. It was beautiful and tragic and heartbreaking. The worst moment was when his wife broke into tears and had to run out of the reception sobbing. It was so unbelievably sad and my heart broke for her. I was heartbroken and scared and weak. I tried to be there for my boy, but he buried it. He was okay for the remainder of the deployment. I went home for the summer, worked part time, and thought too much. I tried hard to stay strong for the last half of deployment. When the boy finally got back to his base in Germany I let myself feel everything I hadn't felt during his deployment. I fell apart. I had nightmares every night. I cried. I was scared. I finally processed what we had just been through. My boy started processing his friend's death and he fell apart. We were both weak and scared and apart. I could not go see my boy when he got back from Afghanistan because I was starting my third and final year of college. It was very hard for both of us and all we wanted to do was be together, but it wasn't possible.
During my time abroad I remembered a tragedy that had happened to me my first year of college. I had disassociated in the moment, and had buried it until I was in a better place to deal with it. Apparently my mind thought my supposedly stress-free semester abroad was that time. I remembered this terrible thing that happened to me and became scared, stressed, lonely, and weak. It was hard. As soon as I got back to the States I started going to therapy to deal with everything. I decided that I could not continue at school for two more years and decided to switch my academic plan to just a major and a minor, as opposed to the double major I was originally planning. This switch made it possible for me to graduate in three years. I started my final year at school and my boy left Afghanistan. He was finally able to come home in October, making it a total ten months apart. We spent a month together, and took a vacation to Florida over Thanksgiving. It was great. But of course it ended and he had to move to his next base. He found us an apartment and I went out there after Christmas. It was wonderful. It was home. For the first time in nearly a year I felt like I belonged somewhere. I felt safe. I felt at home. It was perfect. But then I had to leave. Yesterday I came back to school for my final semester. It is awful here. It is lonely here. And scary. I can only hope that the next four months fly. I want to be back at home with my boy. I want to be safe again.
There have been so many tragedies, fears, and traumas during 2011. I only hope that 2012 brings better things. Right now the only good thing I can say about 2011 is that I survived it. But at least I can say that.
During my time abroad I remembered a tragedy that had happened to me my first year of college. I had disassociated in the moment, and had buried it until I was in a better place to deal with it. Apparently my mind thought my supposedly stress-free semester abroad was that time. I remembered this terrible thing that happened to me and became scared, stressed, lonely, and weak. It was hard. As soon as I got back to the States I started going to therapy to deal with everything. I decided that I could not continue at school for two more years and decided to switch my academic plan to just a major and a minor, as opposed to the double major I was originally planning. This switch made it possible for me to graduate in three years. I started my final year at school and my boy left Afghanistan. He was finally able to come home in October, making it a total ten months apart. We spent a month together, and took a vacation to Florida over Thanksgiving. It was great. But of course it ended and he had to move to his next base. He found us an apartment and I went out there after Christmas. It was wonderful. It was home. For the first time in nearly a year I felt like I belonged somewhere. I felt safe. I felt at home. It was perfect. But then I had to leave. Yesterday I came back to school for my final semester. It is awful here. It is lonely here. And scary. I can only hope that the next four months fly. I want to be back at home with my boy. I want to be safe again.
There have been so many tragedies, fears, and traumas during 2011. I only hope that 2012 brings better things. Right now the only good thing I can say about 2011 is that I survived it. But at least I can say that.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Big Changes
As I finish packing up for college for what will end up being the final time, I find myself becoming really sad that this isn't the place for me. ISU, as great of a school as it is, was not the right fit for me. I loved my classes and my studies, which is why it took me two years to figure it out, but I do not feel at home there. Nothing I did at school made me feel welcome, accepted, or truly special. It was, in the end, just too big. I could not find a group and fit in. I couldn't find my niche that made everything else not matter. I did not belong. And that's not really a statement about anything I did wrong, anything wrong with the school, or anything wrong with the people. I just chose the wrong school, and didn't figure out for too long. I don't know my professors, I don't know my fellow psychology students, I don't know anyone, really. I don't feel like I can change anything. I do not feel empowered. I feel like a number. And that's not the way anyone wants to feel.
I used to look at the fact that I was going to a big school and think that there were a lot of things I would learn at ISU that I couldn't learn at a small school. Things that would help me later in life. Things like how to guide myself through everything, how to figure it out on my own, how to motivate myself, how to succeed without incentive or outside motivation. And while I think the last one is still true, I also feel like a lot of those things are not good life lessons. When I go to grad school I will not be one in 27,000. I will be one in maybe 10 that that professor is working with. I will have guidance. I will have someone I can turn to for help. And I am not prepared for that. I do not know how to ask the right questions. I do not know how to work closely with professors. I do not know how to do research. I do not know how to communicate. I know how to study and read and occasionally write. When I graduate from grad school, I will not be one in 27,000. I will be a member of a team. I will work closely with other people of equal, higher, or lesser education and experience, and I have no idea how to do any of that. I know how to read and study and write.
In all, I do not feel prepared for life outside of college, and it terrifies and saddens me. If I could go and do it all over, I would have chosen a different school. Do not get me wrong, I have had some great moments at school I have made a few very good friends and many acquaintances at school. Some of them are friends I hope to keep forever. Some of them I know I will not speak to after I walk across the stage this spring.
I am graduating a year early. I am moving on with my life outside of college, and I am going to figure out how to do all of the things I wanted to learn in college that I never did learn. I am going to hopefully pursue AmeriCorps next year, and do something empowering and world-changing. I want to make a difference, something I could never do at school. I feel small and powerless. I feel defeated. And I refuse to put myself again and again back to the same place that makes me feel this way. I keep crying as I am packing because I wasted 3 years of my life at the wrong school. Things could have been so much different, and so much better had I just made a different choice 3 years ago. It may be too late to choose a different school, but it is not too late to change the future. Things will get better and I will change the world.
I used to look at the fact that I was going to a big school and think that there were a lot of things I would learn at ISU that I couldn't learn at a small school. Things that would help me later in life. Things like how to guide myself through everything, how to figure it out on my own, how to motivate myself, how to succeed without incentive or outside motivation. And while I think the last one is still true, I also feel like a lot of those things are not good life lessons. When I go to grad school I will not be one in 27,000. I will be one in maybe 10 that that professor is working with. I will have guidance. I will have someone I can turn to for help. And I am not prepared for that. I do not know how to ask the right questions. I do not know how to work closely with professors. I do not know how to do research. I do not know how to communicate. I know how to study and read and occasionally write. When I graduate from grad school, I will not be one in 27,000. I will be a member of a team. I will work closely with other people of equal, higher, or lesser education and experience, and I have no idea how to do any of that. I know how to read and study and write.
In all, I do not feel prepared for life outside of college, and it terrifies and saddens me. If I could go and do it all over, I would have chosen a different school. Do not get me wrong, I have had some great moments at school I have made a few very good friends and many acquaintances at school. Some of them are friends I hope to keep forever. Some of them I know I will not speak to after I walk across the stage this spring.
I am graduating a year early. I am moving on with my life outside of college, and I am going to figure out how to do all of the things I wanted to learn in college that I never did learn. I am going to hopefully pursue AmeriCorps next year, and do something empowering and world-changing. I want to make a difference, something I could never do at school. I feel small and powerless. I feel defeated. And I refuse to put myself again and again back to the same place that makes me feel this way. I keep crying as I am packing because I wasted 3 years of my life at the wrong school. Things could have been so much different, and so much better had I just made a different choice 3 years ago. It may be too late to choose a different school, but it is not too late to change the future. Things will get better and I will change the world.
Friday, August 12, 2011
College Years
Today I started packing up to move back to college. Really, this first involved unpacking everything from when I moved home in December. As I dove through boxes and papers and grades and photos and letters and tokens of moments spent at college, I couldn't help but sob. Every one of these items was a memento to a time of my life that I am not sharing with my fiance. Every one of these items represents the life I gave up with him to indulge myself in education. Every one of these objects represents the opportunity cost of college. They represent nights held in his arms, and mornings starting off with kisses. They represent coming home from work together and sharing stories of our day as we cuddle on the couch watching the news. They represent hugs, kisses, days, weeks, months, years. They represent the comforts of seeing him every day except for deployments and TDYs.
These are supposed to be the greatest years of my life, but they are the hardest. They are the lost years. They are the years I chose to indulge myself rather than nurture my relationship. They are the years I chose to be selfish. They are the years spent waiting. They are the years spent holding the phone, not holding his hand. College for me will always be a black void of time that I didn't do everything I could have for the one I love. I know it's never too late to change things, but I also know that the boy wants me so much to be in school, and really, I want to be in school too, but I can be in school at any time. He signed a contract and gave his life to the government for 6 years. He can't choose where he lives or when he's home or when he's here or there. I however can choose. And knowing that I have that choice and that I've taken the selfish path for the past 2 years is hard, and even harder when looking at all the memories from those two years. Memories that will always be mine, not ours. Memories that will always be tainted with loneliness and longing. I am having a terrible time getting motivated to go back to school, and getting motivated to study and spend time with friends and be a college student. If I weren't headed to college, I would be headed to Germany, to welcome my boy home from his deployment. I may never know if I'm making the right choice, and I may always be burdened with "what ifs" and the knowledge of what could have been. I just hope I am strong enough to live with the consequences of the life I chose not to give us for now.
These are supposed to be the greatest years of my life, but they are the hardest. They are the lost years. They are the years I chose to indulge myself rather than nurture my relationship. They are the years I chose to be selfish. They are the years spent waiting. They are the years spent holding the phone, not holding his hand. College for me will always be a black void of time that I didn't do everything I could have for the one I love. I know it's never too late to change things, but I also know that the boy wants me so much to be in school, and really, I want to be in school too, but I can be in school at any time. He signed a contract and gave his life to the government for 6 years. He can't choose where he lives or when he's home or when he's here or there. I however can choose. And knowing that I have that choice and that I've taken the selfish path for the past 2 years is hard, and even harder when looking at all the memories from those two years. Memories that will always be mine, not ours. Memories that will always be tainted with loneliness and longing. I am having a terrible time getting motivated to go back to school, and getting motivated to study and spend time with friends and be a college student. If I weren't headed to college, I would be headed to Germany, to welcome my boy home from his deployment. I may never know if I'm making the right choice, and I may always be burdened with "what ifs" and the knowledge of what could have been. I just hope I am strong enough to live with the consequences of the life I chose not to give us for now.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Deployment from my view
I am a member of several online support groups for significant others of military men and women. Most of these groups are general groups, but some are the ones geared toward my fiance's job. I have started gravitating more and more to those groups. I am beginning to get frustratingly upset at everyone else. They don't get it. They don't know what it's like. So here it is, what it's like to be the fiancee of an EOD tech in the military.
First off, an explanation. EOD stands for Explosive Ordinance Disposal. This means that these men and women disarm and render safe IEDs, rockets, bombs, mines, and anything else that can, has, or should have exploded. Often this job is done by robots, but it does also involve going down. Right on the ordinance, and disarming it by hand. Sometimes his job involves going out on the scene after an IED explodes and gathering evidence on it to see who made it. Sometimes it involves looking for large weapon caches. Sometimes it involves conflicts with weapons engineers. Sometimes it involves doing any or all of this while being shot at. Have you seen the Hurt Locker? Don't tell the boy I said this, but that's basically what his job is (but he hates that movie so he'll never say so). Sound like fun? No, I don't think so either. It's considered one of the most dangerous jobs in the world.
So what's it like being the one left behind? Horrible. I'm so damn proud of that boy. Most people could never even think about doing something like what he is doing. But goddamn. It is the scariest thing in the world knowing what he does everyday, and knowing what could happen. Men and women lose their sight, lose their hearing, lose their limbs, and die in this career field every week. I haven't slept without nightmares a single night during this deployment. I forget what it's like not to panic. I get a call from his mother, and I automatically assume it's the worst news. I talk to him as much as I can because I don't know if I'll get tomorrow. I cry every day. I worry more than I thought it was possible to worry. He's only deployed for 6 months, but I guarantee you he is in more danger in those 6 months than most men are who deploy for a year.
My heart bursts with pride for him. He trained for two years to get to this point. He's worked his butt off, and I know he loves his job. He saves people. He disarms these ordinances so that they don't explode, so that they don't kill people, so that others may live. He is without a doubt my biggest hero, and my biggest inspiration. I could never do what he does, and most of us couldn't. He does his job so that others can do theirs. He is a hero. He is astounding. I admire him so much. I wish I had others who understood what this felt like. It's a terrible conflict between missing him terribly and wanting him home, and just being so damn proud and knowing he is saving the world. I love him, and admire him, but damn I want him home.
First off, an explanation. EOD stands for Explosive Ordinance Disposal. This means that these men and women disarm and render safe IEDs, rockets, bombs, mines, and anything else that can, has, or should have exploded. Often this job is done by robots, but it does also involve going down. Right on the ordinance, and disarming it by hand. Sometimes his job involves going out on the scene after an IED explodes and gathering evidence on it to see who made it. Sometimes it involves looking for large weapon caches. Sometimes it involves conflicts with weapons engineers. Sometimes it involves doing any or all of this while being shot at. Have you seen the Hurt Locker? Don't tell the boy I said this, but that's basically what his job is (but he hates that movie so he'll never say so). Sound like fun? No, I don't think so either. It's considered one of the most dangerous jobs in the world.
So what's it like being the one left behind? Horrible. I'm so damn proud of that boy. Most people could never even think about doing something like what he is doing. But goddamn. It is the scariest thing in the world knowing what he does everyday, and knowing what could happen. Men and women lose their sight, lose their hearing, lose their limbs, and die in this career field every week. I haven't slept without nightmares a single night during this deployment. I forget what it's like not to panic. I get a call from his mother, and I automatically assume it's the worst news. I talk to him as much as I can because I don't know if I'll get tomorrow. I cry every day. I worry more than I thought it was possible to worry. He's only deployed for 6 months, but I guarantee you he is in more danger in those 6 months than most men are who deploy for a year.
My heart bursts with pride for him. He trained for two years to get to this point. He's worked his butt off, and I know he loves his job. He saves people. He disarms these ordinances so that they don't explode, so that they don't kill people, so that others may live. He is without a doubt my biggest hero, and my biggest inspiration. I could never do what he does, and most of us couldn't. He does his job so that others can do theirs. He is a hero. He is astounding. I admire him so much. I wish I had others who understood what this felt like. It's a terrible conflict between missing him terribly and wanting him home, and just being so damn proud and knowing he is saving the world. I love him, and admire him, but damn I want him home.
Friday, July 15, 2011
America: A Reflection
I only left America for 4 months. Just four months spent in Spain, but somehow, in just 4 months, when I returned home, America shocked me.
America is intensely, and sometimes blindly, patriotic. Look down every block, you'll see a flag. If there's not one there, there will be the next block. It's intense. Flags flying every few houses, outside most government or city buildings, outside of car lots and restaurants. We fly flags around every corner. And really, what does that flag mean? What does that patriotism mean? From my perspective as an intensely liberal military fiancee, I feel like I am surrounded by definitions of patriotism that involve our military. And really, that's a huge turn off to many of us. I support our troops 100%. I do not support the war. I do not support any war. But I support the men and women in the United States Military. But the definitions of patriotism I hear most often revolve around government and military. And blindly following and supporting. That isn't patriotism. That is being a sheep.
I always find it funny when someone speaks out against the military, the responses of military significant others is always the same: "they are only able to say that because of the freedoms fought for by the military. In other countries they'd be shot." I have to wonder, how many women saying these things have really been abroad. In Spain, I heard people speaking out against their government and military actions every day. England, France, Germany. Almost every developed country has a very vocal and sometimes rather large group of people speaking out against military action. These people are not considered unpatriotic in other countries. Occasionally they are viewed as the most patriotic. They love their country enough to know that they can solve conflicts without war. Now, of course, there are many countries where speaking out against your government and military will get you killed: Iraq, Afghanistan, Iran, China, N Korea, etc. I know that it happens in a lot of under-developed nations. But, if your argument is going to be that in any other country you'd get arrested for speaking out against your military, you need to check out the rest of the world.
I hate that patriotism has become weapon. If you don't support the war, you are unpatriotic. If you speak out against government actions you are unpatriotic. I have heard people say if you do not sit on these party lines you are unpatriotic. Maybe I'm just a big hippie like everyone says I am, but patriotism to me is highly overrated. I do not need to connect myself to an arbitrary land mass. I am connected to the world, as the world is connected to me. My country represents not much more than the laws I follow and the societal norms I grew up with. I feel no strong ties to this land. I feel strong ties to people. But I am tied to all people. I find myself avoiding patriotic language, events, and symbols. Being connected to the military makes this position a hard one to hold. I am constantly being bombarded with patriotic symbolism. I find it hard to balance my ideals with my surroundings. I support the military. But I wish we didn't need it. And I sure don't think that the military has anything to do with patriotism.
I am an American. But more than that, I am a human. I am a world citizen. I am connected to the world.
America is intensely, and sometimes blindly, patriotic. Look down every block, you'll see a flag. If there's not one there, there will be the next block. It's intense. Flags flying every few houses, outside most government or city buildings, outside of car lots and restaurants. We fly flags around every corner. And really, what does that flag mean? What does that patriotism mean? From my perspective as an intensely liberal military fiancee, I feel like I am surrounded by definitions of patriotism that involve our military. And really, that's a huge turn off to many of us. I support our troops 100%. I do not support the war. I do not support any war. But I support the men and women in the United States Military. But the definitions of patriotism I hear most often revolve around government and military. And blindly following and supporting. That isn't patriotism. That is being a sheep.
I always find it funny when someone speaks out against the military, the responses of military significant others is always the same: "they are only able to say that because of the freedoms fought for by the military. In other countries they'd be shot." I have to wonder, how many women saying these things have really been abroad. In Spain, I heard people speaking out against their government and military actions every day. England, France, Germany. Almost every developed country has a very vocal and sometimes rather large group of people speaking out against military action. These people are not considered unpatriotic in other countries. Occasionally they are viewed as the most patriotic. They love their country enough to know that they can solve conflicts without war. Now, of course, there are many countries where speaking out against your government and military will get you killed: Iraq, Afghanistan, Iran, China, N Korea, etc. I know that it happens in a lot of under-developed nations. But, if your argument is going to be that in any other country you'd get arrested for speaking out against your military, you need to check out the rest of the world.
I hate that patriotism has become weapon. If you don't support the war, you are unpatriotic. If you speak out against government actions you are unpatriotic. I have heard people say if you do not sit on these party lines you are unpatriotic. Maybe I'm just a big hippie like everyone says I am, but patriotism to me is highly overrated. I do not need to connect myself to an arbitrary land mass. I am connected to the world, as the world is connected to me. My country represents not much more than the laws I follow and the societal norms I grew up with. I feel no strong ties to this land. I feel strong ties to people. But I am tied to all people. I find myself avoiding patriotic language, events, and symbols. Being connected to the military makes this position a hard one to hold. I am constantly being bombarded with patriotic symbolism. I find it hard to balance my ideals with my surroundings. I support the military. But I wish we didn't need it. And I sure don't think that the military has anything to do with patriotism.
I am an American. But more than that, I am a human. I am a world citizen. I am connected to the world.
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