It’s been exactly a month since I left. And it took the entire month to try and figure out why I’m doing this.
The war broke me, tried to mold me, and left me still straggling for my pieces. The public never shied their eyes away from me, and I did not feel comfortable with the undeserving attention. Prior to the war I was a stubborn idiot. But at least I was sure. Now I was more than merely imperfect. I was broken.
I didn’t do anything important. I was an admin specialist, supporting postal operations in the Middle East and Africa. Sure I did some things that I am proud of. But the achievements pale in relative comparison in repect to others that bore the uniform. I didn’t fight valiantly, never got shot at, never had to return fire, and never lost a good friend in battle. And that’s what people expected my experience to have been. But rather, I’ve been shattered not by the bullets of the enemy whizzing by my ears, but by the boredom of the never ending desert, the frustration of the militant bureacracy, and the constant fear of the unknown future.
So when I returned and I received undeserving attention and respect for an accomplishment that I never volunteered to do, it made me become more secluded. The more public wanted to hear from me, the more I wanted to shrink into a little ball and disappear. I wasn’t accomplished, at least not in terms of my own initiative or in relation to others in war, and I was nowhere near ready to be in front of the public eye. I withdrew from the civilization. I paid much more attention to those around me, and was continuously afraid of commitment. I was scared of someone out there finally making the proper judgement of my time overseas, of my real accomplishment: nothing. And it finally happened after 2.5 years, in Vancouver. I was shocked, but I was also very thankful.
But at the same time, I wasn’t just representing myself. I was representing those I did go to war with, those who did have to return fire, those who wore the same uniform as me. Those who didn’t have the luxury of coming back and making the decision of continuing a particular civil life. So I needed to appear confident, competent, and comfortable. Along the way, I tried to solidify some friendships while breaking down the rest. The internal strife of maintaining my sanity while representing anyone but me continued throughout my 3 years in college.
That is why I continuously grew impatient. I couldn’t wait to prove myself in another arena. An arena of choice, an arena of competition, an arena where I would be judged by my conduct and its contributions, not by mere knowledge of my title, position, or circumstance. I needed that chance, and I wouldn’t confront a proper means of it until the end of my college years.
And so it was in my Junior year in College that I began to think about my post academic life. What will it look like? Here, I had almost unlimited options. I could do anything I wanted. And yet, it was something very unknown to me; I’ve never had that kind of freedom before. Money would no longer be a top issue. It would be preceded by options that I seek and those that are presented to me, and the choices I make henceforth. Here, I had the real opportunity to truly be disctinct and to become worthy, if the public decides is appropriate, of attention and respect.
I’ve always said that I never had a summer vacation in the past 8 years of my life. Since the summer of my Freshman year in High School, I’ve always been involved with summer school, the army, or work. I’ve been worn out by the never ending commitment and effort. However, it was the final summer so strategically timed to procede my academic career and to precede my professional career that offered me the first and only opportunity to do whatever I wished to do.
And so what would I choose to do at this point in my life? 1) I could do absolutely nothing. I could overstay my welcome at my mother’s house for a few months. This particular option was very appealing. It was cheap, it was easy, and it would give me time to pursue my newfound passion for music and to reorganize my life before starting another. 2) I could go to Europe. My brother’s in Europe, and it would have been easier to go where at least I knew someone. It would be harder, but it wouldn’t be too hard. I would see a lot of places, experience a lot of things, and meet a lot of people. Everyone in college was planning on doing this, and I could see why. It offered a good combination of new, rejuvenating experiences coupled with a fair amount of logistical challenges.
1) It was too easy. In the past 2 years, I’ve come to admire John F. Kennedy, who strived to do things ‘not because they are easy, but because they are hard.’ Sure it would finally allow me to organize my life, but is that what I really needed? And I also felt, more importantly, that my life until that point couldn’t be organized. Everything was in disarray because of some of the experiences I’ve had. I wouldn’t know where to start, and may never get started or finished. Nothing would change the fact that I would still be dealing with the facts of the past. The only difference would be how I chose, during this timeframe of reflection, to fabricate my own past identity.
2) It wouldn’t be easy, but it wouldn’t be that difficult. Sure it’s another continent, but it was still an established civilization. I would experience new things, but they wouldn’t be that much different. And most importantly, it was what everyone else was doing. Here, in light of trying to finally earn my attention and respect by accomplishing something different, I was actually heading deeper into the very thing that I was trying to get away from: the mold of society that encourages mediocrity.
So I chose to drive. For one reason or another, I’ve always loved driving, both legally and illegally. I was at peace when I drove, and I didn’t require much more than a pitstop and some music. I thought, for a while, about driving to New York. It would make a lot of sense. I could even drive through all 48 states, visit one or two notable places in each of those states, and end up in two or three months in the very place that I would be starting a new life.
One day, I must have looked at a map because even that seemed too easy. I would have AAA in case something went wrong with my mode of ambition: my car. Everyone would still understand me, and it posed almost no physical risk. That, and it all looked way, way too short of a ride. The world is a huge place, and the United States was a small part of it. I looked south, towards where the isthmus of Panama joined South America. Now there appeared a challenge. A long drive, do be sure, much longer than that of the continental United States. I would shoot straight down to South America.
I did some thinking and the forseeable challenges started to overwhelm me. I wouldn’t have AAA, and I was no mechanic. It would cost a lot of money, something that was still important at that point in finishing up my academic career. No one would understand me. At around 15000 miles, it would be much, much more longer than the ride across the States, and almost too much so.
As I delved deeper into tackling such an ambition, even more challenges appeared. I would need to somehow get my way out of the Army Reserves for those months of travel. Border crossings are much harder than I thought they would be. Cops were still corrupt, even with the dawn of the 21st century. Medical conditions were dire in some places. It would be the rainy season at the time of my travel through Central America, and it would actually be wintertime if I actually did reach South America. And getting to South America wouldn’t be as easy as driving across: there were no roads through the Darien Gap and I would need to ship my car south. And I didn’t have anyone that I knew even remotely interested in taking this journey with me.
Everyone kept telling me that I’m biting off more than I can chew. And I believed them. I never did quite ever believe I could do this. Sure there were others that had made the journey, but it’s all much easier on a motorcycle (shipping the car down to South America) and when you’re older and have much more in savings. That and people would travel with others, others who almost always knew much more Spanish than I would ever get to know.
Soon, though, this didn’t become a matter of what was possible and what wasn’t. It was more about following an ambition and getting as far as I could. Nothing was going to stop me from starting this journey. I would let my own fate and not the opinions of others decide when and where I stop.