Gazing at the past often means looking through the lens of suffering and loss. Eight years has passed since my divorce, it is impressive how little I have learned through the years. It could be said my life has become a monumental failure, never has it been more apparent than tonight. This was not how I foresaw my life unfolding. I had such high aspirations for myself.
When I wasn’t dreaming of war, I often fantasized about the things I would accomplish. As a fresh-faced private in the Army, I set a series of goals to accomplish. First, I would make Sergeant in three years. Then I would go to Airborne and Air Assault school, Ranger school, and then attempt to join the Special Forces. My end goal was to make Command Sergeant Major and retire from the military with 30 years of service. While in, I wanted to go to college and get a degree in education. I would utilize the Troops-to-Teachers program and would spend the rest of my life molding the minds of the next generation. If all else failed, I would get a civilian contractor job and go back to the Middle East, either way I had a plan and a back-up plan just in case.
Instead, my career was ended shy of ten years, I was diagnosed with epilepsy, and my marriage fell apart. What can I say? When I tear something up, I do it right.
If I have learned anything over these eight years, it is this: I am only successful in being a failure. Anything I touch is doomed to disintegrate into a million pieces. Failed relationships attest to this fact. This is not a plea for pity, it is the result of an introspective look at my life. Sure, I could be gentle in my introspection, but I need to be honest with me about the status of my life.
There are several good things which should not be discarded without mention. I attend a powerful church where the Spirit of God flows freely. It has been my privilege to meet some great people. My military service provided me with the opportunity to travel and see places most people only dream of going. By no means am I complaining my life is unfulfilled. Rather, I am simply stating an assessment of my current state.
At least my dog still loves me. The moment he runs off will be the day I am hopeless. Maybe the next decade will numb the pain completely.
20 October 2019