Serving in the military, especially in combat, is all about personal sacrifice. We serve because we're willing to put someone else's needs before our own. We serve because we are passionate about the people with whom we share this experience. We serve because we are proud to do our nation's work. I feel confident in saying that those things are true about me. Most of the time.
But I can also confidently say that there are times when I invest a lot of time questioning why I have spent 10 years of my life waiting for the many special and rewarding moments I've found in Afghanistan. I've never been patient, but I waited 10 years for this, and yes, it was worth it. I spend even more time questioning whether 6 additional months away from my husband and all of reality is a price I'm willing to pay for the first job I've ever had that I find truly rewarding.
A lot of amazing things have happened this past week. As it turns out, leading a team in combat is just about the best experience I could have imagined, say nothing of the actual work we do. No, we're not shooting at people all day, but I do have the right team with the right vision to make a huge difference. By huge I mean we could leave a lasting, personal impact on 5 - 7 Afghans, which is a significant success story. We're willing to take risks, be creative, and reach out in ways that Americans have not in the past. I know I will leave here with some forever friends. I've already made a few. And I also know that I will embark on some amazing adventures. But can they replace what I'm missing back home?
We went to the firing range this week, and somehow I let the guys on my team challenge me to a shoot-out with our rifles (M-4s), which until a few days ago scared me to death. The key to physical leadership is apparently to be yourself (remember that advice?) because I accepted the challenge, destroyed the targets, and beat the guys at their own game, much to their surprise. It was a good moment. But that adventure wasn't about proving myself at all. Not the way I felt like I had to when I was at training. That adventure was about being comfortable in my own skin, and about leading in my own way. In that moment, I never wanted to leave my job in Afghanistan.
But even after those moments, it's amazing how much I'm still clinging to creature comforts, like any semblance of privacy. I have my own 8' x 10' metal container. That's my only space in the world right now, and today I heard that we're getting roommates. First of all, no. Second of all, no. And third of all, there is no freaking way I am staying here for a year in the world's smallest space shared with another person after knowing what it's like to have it all to myself. No.
Or at least that's my first reaction. Now I'm trying to be rational. So today's difficult decision stems from this new, altered version of the reality that may become my living situation. There are so many sacrifices I am willing to make here, and risks I take without giving them a second thought. I'll be the first one to volunteer to lead a mission to a local orphanage to take books, toys and candy to Afghan children who may never otherwise experience such pleasures. Risky, but rewarding. I'll walk around an Afghan base in civilian clothes because it makes the Afghan women who work there more comfortable. Risky, but rewarding.
But as soon as someone threatens to take away the little oasis into which I have transformed my room, all bets are off. Then I start weighing whether an extra 6 months here is worth the time away from Rob, the time away from traveling, the time away from some of my favorite people in the world who happen to live in Germany, and the many other comforts of home. But are they, those comforts, more important to me than my work here?
I'm not sure yet what the right decision is for me. I know that Julia wants me here, and that I can make a huge difference in her life in 12 months. I know that my team wants me here because I think they share my vision for what we can accomplish here together. But those are other people's opinions. I need to make my own decision on this one, and that today is the struggle within.
But I can also confidently say that there are times when I invest a lot of time questioning why I have spent 10 years of my life waiting for the many special and rewarding moments I've found in Afghanistan. I've never been patient, but I waited 10 years for this, and yes, it was worth it. I spend even more time questioning whether 6 additional months away from my husband and all of reality is a price I'm willing to pay for the first job I've ever had that I find truly rewarding.
A lot of amazing things have happened this past week. As it turns out, leading a team in combat is just about the best experience I could have imagined, say nothing of the actual work we do. No, we're not shooting at people all day, but I do have the right team with the right vision to make a huge difference. By huge I mean we could leave a lasting, personal impact on 5 - 7 Afghans, which is a significant success story. We're willing to take risks, be creative, and reach out in ways that Americans have not in the past. I know I will leave here with some forever friends. I've already made a few. And I also know that I will embark on some amazing adventures. But can they replace what I'm missing back home?
We went to the firing range this week, and somehow I let the guys on my team challenge me to a shoot-out with our rifles (M-4s), which until a few days ago scared me to death. The key to physical leadership is apparently to be yourself (remember that advice?) because I accepted the challenge, destroyed the targets, and beat the guys at their own game, much to their surprise. It was a good moment. But that adventure wasn't about proving myself at all. Not the way I felt like I had to when I was at training. That adventure was about being comfortable in my own skin, and about leading in my own way. In that moment, I never wanted to leave my job in Afghanistan.
But even after those moments, it's amazing how much I'm still clinging to creature comforts, like any semblance of privacy. I have my own 8' x 10' metal container. That's my only space in the world right now, and today I heard that we're getting roommates. First of all, no. Second of all, no. And third of all, there is no freaking way I am staying here for a year in the world's smallest space shared with another person after knowing what it's like to have it all to myself. No.
Or at least that's my first reaction. Now I'm trying to be rational. So today's difficult decision stems from this new, altered version of the reality that may become my living situation. There are so many sacrifices I am willing to make here, and risks I take without giving them a second thought. I'll be the first one to volunteer to lead a mission to a local orphanage to take books, toys and candy to Afghan children who may never otherwise experience such pleasures. Risky, but rewarding. I'll walk around an Afghan base in civilian clothes because it makes the Afghan women who work there more comfortable. Risky, but rewarding.
But as soon as someone threatens to take away the little oasis into which I have transformed my room, all bets are off. Then I start weighing whether an extra 6 months here is worth the time away from Rob, the time away from traveling, the time away from some of my favorite people in the world who happen to live in Germany, and the many other comforts of home. But are they, those comforts, more important to me than my work here?
I'm not sure yet what the right decision is for me. I know that Julia wants me here, and that I can make a huge difference in her life in 12 months. I know that my team wants me here because I think they share my vision for what we can accomplish here together. But those are other people's opinions. I need to make my own decision on this one, and that today is the struggle within.
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