It Don't Come Easy

There's no doubt in my mind that I am a different person now than I was when I left Germany for Combat Skills Training in Louisiana back in early April. But there's also no doubt in my mind that I've never been more of myself than I am right here in this moment.

My job in Afghanistan demands my full attention for so many reasons, not the least of which is that I lead a team outside the protected gates of Coalition installations almost every day. Lately, it has become increasingly obvious to me that my focus is elsewhere, which is both unsafe and to me unacceptable. So today I pulled Julia aside at the end of the day and admitted to her that I need to focus my attention on my life outside of Afghanistan...and for that reason, I am choosing to return to Germany sometime around the end of the year rather than spend my next seven and a half months here.

As I expected, my admission was instantly met with a flood of tears, both mine and hers. The sweetest part was that she immediatley hugged me and said "ma'am, you cannot cry" (which had the opposite effect), followed shortly thereafter by tears of her own. I taught her a new English word...hypocrite...and we smiled, knowing how lucky we are to share this moment. As our trucks were pulling out of the Afghan base, she sent me a text that said "I canot leave with out you I love you so much." You get the idea.

I can only hope that one day I will find another job as gratifying as the one I have here in Afghanistan. But for right now, I know that the risks of being here in my unfocused state far outweigh any fear of regretting the opportunities I passed up by returning home on my original timeline.

I don't know what shook me, but something has. I don't know if it was the war stories shared by the Army Captain, the scream of fighters departing on combat sorties to Afghan cities, or the vehicle borne improvised explosive device that killed 13 people from my base a few weeks past. Something gave me the gut feeling that no matter what I do out here, I won't ever feel safe. And no matter how much I contribute out here, even to incredible, promising women like Julia, it won't ever be enough to leave the long lasting cultural impact that I so crave.

Julia and I had a touching discussion through our tears this afternoon about how possible it really is for an American woman to impact women in Afghanistan. My cultural sensitivity is not lost on the Afghans with whom I work, and our mutual respect is inspiring. Our Sunday women's meetings are the highlight of my week, but without me, those meetings will not exist, because despite their positive impact on all attendees, they are not a priority to the women here. Interactions and shared stories between the 28 extraordinary military women who work on that Afghan base are rewarding in ways nothing else could be, but without me to facilitate, those interactions will also fade.

Afghan women aren't like American women. They don't have mentors. They are islands. They don't have aspirations for each other. They have aspirations for themselves, and maybe for their daughters. And no matter how long I stay, whether it's six months or a year, I cannot expect to instill my values into these women. That's not reasonable, nor is it my job. My job is to do what I can to inspire them to live up to their full potential, and at the end of the day, I have to trust that they will do what's right for themselves, their daughters, and their country.

And I expect myself to do the same. This is a rewarding experience like nothing I've ever known or even dreamed. But at the end of the day, I have to make the choice that's right for me and my future. Right now my life outside of the warzone deserves more attention than I am able to provide, and once I leave Afghanistan, it's that life that will carry me happily through the rest of my days.

Julia understands. She knows how I value her advice more than anything else in Afghanistan. And her advice today was to follow my heart. And in about seven weeks, it looks like I will follow my heart right back home to Germany.

An American Soldier

The first thing my boss, an Army Colonel, said to me today on Veteran's Day was "why'd it take you so long to get back?" On Monday I flew about 50 miles away to another base to attend to a few work-related items, and I was stranded there until this morning (Friday) because the weather would not cooperate to allow me to fly back to Kabul.

During those four unscheduled days away, I found myself with plenty of time to reflect on Operation Enduring Freedom, what it means to serve in Afghanistan, and what keeps me proudly serving in the Air Force both during peace and during war. For those four days, I experienced what we in the military metaphorically refer to as the "pointy end of the spear." I heard fighter aircraft launching at all hours of the day and night, off to fly combat sorties where I assure you they were not dropping lollipops and love notes on Afghanistan. I guess it never occurred to me that the Coalition contribution to this operation involved anything remotely violent, since my days engaged in the same war are filled with gratifying, personal conversations where I have the incredible opportunity to put a face to the future hope of Afghanistan. Even though we've been surrounded by violence in Kabul recently, I shutter to think how personally responsible I would feel should a family member of one of the Afghans with whom I work have an unexpected date with that pointy Coalition spear.

There was a group of six of us who were stuck together at this other base, and we represented all four services...Army, Air Force, Navy and Marines. We celebrated the Marine Corps birthday together yesterday. We spent 12 hours a day for three days in a row sitting in an aircraft terminal, passing time talking about our experiences in our various branches of the military. Two of the six are in the reserve component of their respective services, and both were involuntarily sent to Afghanistan, arriving here with incredibly positive attitudes in light of challenging circumstances. This really is everyone's war.

It took a few days, but slowly one of the six, an Army Captain, formerly on active duty and now in the reserves, recounted his experiences in Iraq during the surge there in 2006 and 2007. He told us the stories of three of his Soldiers from his company who lost their lives in the pursuit of freedom there, and the horrible nightmares he still suffers as a result of those painful losses. As he shared his memories, we could feel the wife of one of his Soldiers smack her palm across his cheek, holding him personally responsible for the improvised explosive device that detonated under their Bradley Fighting Vehicle and burned him to death.

The Army Captain is my age...32...and he has war stories that would rival those of generations past who bravely fought in the trenches of World War I, on the beaches in World War II, on the forgotten soil of Korea and in the jungles of Vietnam. He understands what it's like to be on the pointy end of an engagement. He can hear gunshots when he sleeps, and he is then awoken, haunted by the gruesome memory of feeling one of his Soldiers take his last breath and die in his arms.

That violence is not the war I'm fighting here, and until this past week, that was nothing like the war I imagined anyone was fighting in Afghanistan or elsewhere. Private Ryan's war was not my war. I should say that is not my war, and quite frankly, a war full of firefights drenched in the smell of death is not why I've chosen to dedicate a third of my lifetime so far in service to my country.

On Veteran's Day I am proud of people like the Army Captain, and so many generations of brave Americans before him, whose personalities seem to me to be perfectly suited to physically fight for what our country asked them to do. And I'm honest enough to say that there's another set of brave American warriors who entered those same warzones, and whose mission was to fight in other ways...to cultivate democracy and well-being for populations in need. This deployment has been a poignant reminder that the pointy end of the spear is far less effective when we undervalue of the dull human-based end of the spear. Blinded by the passion of battle, it's all too easy to forget that in order to maximize our effectiveness in developing nations like Afghanistan, we need both amazing warriors like the Army Captain and non-tactical people like me whose primary mission is to foster good relations.

We all serve for different reasons, and that diversity is part of the strength of the American armed forces. Perhaps like many others, my reasons for serving have changed over time. But at the end of the day, I go to sleep knowing that while my chosen profession can be dangerous and at times daunting, it is also rewarding in ways no other profession could ever be. And that is why I serve on Veteran's Day and will continue to serve for many Veteran's Days to come. Because being a part of this is infinitely more rewarding to me than being a part of anything else.


                                                                                 "This is the happy Warrior; this is He
                                                                                  That every Man in arms should wish to be."
                                                                                     
                                                                                     -- William Wordsworth "The Happy Warrior"

Break on Through

"In the name of Allah, my topic today is Women's Rights..."
                                                    -- Julia (the bravest woman in Afghanistan)

Julia is approaching the end of her first semester at the Kardan Institute of Higher Learning, the best English-language school in Kabul. Yesterday was her third day of exams. Her assignment: give a 10 minute oral presentation in English on a topic of her choice to her 30 classmates. She wanted to practice her presentation with me, and I tried in vane to disguise my look of astonishment at her selected topic (which I did not influence in any way!)

I spend five days a week with this incredible woman, and by now I've figured out how to read her non-verbal cues. I know when our conversation is about to get serious. First, she'll walk toward my office, peeping cautiously through the door. Then she'll place her two hands in a V on the corner of my desk, lean forward toward me just a tiny little bit and with her head tilted ever so slightly she'll ask "Ma'am, do you have time to talk?"

It's impossible to resist - I don't even try. And I know things are really getting serious when she then spins around, pushes the door closed, and pulls a chair up next to me. Then I watch her let her scarf slide down her beautiful brown hair until it's resting gently on the back of her neck. The whole process takes maybe three minutes, and it's captivating simple, yet incredibly complex. For the next 90 minutes, she looked directly into my eyes and told me why she thinks women have so few rights in her country.

"Ma'am, the biggest problem here is that women are shy."

Julia and I are alike in ways that Eastern and Western girls rarely are - we're spunky, unafraid to speak our minds, and we embrace challenges...particularly those that deter others. Her worldview is unexpectedly profound given her life's circumstances. Despite the many challenges she's faced, she understands that the the cultural notion of shyness is a fundamental barrier to women's rights in Afghanistan. That shyness manifests itself here as subservience. From the day they are born, Afghan women tend to be reminded of the many things they can't do (true or not) based solely on their gender. As she explains it, Afghan girls learn subservience the way children pick up their native language...they've constantly exposed to it, and then one day, they naturally adopt the role. The notion of "shy" in this case is really Afghan girls internalizing the can'ts, don'ts and won'ts and training themselves to live up to those low expectations without rocking the boat...all while never questioning (male) authority.

"We need to stop being shy. And it doesn't mean we fight with someone. We will fight by improving ourselves by good education."

That one stopped me dead in my tracks. When Julia returned to her family after her divorce (at age 17), she had to convince her father that the only way she could guarantee a better future for her daughter is if he would allow her to get an education. She'd been taken out of school at age 14 to be engaged. It's almost impossible to say no to Julia...she's charmingly persistent, remarkably composed, and absolutely gorgeous. She worked on her father for a few weeks until he finally relented. When I asked her whether she thought other Afghan girls could be equally fearless, she couldn't answer definitively. I'm sure they can, but I'm much less sure whether they are willing.

We didn't have time to get to the part of the conversation where Julia offered solutions to the lack of women's rights in Afghanistan, but I'm sure she has then, in due time we'll get there.

As she left for the afternoon, heading to Kardan to give her presentation, I asked her to call me when she was done to tell me how it went.

My phone didn't ring until this morning, and on the other end of the line was Julia, bubbling over with enthusiasm.

"Ma'am," she started, as she always does. "Good morning! How are you? How's your husband?"


"He's well. I got to see him and talk to him for two hours last night on the computer. It was perfect. How's your daughter?"

"She's good. She misses you." And of course, I miss her daughter terribly as well. I got to meet her a few weeks ago, and we spent 6 hours together blowing bubbles, playing soccer, and figuring out how to communicate when we don't have a language in common. It comes as no surprise that her daughter is stunning in every possible way.

"Julia, you have to tell me about your exam. How did it go?"


"Ma'am, I forgot to call you last night. It was good. It was so good."

I was glowing, I'm sure of it. And really, I don't think she has any idea just how good it was. Or how brave she is. And that makes me love and respect her even more. She's going to break through for sure, and I can only hope that she inspires other Afghan women to do the same.

We'll Meet Again

Today I pulled my weapon out of the holster for the first time. There was a loud bang in a big public space and next thing I knew, I had pushed Julia behind me, drawn my M9, pointed it at the floor and was carefully assessing the commotion about 50 feet in front of me. I knew the sound I'd heard wasn't a gunshot, but a deafening BANG followed by the sheer pandemonium of about 300 Afghans scrambling around trying to figure out what just happened when I was the only American in the room kept me on my toes.

I guess I always thought I'd be terrified when one of my weapons went from accessory to self-protection device, but it wasn't like that at all. Today the Army's 10-week training plan in the armpit of Louisiana paid huge dividends. My body and my brain know how to respond in a dangerous situation without even a second of hesitation. My adrenaline, on the other hand, is still in the early stages of maturation. I was a little more jittery than I would like to admit for the rest of the day.

As it turned out, I pulled my weapon (aimed at the floor and never flipped to fire) on a gigantic tray full of 20-odd metal soup bowls crashing onto a concrete floor, amidst significant yelling (in Dari) in a cafeteria full of about 300 men and maybe 15 women. Given the events of the past week in Kabul, I have zero regrets. I did the right thing. I thought someone might be trying to hurt me (and Julia) and I was mentally and physically prepared to respond if necessary.

A response wasn't necessary today, and thank God for that. I was significantly rattled, I'd already gone running this morning (standard stress relief), it was about 4pm in Afghanistan (best Stateside mentors still sleeping)...and my instinct to seek a human connection comes as a surprise to absolutely no one.

Writing off the entire country of Afghanistan is all too easy this week, but if I did that, I could never forgive myself. So to counter that temptation, I walked to my favorite shop, run by an Afghan man might be 28 years old, just to say hello and remind myself (again) that the East and West have humanity in common.

We sat down together over a cup of tea for at least 45 minutes, and lingering over tea somehow made him feel comfortable enough to share his life story with me. He's been working 7 days a week since he was 8 years old. His family, like so many others, left Afghanistan for 15 years during the Taliban rule. He supports his parents and two younger siblings by selling handicrafts created by widowed women in downtown Kabul. For every $10 in merchandise he sells, he takes home 50 cents. It was the most heartfelt conversation I've had yet - he is just so human. He wanted me to understand what it feels like to be poor in Afghanistan with little hope for his own future, and I wanted to listen.

He sees himself in the children who desperately sell trinkets along the Kabul streets to pay for food for their families...that was him, many years ago...and those memories flooded his eyes with tears as the words tumbled from his mouth in amazingly eloquent English. It was touching, and the perfect peaceful contradiction to the afternoon's chaotic events.

On days like today, it's easy to remember why I'm here, and why my mission here is so important to me that I am willing to put my comfortable American reality on hold for another eight months for people I don't yet know and for a culture I'm just beginning to understand. People talk to me. People trust me. And through my conversations with people, I will leave a mark that to me is worth every dicey cafeteria lunch, every menacing drive down the streets of Kabul, and every remarkable opportunity to share tea and a great conversation with another human being.

I've never been in more danger than I am right now, nor have I ever felt more alive. And in this moment, I cannot imagine my life any other way.

World on Fire

I know that I'm American. There's never a doubt in my mind, nor are there a lack of reminders while I'm out here proudly wearing an American flag on my right shoulder everywhere I go. And even though many days out here feel like Groundhog Day, sometimes the sacrifices we make to support Afghanistan make perfect sense...other days, the sacrifices the insurgents force us to make for our countries feel overwhelming.

I've been working on a blog about the trip I led to the orphanage 10 days ago...the orphanage that is probably 100 meters from where the vehicle-borne IED killed way too many innocent people this past Saturday. I led 13 people (my own team and people from three other teams) to the other side of Kabul where we delivered shoes, blankets, clothes and medical supplies to the 200-odd children who call that place home.

Orphanages here aren't like the ones we know in the States...here they are more like boarding schools. Afghanistan's violent history has created an entire culture of female war widows, whose dead husbands have left behind 6 or 7 children, no money, no home and no viable future. A majority of the Afghan population has no savings, no bank account and no concept of insurance of any type...so places like the orphanage we visited become a form of social insurance for Afghan families (particularly women) in need.

We hyped the kids up on Pixi Stix, Fun Dip and Dum Dums, played a quick game of soccer, drank some tea with the principal of all Kabul-area public orphanages, scooted right out of their home, donned our protective gear and re-entered the city streets. Almost fearlessly, which in retrospect seems insane...but out here, we can't live our lives in the rearview mirror.

It's a strange collection of things that keeps me human out here. Finding similarities that transcend Eastern and Western cultures is certainly one of them. Last week, during our visit to the orphanage, it was easy to bridge the gap between the East and West...we humans have so much in common.

Today, on the first day we've been officially authorized to interact with the world following Saturday's attack, that gap seems insurmountable. I'm trying hard to remind myself of the hundreds of thousands of genuinely good people who live in Afghanistan and of the great dreams they have for their children's future. These parents want to see their country succeed. Independently. But incredibly terrible, wildly dangerous people also live here...and they're lurking, awaiting targets of opportunity, and seeking to do harm to those of us here to help the Afghans rebuild their country.

In a few more days there will be a memorial for the many people from my base who lost their lives this past weekend. And I can only hope that when I stand in the main square to pay my respects, I can imagine the faces of the beautiful children at the orphanage and I can focus on the hopes and dreams of the Afghan parents...and not focus on the very evil people who hope to continue to force the Coalition to make the ultimate, untimely sacrifice.

Another Day in Paradise

Today is a tough day in Kabul. I'm fine. My team is fine. Others from the base where I am stationed were not so lucky. The attack happened almost directly across the street from the orphanage where we've done two humanitarian aid drops, including one about 10 days ago. Now, I understand this whole matter of fate, and I get that when my number comes up, it's time. A vehicle full of 1,500 pounds of explosives will quickly change a bright sunny day into one we will not soon forget. And it did exactly that yesterday.

But out here it's all too easy to forget that we're at war. I spend my days with a beautiful, brave young Afghan woman talking about problems that could occur anywhere in the world...women's equality, human resources concerns, training agendas, and complicated families. The ride to and from work is harrowing at best. Once we arrive, we walk around with two loaded weapons and pretend, to some avail, for just a few hours to be human.

We're all in some kind of stupor today. The command has turned off our phone and internet services on base, awaiting notification of the families of those we lost yesterday. It's an isolating feeling unlike anything I've experienced since I've been here.

Right now I'm sitting on the Afghan base where I work, using the USB internet stick that one of our interpreters helped me buy a few weeks ago. Sadly that USB stick also doesn't work on the base. I want to hear a familiar voice or see a familiar face. The voice or face of someone who is not in Afghanistan. But right now, that's just not possible.

And I guess it's only fair. Across many oceans, there are more than a dozen families who are receiving the ultimate bad news. And in the grand scheme of things, knowing at least that everyone I love is safe is worth the feeling of isolation out here for a few more days.

I Feel Numb

I am officially in a funk. It's Groundhog Day. Wake up. Brush my teeth. Eat one Fig Newton. Go for a run. Come back to my room. Put on a PT jacket (to hide the fact that I'm sweating, which is prohibited in the DFAC). Grab a weapon. Hustle to the DFAC. Get breakfast to go. Return to my room. Walk to the shower. Eat breakfast while I'm getting ready for work. Walk to the trucks.

Convoy through Kabul. Arrive at work. Drink tea and have meetings. Convoy back to our base. Waste an hour or two wondering when it's time to eat dinner. Eat dinner. Shower. Talk to Rob. Watch one 42-minute TV show. Go to sleep.

Wake up. Repeat. Again. And again. And again. The weather doesn't really change. The meetings don't really change. And the feeling of lack of progress doesn't really change. The only thing that changes is that I tend to watch a different TV show most nights (Parenthood, Grey's Anatomy, The Good Wife and Glee are the current favorites).

It's easy to catch a case of complacency under these circumstances, and complacency is the most lethal disease any of us can contract out here. I'm fighting it. Or trying. But that's harder than it sounds.

Driving to work feels a lot like playing a video game, especially lately. It's easy to imagine that we're safely buckled into an amusement park ride and that nothing can hurt us because, well, nothing has for a very long time. And when things keep going right, it's equally easy not to worry about how we'd respond if things went wrong. I'm about to become wildly unpopular because I'm about to simulate things going wrong...twice a week...at unexpected places and times.

The Army calls this simulated combat phenomenon "Battle Drills." It's a perfect concept...pretend you're reacting to an emergency before you are actually in an emergency. Watch how people respond so that we know how people may act in an actual scenario.

Here's the part that will blow your mind. Out here it's easy to forget we're in a combat zone...we hear the same intelligence reports every day, listen to the same warnings, wake up in the same city, roll along the same roads...and we just have to think that everything will be okay. And we do that because that's the only way to make it through the days...and weeks...and months. And because if we actually thought every day about all of the threats out here, we'd probably never get out of bed.

So starting tomorrow, I'm shaking things up...again. Sure, that's going to be scary for all of us (even me). But in the end, when my job is to get myself and my entire team back to our families safely, it's important to wish for the best and to prepare for anything.