Struggling Within

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.

Janie's Got a Gun

Two years ago today I had just celebrated my 30th birthday. Rob and I had recently suffered a miscarriage that tried our relationship in ways we could have never imagined. And I was just beginning the most demanding job I've ever had working for a boss who I was fairly certain I would despise because our character flaws were so alike.

One year ago today, I updated my Facebook status message to say this: "Lisa is ready for a new job, please." Rob and I had just moved from a beautiful, very obviously German town into the megatropolis that is the largest American community outside of the United States. I'd just started another new job, this time with a female boss who provided me with daily evidence that she was indeed the devil incarnate. I experienced the closest thing I hope I will ever know to a mental breakdown and the aftermath. And that boss I had one year ago expected to despise had somehow transitioned into one of my closest friends and mentors.

And then there's now. In a lot of ways if feels like someone finally handed me a roadmap and a compass and said "Why don't you take those 32 years of life experience and put them to good use?" In reality, I guess that's quite similar to what really happened ("Here are two guns, a bulletproof vest, and a helmet...go find your way through Afghanistan, and inspire some people along the way, would you?") My roadmap and compass have not been things, but rather people. And experiences. And a few bouts of good old fashioned luck.

It's been ages since I had quality girl time...early April to be exact. That means for the past 5 months I've been around boys nonstop...mostly younger, extremely sweet, and totally...male. They helped me unleash my inner badass, but it's really the amazing girls in my life who have been the litmus test as I've found my way back from what felt like the dark side. And this week there was one girl in particular who reminded me that the transition from girl to badass warrior and back is both possible and, wow, is it ever fun.

I met Jane in San Antonio last November...not even a year ago, and somehow it feels like we've known each other a lifetime. In December we met again, that time in Paris then Berlin as she wove her way through Europe on her annual holiday. We spent Christmas Eve at Bikram Yoga in Berlin (while my husband worked back home), had dinner and wine at my favorite restaurant, and enjoyed hours of conversation in the hotel lounge. She's more like me than any of my other girlfriends in ways that define our personalities...we're adventurous, independent, meticulous, confident, and compassionate (but we pretend to be compassionate only at our own convenience, therefore fooling no one).

Jane spent this past week with me at my base in Afghanistan (she was in training here), and has now headed to her own deployment location elsewhere in the country. She, like me, came from a part of the Air Force where leading convoys isn't normal operating procedure, yet here she is doing it. She, like me, went through Combat Skills Training. And she, like me, will be out here for a year living a life that is at the same time more complex and more simple than anything we've ever known.

Friendships like the one I have with Jane inspire me to do something with my life that matters in ways that are important to me. We have a tremendous connection in the lowest maintenance format you can imagine. In Afghanistan, I'm doing something I truly believe in, and I know that she is, too...that's a big part of why we're here. So even if she and I inspire just a handful of Afghans over the course of a year, we'll call that a successful tour. In my book it's already a successful tour because I go to work every day eager to do my job. To be perfectly honest, I can't remember the last time I felt that way...and now that I know that feeling, there is absolutely no turning back.

They say it's your birthday

As it turns out, deployed birthdays are quite special. I woke up to this text from Julia, sent at 4:30am yesterday morning to make sure she was the very first to send a greeting, which indeed she was:

"Happy birthday to you my sweet friend. I wish this year will be best for you. Wish you all the best. Love you."

Birthdays away from home (and reality) are a great reminder of what, but more accurately who, is really important. Rob and I have a birthday (and Christmas, and anniversary) truce. No presents, just a card and a great adventure where we can create more memories together. It's perfect.

My team here is onto my adventurous spirit, so they planned a trip for my birthday which included spending time at an Afghan kindergarten at the Ministry of Defense, having coffee at the British Cantina, and eating lunch at our favorite dining facility in Kabul. When I opened the truck before our adventure, piles of pink and purple balloons came tumbling out at my feet. Foiled again! Most of the truck is classified, so I can only show you the remaining balloons on the floorboard, but it was just about as sweet as things can be here in Afghanistan.

I spent the day with the people here who make me the happiest, and hearing from friends from all over the world wishing me happy birthday and thanking me for my service, which was touching. If there is only one day to have a Facebook account, it's on a birthday. I'm sure of my favorite people in the world won't mind if I share some of their birthday wishes, not attributed, of course:

"I hope you've had a fabulous birthday and that you remembered to make a bona fide birthday wish...you're never to old to do that!! I'm sure this year is a celebration you won't soon forget!!"

"Happy birthday Lisa! I suppose this will be a very unique birthday for you :) Thanks for your dedication and sacrifice and I hope someone finds you a cake over there!""

"Thank you so much for what you are doing for us and our country, you are a true hero!"

"It's my 6th grade best friend's birthday today. Did I mention she's a badass and serves our country so that I can freely and securely write stupid FB status messages whenever I want, which is obviously the only reason she serves? Love you, Lisa!"

"You. Are. My. Hero."

I'm not a hero. Not by any stretch. But I am here, and happy, and very thankful for the incredible people in my life who helped make yesterday my favorite birthday of all time.

But I'm growing hungry

There's something unique and simple about the advice people give to a friend or loved one in a war zone. In my case, the words of advice seem to come in pairs, beginning with an imperative, and they seem to consistently be the last two words in emails addressed to me in Afghanistan:

Be brave. (Hoss)
Be amazing. (Johnny Cash)
Be yourself. (Rangerboy)
Be alert. (Dad)

My advice to myself and everyone around me is also consistently doled out in the form of an imperative: be human. And this week, it's a culmination of all of that advice from some amazing people in my life that seems to me making all the difference.

Julia called me on Saturday afternoon. We usually work on Saturdays, but during Ramazan, the Afghan base where we work has morning staff meetings all morning and then leaves around noon, so we don't go to work. I hadn't seen her since Wednesday's grand adventure to the Uniform Shop, and the first thing she said was "ma'am, I miss you." She didn't need anything or want anything. Just wanted to say hello. (Be human.)

Yesterday I was in a meeting with one of the male Afghan Colonels I advise, and the conversation went a way I wasn't expecting. We were talking about all kinds of professional things, and he apologized once again that he couldn't offer me the traditional Afghan tea on account of it being Ramazan. He then mentioned that he had only 9 days of fasting left before the celebration at the end of the month. And of course from there he suggested that I, the American girl, could survive even a day of the Ramazan fast.

I took that as a challenge, and an opportunity to better appreciate Afghan life during this holy celebration. (Be brave.) Early this morning I went to eat my last meal (at about half past midnight) and between then and 7pm this evening fasting prohibited me from eating or drinking anything, including water (though I did brush my teeth this morning, which is probably against the rules somehow). Honestly, it was a much more interesting and zen-like experience than I had imagined.

There is a huge segment of the Muslim population here who participates in the fast (though no one can even guesstimate a number), so I had plenty of company in experiencing my hunger pangs, though we don't share a similar language or culture. And second, wow, our interpreters told us that Ramazan gives them a feeling of tranquility and cleansing, but I really had no idea until I tried it (for one day...which I think may be my limit).

From the time I woke up at about 7am until the time we left work around noon, I didn't really notice that anything was missing, and I mysteriously never experienced the wild mood swings that usually correspond with several hours of not eating. I got back to my room at about 1pm and my mind just somehow felt sharper than usual. I breezed through a bunch of work tasks, created a great going away certificate for someone who departs tomorrow (while indulging in my in-room spa to include a facial and painting my toenails), watched two TV shows, then just relaxed and waited for the clock to strike seven. (Be yourself).

My Ramazan fast gave me more introspection and clarity of mind than I've had in years. Maybe more like a decade. And the zen moments came as a direct result of my conscious effort not to overexert myself today, because frankly, August in Afghanistan is hot. No food and water for almost 19 hours can be dangerous if not executed carefully. So I was careful...much moreso than usual. (Be alert).

I can't say that my dining facility meal of grilled chicken, rice, and Afghan-style vegetables was worth waiting for, but knowing that my body is capable of handling that type of stress was a good reassurance that I can handle much more than I give myself credit for. In a way, I followed everyone's two great words of advice...which will be most helpful now that I have a new role as the team leader for a multi-service team that travels outside-the-wire almost every single day. Didn't see that coming!

And while growing hungry was initially a way to demonstrate my respect of the culture to my Afghan counterpart, it turned out in the end to be one of my favorite, most peaceful experiences in Afghanistan yet.

She's Got a Way About Her

How's this for a declaration you weren't expecting...I'm not much of a traditionalist. And this week in particular I've been flexing my creativity in ways that may appear to the average, rational human being to be slightly off the charts. But for me, it's, well, par for the course.

I wore civilian clothes at work on Monday. I wonder how many American military women have tried that here. I'm guessing not many (mostly because the average boss would not allow it.) There are about 20 Afghan women who work for the Afghan National Army as officers, NCOs, or civilians at our Afghan base. They all tell me that they feel unsafe walking around the base in a uniform. So I made an agreement with them...once a week I will wear civilian clothes at work for all of my meetings, and once a week they will all wear their uniforms and we will be military women together in uniform. We'll start by staying inside the Women's Center on uniform day (which begins for them in September), but in a few months, I hope to transition that to conducting military skills training outside our little safe zone. The reactions I received to my much more feminine attire were well beyond anything I could have imagined. I shocked people. It worked! And this is only week one.

Speaking of learning and building skills, that's been a large focus for me for the past 7 days, as I embraced the very different roles women play in this country. My inspiration started around this time last week when I realized that it was my interpreter's 22nd birthday, and that I wanted to invest in her future rather than just handing her the answer in the form of some gift, like so many Americans have done here for the past 10 years. I reached out to my closest friends, and we raised about $900 (in $50 dollar donations) to help send Julia to the best English class in Kabul and to buy her very first computer. Seeing the tears in her eyes when I told her about her birthday present was the most incredible feeling I've had here...yet (and she doesn't even know about the computer!)

The culmination came yesterday when I somehow convinced the guys to take me to the Afghan National Army's Uniform Shop. Here about 130 women tailor make the dress uniforms for Afghan soldiers all over the country. The factory was incredible, full of Turkish-donated sewing machines and of women who have lost their husbands as a result of the violence in this country. They earn $65 a month. On the same compound was a daycare for their children. When I visited, about 20 adorable Afghan children welcomed me by singing a beautiful song (of which I did not understand a single word...but it was still touching enough to make me get a little teary.) It was a great reminder that I am human and lucky to be experiencing these special moments.

Rob also lives in Afghanistan now, and the extraordinary differences between our two deployments to the same country are not lost on me. Rob's base is entirely focused on the warfighting portion of the Coalition's mission in Afghanistan. They go hunt and kill bad guys, and track the bad guys as they attack the Coalition forces. He will never leave his base. As we say on our outreach and educate side of the mission, for every bad guy the Coalition stops, at least 10 more are inspired to start hating us.

So here I am on the other side of that mission, playing "Hug an Afghan" to his "Find a bad guy." Somehow the Air Force got this exactly right...send me on the peacekeeping and relationship building part of the mission, and have Rob help with that "pointy end of the spear" mission.

Brace yourself...I have just volunteered to stay for a year, working with amazing women like the ones you see in this post, and the ones you can find here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/roblisameehan/sets/72157627462493800/. No, it's not final yet, and maybe it won't be, but Rob and I agree that staying here is the right thing for me for a million reasons.

But the biggest reason is that building relationships takes time...much more time than 6 months, and that's the part the Americans have been so wrong about for so long. Some of the relationships I'm building here are worth cultivating for a bit longer, and I'd like to think I'm just the right person to give things a bit of a shake. I think my father described it better than anyone in saying that someone who is capable of building relationships can really get things done here. And yes, I do believe I have that way about me, and I fully intend to leave here feeling like I made a lasting difference in my own little way.

And We Will All Go Down Together

August 6th, 2011 was the deadliest day for American forces in Afghanistan in our 10 years of being stationed in this country. A Chinook carrying twenty-two U.S. Navy SEALs, three U.S. Air Force special operations ground controllers, five U.S. Army helicopter crew members, seven Afghan National Army commandos and a translator was shot out of the sky in a province not far south of where I live. And this may defy logic, but those of us living here on our forward operating base did not publicly acknowledge the loss of those brave soldiers.

It's not that we don't care. In fact, it's the complete opposite. It's that we care all too much, and if we spent our every moment (or really any moment, when you get right down to it) thinking about how dangerous our jobs are out here, we'd never be able to leave our rooms. We've all silently prayed for their families, hugged our friends, and been thankful that there are people in this world who are willing to make the ultimate sacrifice to perform a mission they believe in.

Just before I went to Fort Polk for training in April, I was lucky enough to be among the very few who have seen the extraordinary operation at the the Air Force Mortuary Affairs Operations Center located in Dover, Delaware. This past week has brought back a flood of emotions, memories and incredible moments from that experience which brought me some peace during an otherwise difficult week.

If you haven't watched the movie Taking Chance with Kevin Bacon and you really want to appreciate the unimaginable love and commitment our military provides for the fallen and families of the fallen, grab a huge box of Kleenex and watch away. The multiply the realism in the movie by about fifty percent, and that's the average day at Dover. As if there is anything average, normal or even comprehensible about the men and women who work there whose mission in life is to return America's heroes to their families with the dignity and honor they have so earned.

I spent two full days at Dover, watching every step of the arduous and incredibly important process of receiving flag draped transfer cases as they arrived from overseas to watching as a sea of Airmen raised a final salute to a fallen service member resting in an oak casket as the casket was loaded into a hearse. The escort, a young Army soldier dressed in his formal uniform, shielded his swollen eyes with a pair of Oakleys as he headed to Philadelphia International Airport to take his friend home for the last time.

I love details, because in my world, it's really a collection of the little things that make the biggest difference. The most vivid memory of Dover came near the end of my second day. A very young soldier had just lost his life as a result of a terrible improvised explosive device, causing unimaginable damage to his neck and head. I watched in solemn silence as the morticians prepared his body, and as they worked, I imagined myself as the mother or girlfriend of this young soldier who would say their final goodbyes to this young man in just a few days.

If I were either of those two ladies, the first thing I would have wanted to do is remove the crisp white gloves and hold his bare hands just once more. So I asked for a nail brush, held each of his hands, and scrubbed the war from under his fingernails. This is the final step before this young man and all of our fallen heroes are dressed in a perfectly pressed military uniform for the last time.

I can't say that those who died in Afghanistan this week are in a better place, because I know given the chance, every last one of them would jump at the opportunity to say one last "I love you" to someone special in their lives. But I can say that the unbelievable people who work at Dover spend every ounce of their being caring for America's fallen, and do so in a way that no movie (or blog) could ever adequately capture.

The bond between America's Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen and Marines in combat is a powerful thing. There is no such thing as a good time or a good way to take a final breath. But after being here for just five weeks, I know for certain that if I were to meet my match in Afghanistan, the guys on my team would be right there next to me. We do everything together. And I find solace in the fact that if one of us goes down, we will all go down together.

Cause Freedom Don't Come Free

I ate a hog dog. I spent a substantial portion of the week wallowing in self pity. I set up filters in my inbox to prevent messages from ever reaching me. I stayed up well past midnight and skipped my morning runs.

It's been a week of acting, well, absolutely nothing like myself, and to be perfectly honest it's been downright terrifying. When I was preparing for this deployment, everyone seemed to say exactly the same thing...you're going to learn more about yourself being in Afghanistan than you would ever learn anywhere else. In fact, by everyone's estimation, I was about to embark on some momentous journey into self discovery.

Well as it turns out, that journey starts out great and then gets just a bit turbulent after about the forth week. By week four, it was very obvious that the most unsafe thing about being here is, well, my fellow Airmen, Soldiers, Sailors and Marines who sometimes (okay, often) forget that I'm not a piece of meat, but a fellow American serving her country during a time of war. As some type of frame of reference, this place is at least 90% male, so you can imagine the unwelcome raised eyebrows an actual girl gets around here.

Also by week four, the walls of my 8' x 10' cage started closing in on me. I found myself fixated to the computer, mesmerized by Gmail, and using all available willpower to try to cause someone I love to send me an email telling me they are thinking about me. Yes, I know. There are people thinking about me and all of the rest of us out here, but it's unbelievable what an emotional high any one of us gets when we receive an email. Or a letter. Or really just any gesture. And you'd also be surprised to hear how infrequently that happens. To any of us. Or how it feels to me to be far away from home supporting a war that I'm not sure I believe in and praying to someone that I'm also not sure I believe in to bring me home safely at the end.

Part of our adventure this week was my first helicopter ride to another base in Afghanistan to do some business. Looking at Kabul from above (even on a day that wasn't perfectly clear) was the beginning of regaining my perspective.

As we were leaving the other base, we were sitting on the ramp, a bus full of people awaiting our turn to board the C-130 that would fly us back to Kabul. All traffic on the ramp was suddenly halted as three vehicles containing the flag draped cases of fallen American Security Forces Airmen passed in front of our bus. On my left was an Air Force Major who had arrived in Afghanistan earlier that morning, with silent tears streaming down his cheeks. On my right was a Security Forces Airman from my team, who placed his right hand solemnly on his heart and watched as a line of his fellow Security Forces Airmen slowly gave a final salute to the three flag-draped cases as they drove past.

Yes, I am in a war zone. And some days that is both absurdly apparent and incredibly heartbreaking. And any morning that I get to wake up and start it all over again is one day closer to being home where it is significantly safer, and where I can fall asleep in the arms of a wonderful husband who loves me. Others will never be so lucky. That end goal right there is incentive enough to keep things in perspective on the days that seem insurmountable.

The Army summarizes our ability to fight in this, my all time favorite wartime quotation:

"Soldiers don't fight because they hate what's in front of them. They fight because they love what's behind them."

Yes, I understand that Americans support the troops in Afghanistan, even if they don't support the war itself. And if you fall into the category of supporting the men and women who wake up every morning to help shape the future for Afghanistan, take a few minutes to tell us how much you care. That small gesture alone means the world to us out here.

** if you would like to see more pictures from our aerial adventure, go to http://www.flickr.com/photos/roblisameehan/sets/72157627231620081/ **