Tag Archives: war

Thanks for the Ride

While scrolling my Facebook newsfeed recently, I came across a post by an old friend that caught my eye and made me smile.  It said that it was seventeen years ago on that particular day that our army reserve unit left for Iraq.  I couldn’t believe it.  I had to count it out, using all my fingers and some of my toes.  It really had been seventeen years since we left Ft. Dix, New Jersey, headed for war.  Since I didn’t have Facebook when we left Ft. Dix in 2008, the event of going wheels up to cross the Atlantic Ocean doesn’t show up in my Facebook memories once a year like so many other things do.  To remedy this, I made a Facebook post referencing my friend’s post, that it had been seventeen years, and that I was making that post so it would show up in my memories.  I went on to mention that I had a bunch of pictures from that deployment and I would try to find them and post some on my Facebook page.

My post created somewhat of a mini-online reunion for many of my fellow soldiers from the 320th Military Police Battalion.  And when I started posting some of the 5,000 pictures I took while deployed, the reunions and stories and memories just kept coming.  On a side note, one of my “extra duties” while deployed was to be the battalion photographer and NCOIC (non-commissioned officer in charge) of the battalion newsletter.  Hence, the insane amount of pictures I took.  But to be honest, I likely would have taken most of the pictures anyway, without having that task added to my list of duties.  So many pictures!  And those pictures helped us relive plenty of stories and memories.

During our whole deployment, one of my fellow soldiers and I had kind of a little inside joke where when he saw me, he would annoyingly, almost angrily say, “You’re welcome!”  To which I would reply, “Thanks for the ride.”  Even recently while posting pictures from seventeen years ago, he made a comment on one of my Facebook posts, “You’re welcome for the ride, haha.”  There is a funny story as to why we would greet each other that way.  And it all started with the first time we met.  But before we get to all that, we have to go back to the start of that particular day, to about sixteen hours before we actually met.  To before I even made it to that unit and before I started taking all those pictures.

In the Army Reserves, it is not uncommon for soldiers to get cross-leveled into other units to fill a need in a unit that is preparing to deploy.  As a matter of fact, I was cross-leveled to a new unit for both my deployments, the first to Iraq, the second to Afghanistan.  For the Afghanistan deployment, not only was I cross-leveled to a new unit, but that new unit loaned me and some others to an active duty unit for the entire deployment.  And in the case of going to Iraq, I was transferred last-minute to a Military Police Battalion in Pennsylvania.  It was so last minute that I and about a dozen other soldiers had to do a few months’ worth of training in just a few weeks to catch up with the rest of the unit.  There was a lot to learn in a condensed time frame.  There were plenty of areas that each of us needed to be certified in to go on that deployment.  This made for long days.  But maybe none of them as long as the day I traveled to that new unit for the first time.

I remember it was the first day of the new school year for my kids here in Florida.  Right offhand I don’t remember the exact date, only that it was mid-August.  I dropped my kids off at their respective schools and then my wife dropped me off at the airport.  It was a nice, sunny day here in the panhandle of Florida.  But somewhere in the south or central part of the state there was a tropical storm or hurricane making waves.  All the flights in the southeast United States were affected.  And from where I was departing most of the flights go through Atlanta, where it ended up being a bottleneck of air traffic with endless delays.  My first flight was delayed long enough to where I would not make my connection, which in turn would prevent me from getting to the small-town airport somewhere in Pennsylvania before it closed for the day.  Unless I was to fly out the next day, the only option was to reroute into Philadelphia and have someone drive the 120-something miles (240-mile roundtrip) to get me and bring me back to the town where I was originally supposed to arrive.  And when I called the unit about the flight delays, arriving a day late was not an option.

I don’t remember a lot about the flights that day.  I don’t remember if I still flew through Atlanta or somewhere else.  But I remember finally arriving at Philadelphia International Airport around midnight and having no clue where to go to meet my ride that was supposedly coming.  I hadn’t spoken to anyone at my new unit since before I boarded the flight for Philly.  Somehow, and I don’t know how I got this lucky, I ended up going out the correct exit to find my ride.  But along the way from the baggage carousel to the exit, I found someone else that was going to the same unit as I was.  He was a young lieutenant that was looking to get a taxi for the more than two-hour drive.  But instead, we found the white passenger van with government tags and got on the road in the middle of the night.  I remember hearing my name called out and looking over to see someone waving me to come over.  After confirming that was my ride, I introduced the young lieutenant and the driver said something along the lines of, “Ok.  I wasn’t told about anyone else, but whatever.  Let’s go.”

We climbed into the van.  The young lieutenant went straight to the back row, stretched out on the seat, and went to sleep.  I sat in the row behind the front seats.  The passenger seat up front had a co-driver in it, but he was asleep, occasionally mumbling in his slumber during the trip.  The driver, focused on the mission, started the engine and we were on our way.  I made small talk with the driver, asking about the unit, the leadership, and a list of other topics.  It didn’t take long to realize he wasn’t happy about this 240-mile round-trip mission he was given.  He wasn’t rude.  He stayed professional.  But he wasn’t happy.  He had been pulled from a pre-deployment party, celebrating with his section and the families at an Outback Steakhouse, basically saying their goodbyes since we were leaving for Ft. Dix in a couple days. That would explain the almost lifeless body in the front passenger seat, ha-ha.  Turns out, I completely interrupted that party by needing a ride from halfway across the state.  Or we could blame the weather in South Florida. 

I probably thanked him over and over again for coming to get me.  Since he didn’t really want to be there in the middle of the night, driving us from the airport to the hotel, I wanted to make sure he knew that I appreciated him.  His response was, “You’re welcome!”  It was loud and forceful.  It wasn’t a normal “you’re welcome,” it was a frustrated “you’re welcome.”  But it was amusing and humorous for some reason and it kind of stuck with us.  From that point on that’s how he greeted me for the entire deployment.  It became a fun thing.  It was a weird circumstance that led to some camaraderie that still lives seventeen years later.

Aside from the travel delays on that day in August of 2008, another painful part of the adventure from that day happened when we arrived at the hotel where the unit was staying.  I think we got to the hotel around 2 am.  Maybe 3, it is all a blur.  The young lieutenant checked in at the front desk and got his room.  But for some reason when I tried to check in, they didn’t have my name on the list for a room.  It was a debacle.  I had no idea who in the unit to ask for and I didn’t have anyone’s cell phone number to call and ask.  And the driver of the van who might have had an answer already vanished as soon as we arrived.  Even if I wanted to pay for a room myself, there were no rooms left at the hotel.  Thankfully, the young lieutenant overheard and asked the clerk if his room had two beds.  It did.  I had a place to crash for two hours before we had to wake up and start the day.  That gesture by the lieutenant has never been forgotten.  It was the beginning of great friendship during deployment, another crazy circumstance that fostered camaraderie.

Throughout my time in the army, especially after I went back into service the second time, I met and served with some amazing people.  From different army schools for training, to the various reserve units I was part of, to the deployments I went on, there is a special bond I still feel with all those I served with.  I love every single one of them.  We might not have seen each other or spoken for more than 15 years, but we wouldn’t miss a beat if we chatted today.  That is evident in some of the messages and comments that resulted from all the pictures I recently posted on Facebook.  In some cases, we picked up like we had just spoken yesterday instead of “forever” ago.  There are few professions outside of the military where this happens on that deep of a level.  Being forced to trust each other with our lives tends to create some strong bonds.

Thanks again for the ride, Blake!  “You’re welcome!”  I appreciate you.  To all the others I served with, thank you for all the stories and memories.  Let’s catch up sometime.  And for everyone else that found your way to Story of My Life, thanks for stopping by today.  I hope you enjoyed this piece.  Good day, God bless.

Dave

Top: Mural of the 320th MP BN on a T-wall at Camp Bucca, Iraq, 2008.

Bottom: 320th MP BN Unit Ministry Team on mission to Umm Qsar, 2008.

The Frist 36 Hours

Most of this story is true, I think.  Some of it was hallucinated.  A portion of it had to be told to me because I had no recollection of what was going on during part of it.  Some of it was dreamt and some of it was just there when I would close my eyes, like a video that only I could see playing on my eyelids, all while being wide awake.  None of the first 36 hours or so after I had open-heart surgery was pretty.  For a bit, I didn’t know what was real or what was being made up in my drug-induced imagination.  And I have no idea what all medications I was on at any given time during or following surgery, but I think the combination of all those drugs made my comprehension of current events questionable and my memory of those events a little whacky.  But this is how I think it all happened.

The first thing I remember after surgery was waking up with some kind of endotracheal tube in my mouth running down my throat.  I don’t really remember the tube being removed, but I do remember the pain from the tube being removed.  It hurt my throat.  I also remember darkness and calling out for help.  I remember being scared, but I couldn’t remember why I was there or how I had gotten to where I was.  At that point, so I was told later, I became uncooperative and combative with the nursing staff.  I don’t remember that, but I believe it because I can remember how scared I was.  I do remember accusing the nurse of purposely trying to let me die because she wasn’t helping me.  That’s what I thought anyway.  But of course, she was helping me, I just couldn’t see it.  I remember asking and begging for them to let me see my wife.  My wife was by my side that whole time, holding my hand.  But I couldn’t recognize her and, according to her, I thought she was trying to kill me as well.  All of this was in the first few hours of being moved from surgery to the Cardiovascular Intensive Care Unit (CVICU).

The next little bit of time would not get any better.  I found a new level of pain as the different medicines wore off following surgery.  This is a pain scale that replaces the old 0-10 scale that a doctor would use to ask you to rate your pain.  There is not a cap on this newfound scale, like with the number ten on the old one.  This new pain scale will go as high as you can handle it, and then some.  I honestly can not explain the intensity of the pain, especially when an unexpected cough or sneeze would blindside me.  This pain made it impossible to be comfortable.  It was difficult to sleep, to sit up, or to have a conversation.  Breathing hurt, swallowing hurt, and most other movements brought pain in ways I never before imagined.  I’ve always had a high tolerance for pain, but this was rough.  Thankfully, this new level of previously unexperienced pain only lasted a few days. 

Even with all the pain, the tricks my mind were playing were even worse.  Sleep would only last a minute or two at a time.  The dreams were so disturbing I would wake up trying to yell.  I did tell my wife about two of the dreams, the least disturbing of them, but I won’t be discussing any of that content here.  It’s a little scary to me that my mind came up with some of the images in those dreams.  And just as bad were the images while awake, when I would close my eyes for a short rest.  The colors and distorted scenes that were waiting for me with each prolonged blink is what I imagine Hell looks like.  I’ve served in two wars and have a few images that are forever etched in the dark, hidden parts of my mind.  Nothing I saw at war, not even my worst memory of war, can compare to the complete void of humanity that my mind was manufacturing for me to see.  I have no idea how my mind could possibly create such chaos that felt so real and imminent.  The dreams while asleep and the images my mind created while awake were bad.  Now add hallucinations to the tricks my mind was playing.  I have memories of and was also told by my wife later that I kept asking who was walking around me, touching me on my arm.  I kept thinking I was seeing someone walking around in my room.  When I would ask, my wife would point out that we were the only ones in the room, there was no one else there.  I don’t remember what their faces looked like, but I promise I saw people in my room that apparently weren’t real.  And I felt these imaginary people touch my arm multiple times.  I have no rational explanation for anything in this paragraph. 

My Worst War Memory

Somewhere around the second day after surgery, we had to address a minor complication called postoperative ileus.  That means my stomach didn’t “wake up” after surgery.  There was no movement down there.  Because of that, the doctor ordered an NG tube (Nasogastric tube).  Up the nose, down to the stomach.  It was used to drain the contents of my stomach.  This complication cost me two extra days in the CVICU.  I don’t remember the tube being put in.  I remember telling the doctor later that if they pulled it out, they better be sure of it because I would fight anyone that tried to put it back in.  I guess I remembered it being put in at the time, while in the hospital, but I have no memory of it now.  But I remember how miserable I was.  I still had chest tubes from surgery.  I had oxygen going in my nostrils.  I had more IV’s than I could count.  And the icing on the cake of misery was having that tube in my nose.  I was truly hating life for a brief moment.

I think the first 36 hours after surgery were the most miserable, most scared I’ve been in my life.  In my research leading up to having open heart surgery, the thing that worried me the most were the stories of recovery, not the actual surgery.  Recovery is a long process.  There are countless do’s and don’ts.  Restrictions on lifting, restrictions on movements.  Restrictions on food and medicines.  I never imagined that the initial recovery would include the mind tricks I suffered through.  Thank God that went away after a few days.  The memories of those twisted thoughts and images still choke me up, but at least they stopped.  Boredom is the hardest part now.  Days seem to drag on.  I want to do things, but I know I can’t if I want my recovery to go smoothly.  My wife has been amazing.  She’s doing all my chores and hers.  She’s taking care of me even when I’m difficult and unhappy about being unable to do things for myself.  I’m irritable.  I’m a little depressed.  And I haven’t had a cigarette in over two weeks.  My wife is a saint for putting up with me.  She is my reason for wanting to get better and to do better. 

I feel like the hardest part is behind me.  I’m still confused by the first 36 hours.  I’m actually still a little disturbed by the first 36 hours.  I’m sure it was a combination of shock, pain, and medications.  But that still doesn’t make it any less troubling in my mind.  Thank you for suffering through this post with me today.  I believe most of it to be true even if I don’t remember it all.  Good day, God bless.

Dave

10 Years Alive

We all have and celebrate milestones in our lives and the lives of those around us.  Most commonly we recognize birthdays and wedding anniversaries.  I know as some of us get older, we don’t like to celebrate our birthdays like we used to.  But we all have a birthday, so it’s still a regular milestone.  We celebrate the first day of school for a young kindergartener and the last day of school at graduation, and all the first and last days of each school year in between.  It’s not uncommon to have a celebration at a job for an employee that has been with the company for 10, 20, or more years, and especially at retirement.  I know some people that celebrate sobriety, by the day, week, or the year.  Some celebrate and make a big deal for a pet’s birthday or “gotcha” day.  Military service time, years of home ownership, a sports team’s championships, or anything else that is a big deal to someone.  We like to celebrate and remember things that brought us joy.  All of these things and many more are wonderful reasons to celebrate. 

I have a milestone to share.  I’m celebrating 10 years of not dying.  It sounds weird to say it that way since I’ve successfully not died every single day since I was born more than 54 years ago.  I guess every day above ground is a milestone for each of us to celebrate.  But a decade ago it wasn’t certain that I would maintain that streak.  I could have, and probably should have, died one night.  Some of my memories from that timeframe are clear as a bell in my mind and other parts of it are a foggy haze that doesn’t seem real.  It seems more like a dream that never really happened.  But it did.

On August 2, 2015, I attempted suicide and failed.  I won’t go into all the details here, but I will share a link to the blog I posted in February 2016, where I talked about that night and what was going on.  It’s surreal to look back at it, to re-read that blog post.  I refer to that timeframe in my life as “the lowest point of my life” when speaking about it in conversation.  It was also my darkest time.  And my loneliest, my scariest, and most uncertain time in my life.  I hadn’t expected to survive, so I had no plan, no idea what I was going to do after I came to and had to face my family and friends and myself.  It took almost 6 months to get to the point where I wasn’t pissed off for failing.  And even then, it was a long road to get to where I would be out of danger from my own mind. 

Battlefield

I’ve always been open about my journey when it comes to surviving my suicide attempt.  The reason I do that is because it helps others.  I’m not embarrassed by it.  I was for a short time after it happened, but not anymore.  I’ve shared about going to war and my military experiences that may have contributed to my mindset of wanting to die.  I’ve shared raw, unfiltered emotions on Story of My Life because I feel that it’s important to tell it like it is when it comes to life and death.  And I’ve also shared the part of my journey of recovering from it all.  Honestly, it’s a lifelong recovery and I stay on top of it.

As I look back over the last 10 years, I feel blessed far beyond what I deserve.  To be where I am right now is mind boggling compared to where I was the night law enforcement officers found me unresponsive in 2015.  Early on after my failed attempt, there were times when I took one step forward just to be shoved two or three steps back.  There were times when I couldn’t even take a step forward and would still be pushed back.  The first six months were very discouraging and my dark thoughts would sometimes try to take over.  It was a frustrating time of fighting with myself. 

But in 2016, I had finally found a treatment/counseling plan that worked for me.  It was still a rough time, but it looked like it would finally start going in the right direction.  It was going to be a lot of work, and I was the only one that could do it.  No one else could do it for me.  Sure, there were plenty of people there for me, but the work would be my sole responsibility.  I was the only one that could be accountable for moving forward and getting better.  I experienced both setbacks and accomplishments during that year.  I had a troubling situation at one point that almost put me back into a similar low point that I was still trying to recover from.  And that situation came at a time when everything was seemingly going well.  In retrospect, I think I might have been expecting something bad to happen since things were going well at the time and then I let it blow up worse than it really was.  I wrote a little about this in 2016.  I’ll share the link below if anyone is interested. 

Suicidal Anonymous

2017 was better.  2018 was good.  By 2019, I felt like I had achieved my new normal and I was very satisfied with it.  I would never be the same as before 2015, but I was happy.  Even after I got back to my new normal, which was good, I still initiated counseling sessions once in a while.  As recently as last year I was in counseling 2-3 times a month.  Not because anything bad happened or I was going back to a dark place.  But because I know I need it occasionally to stay on top of my mental health.  And ‘occasionally’ is much better than the nearly every week for a whole year I was going in 2016.  Everything needs maintenance, not just your car or house or tools.  You need maintenance.  And I do, too.

If you need help with thoughts of suicide, please reach out.  There are so many places and organizations that will help you find the right help.  There are also individuals that can help you; family, friends, coworkers.  I know how hard it is to ask for help, I promise you, I know.  It might be the hardest thing you ever do, but do it.  The second hardest thing will be finding the right help.  It took months for me to find the right combination of medication and therapy.  I wanted to give up after the first time “help” failed.  The truth is, mental health help is not one size fits all.  There are different styles of counseling, different medications, different specializations for doctors and therapists.  Sometimes it takes a while to get it all correct for each individual.   I think that’s a reason so many people don’t continue with it when they truly need it.  Please be patient.  Keep going back and eventually, you will find what fits you.

You might find yourself in a position to help someone dealing with suicidal thoughts, either because they asked you for help or you noticed something off and asked them if you could help.  Here’s some important things to know, especially if you have never had any training on the subject.  First, you can NOT solve their problems.  But you can be there for them to vent, cry, share their story.  And, most importantly, you can help them in the right direction to get professional help.  Second, no matter what the reason is for someone feeling like they want to kill themselves, that IS a valid reason because it’s their reason.  It might not even make sense to you.  But if someone tells you they are sad because their goldfish died and now they want to die too, that is THEIR valid reason and it needs to be treated as such.  The truth is, by the time most people get to that point, their “reason” was simply the straw that broke the camel’s back.  There were likely many things leading up to the total distress they feel about a goldfish.  Your job is simply to get them to a professional that can work through all that with them.  All you have to do is get them to the next level of help, and by doing so, you are helping them the greatest.  Look at this way.  If I have a heart attack, my wife isn’t going to call a heart surgeon to make an appointment for me.  She would call 9-1-1 to come and take me to the emergency room where they are fully equipped to deal with a heart attack while it is happening.  Then, if needed, I would be referred to a heart surgeon.  You can’t fix, cure, or solve their problems.  Just get them to a higher level of help.  Be the 9-1-1 if you’re called upon.  Don’t shy away from someone who is suicidal because you don’t know what to do.  I just told you what to do.  Do it. 

Probably around half of my 130 posts on Story of My Life talk about or reference my journey after my failed suicide attempt in one way or another.  Even ten years after the event, it’s still hard to write about, but it needs to be done.  Preparing this post, which included going through a bunch of older posts, brought its share of tears to my eyes.  It’s hard to relive that part of my life.  I am now completely drained emotionally.  But I feel like this story needs to be told.  It’s part of my ongoing, life-long road of bettering my mental health and helping others.  And it’s my 10-year milestone of not dying.  I never dreamed I would be where I am now ten years ago.

I hope you found something helpful here today.  If you need help, reach out.  If you can help, do so.  Thank you for visiting Story of My Life.  Good day, God bless.

Dave

Hello Again

Until earlier this month I hadn’t posted to Story of My Life in over 4 years.  I’ve been lazy with it.  But we’ll get to that shortly.  First, I want to look at how this all started and what it has become so far, and then move forward and explore where it can go from here.  It’s been a while, I might need a refresher. 

I started this blog in 2013, months before being deployed to Afghanistan.  The primary purpose of Story of My Life was to tell stories while deployed so that my family could follow along with some of my day-to-day activities, the stuff I was allowed to share anyway.  I made a few posts leading up to deployment.  And then I made a few posts while deployed.  This was the beginning of my blog, the early stages.  Then I went two years before making a new post in 2016. 

After coming home from Afghanistan, I spiraled into the lowest, rock-bottom place I’ve ever been in my life.  It was during a counseling/therapy session at the local Veterans Affairs clinic that I was asked what I like to do that makes me happy.  Writing.  I have always enjoyed writing.  It was suggested that I start writing again.  So, in 2016, I did.  I started writing again and posting to my blog.  And then some amazing things happened.  It unexpectedly took off.

When I came back to writing in 2016, I wrote for my own personal therapy, to clear my mind.  I wrote about my struggles after coming home from war.  I told some stories from when I was in Iraq and Afghanistan.  I occasionally mixed in some fiction, poetry, stories of my kids, and a couple funny posts.  And I shared them on my blog so my family could understand what was going on in my mind and what I was going through.  I wanted them to have an idea of what I and others endured while serving our country and especially how difficult it was coming home and trying to get back to being “normal” again.  At that time, it was mostly just a few family members that followed my blog.

But, as it turned out, my stories resonated with people out there in the blogosphere and Story of My Life began to get a following.  Somehow people were finding my blog.  People I didn’t know were commenting and messaging as to how one of my stories helped them or their veteran loved one or how they could relate to what I was saying, how I was being a voice on topics that they felt uncomfortable voicing themselves.  Not only was my writing helping me work through my own problems and issues, but it was also well received by others.  That made me feel good, like I was making a difference. 

So I kept writing.  And Story of My Life kept getting new readers.  In 2018 alone, my blog had over 186,000 views.  In just a single month in 2018 I had more views than the previous five years combined!  I was floored.  I never imagined my little blog would blow up like that.  That’s certainly not why I started it.  And then, for whatever reason, I stopped.  I didn’t post anything in 2019.  I did a few posts in 2020 and 2021. Then nothing.  Four years without doing anything on here.  I think I know why.

I got lazy?  I got tired?  I got busy?  I had other things to do?  Any or all of these could be a reason to stop.  It wasn’t from lack of motivation.  I have over a dozen pieces I started writing during my four years of down time.  A couple of them I even finished.  But I didn’t post any of them.  And it wasn’t from running out of ideas to write about.  I would lie in bed quite often thinking about stories and composing them in my head as I tried to go to sleep.  But I wouldn’t write them out like I used to.  Something changed. 

Discipline.  That’s what changed, or more accurately, lack of discipline.  I no longer had the discipline to write and post the way I did before.  Motivation without discipline doesn’t always produce the long-term outcome you might want.  For example, I have two dogs.  Sometimes I get very motivated to sweep the floors because of the amount of dog hair they leave throughout the house.  If I were disciplined, I would sweep the floors once a week and not let it get as bad.  But if I rely solely on being motivated to sweep, the floors will look like I have a dozen dogs and then take longer to clean.  I need to be disciplined with that chore.  And this example can be used for yard work, dishes, laundry, stuff for work or school, relationships, vehicle maintenance, or any task, relationship, or hobby that you’re working on. 

Motivation is temporal, meaning that it is only in the current moment and will fade, like my half-hearted posts in 2020 and 2021. Discipline is ongoing.  That means being dedicated and devoted.  Sometimes it means being on a schedule, having a plan, carrying out a plan, working through obstacles to achieve a goal.  Discipline is so much more than just having motivation, it means making something a priority.  For the two years I wrote and posted almost every single week, I had both motivation and discipline. My motivation helped me to have discipline. I worked my writing into my weekly schedule.  I dedicated time to getting it done, I made it a priority.  And here’s what changed for me as I took that long break from writing.

When I had started writing again in 2016, I saw and felt how it helped me.  It was therapeutic and in some ways it felt like I was releasing bad energy with each post and cleansing my mind.  It was both challenging and relaxing.  Sometimes it was deeply emotional and difficult.  But it gave me something to look forward to each week and I needed that back then.  All these things gave me motivation to write, and led to the discipline to keep it going for two years.  But it was in 2018 that my mind finally calmed from my lowest of low points just three years prior.  I was seeing life more clearly.  I had my mental demons under control with counseling and medication.  I took a really good job with benefits, had a nice place to live, and was doing well in life for the first time in a while.

I no longer needed to write for my own personal therapy, which is the whole reason I had been writing.  So, in 2018, when Story of My Life was as popular as it ever was, or likely will ever be again, I just stopped.  I no longer had the motivation or discipline to do it like I used to.  I would occasionally get a flash of motivation and start writing a new piece.  And a few times I would get just enough motivation to make a new post.  But, overall, I just wasn’t feeling it anymore.  I had lost my self-discipline when it came to writing. I didn’t “need” it anymore.

A lot has changed in the last few years for me and I am ready to instill some discipline back into my writing again and share some new stories.  Not because I need it for my own personal therapy, but because I miss writing.  I doubt I’ll post every single week like I did for those two years a while back, but I do have a deep desire to write again, even if it’s just for me and my own entertainment.  But I hope you will enjoy it, too.

I don’t know the exact direction Story of My Life will take, but I do plan to keep it going.  I recently went through my posts and enjoyed seeing the evolution of my writing, revisiting some of the things that inspired me to write.  Some of the posts made me smile, some brought a tear to my eye.  Not all my posts were pretty in subject matter or style, but each one of them is part of who I am and who I was at different times in my life.  And I want to keep doing that, to continue writing and telling stories.  You’re welcome to come along if you want, even if I don’t know yet where we’re going.  Thanks for stopping by today.  Good day and God bless.

Dave

Here’s the spoiled dogs that leave hair all over the place. My wonderful puppies.

Fifty

I don’t make a big deal about my birthday.  I don’t usually tell people when it’s coming or take the day off from work.  It’s really just another day to me.  But this time is different.  This will be a landmark I really didn’t expect to make.  In a couple days I’ll be 50 years old.  50.  Fifty!  Half a hundred.  It’s not as old as it sounds, so I keep telling myself.  But it does feel old some days.

Actually, I feel pretty good overall.  I don’t look my age, so I’ve been told.  I certainly don’t act my age, and don’t plan on starting any time soon.  My body hurts with aches and pains now more than ever before, but I’m getting used to it.  Considering what I’ve put my body through in the first 49 years, I’m just thankful to be here.  My memory sucks.  Although I can remember song lyrics and movie lines from the 1980’s like I just finished hearing them.  But for some reason I can bring up Google on my phone and forget what I’m searching for at the same time.  Go figure.

It’s been a wild ride so far.  Many successes, many failures.  Way too many failures.  One thing I don’t think I’ve ever talked about in my blog is my past business ventures.  I’m 0-5 in business endeavors.  That’s probably why I haven’t mentioned it before.  LOL.  But one of my favorite failures in business is when my daughter and I opened a restaurant together.  It was short-lived, but it was a wonderful experience.  It was a huge success just getting it opened.  One of the 0-5 businesses includes starting a sub S corporation with a buddy of mine that we ended up doing nothing with.  Does that even count?  I still have the corporate seal and binders from that one.

I feel like I’ve worked a thousand different jobs in my life.  My first job where I received a W-2 was at a TCBY.  I made $3.35/hr.  My second job, before shipping off to Basic Training, was construction.  That lasted one day.  Since then I have had an eclectic variety of jobs.  I’ve worked in the food service industry in a number of different of capacities, including at a restaurant in an airport. I’ve driven produce delivery trucks, worked at different retail stores, served in the United States Army Reserves.  I tried sales jobs twice, not for me. And now I have a job I would have never guessed in a million years I would be doing.  I work for the sewer department for the city where I live.  It’s a shitty job (sewer humor), but I actually enjoy it.  Most of what we do is not nearly as bad as you might think.  But there are those days….

I’ve done some pretty cools stuff in my life.  I’ve been to over a dozen countries.  I’ve been inside the White House.  I’ve been inside the gates of Buckingham Palace to watch the Changing of the Guards up close.  Somewhere I still have the invitation from that incredible day.  I’ve climbed Mt. Fuji and ridden on the Bullet Train.  I had a 1967 Mustang for a while.  That was my favorite car of all the ones I’ve ever had.  I’ve surfed in the Pacific and swam in the Atlantic.  I’ve dipped my toe in the Bay of Bengal and I’ve caught a shark in the Gulf of Mexico. 

I’ve gone to war twice.  I received the Bronze Star at the end of my last deployment.  We traveled extensively while in Afghanistan.  And when we did, it always seemed like someone was trying to kill us.  We survived being shot at and enemy rocket attacks.  We could feel the explosions shake the buildings when we went to Kandahar and Bagram.  We flew on some helicopters that probably could have used some extra maintenance, but we survived that, too.  Of all the airplanes we boarded over there, the British C-130 was my favorite ride.  From take off to landing, it was like a rollercoaster on steroids.  I loved it. I’d go back for a day if they let me do that again. But they won’t. I got medically retired a couple years ago.

My life might seem like a completed bucket list for some, and I barely scratched the surface here.  But there is so much left to do.  What could possibly be left?  To just live.  That’s all.  Every day, just live and enjoy life.  I still fret over some of my failures, but I don’t let it consume me.  I still smile about the few things I’ve been successful in, but I know I’m not done, there’s more to come.  For example, later today, I plan on successfully taking a nap.  That might not seem like much, but sometimes it’s the little things that can make a whole day successful.  Don’t ever forget that.  So, Happy Birthday to me, I’m old now. And I’m grateful to still be rotating on this Earth and orbiting the sun.  Thanks for stopping by today and listening to me ramble on as I look back at my first 49 years. It’s really been a good run so far.  Good day, God bless.

Dave