Steve...

Commiseration

noreply@blogger.com (WhiskeyBoarder) — Wed, 18 Jan 2017 23:57:00 +0000

My morning is off to an aggravating start. I’m missing my wallet.

Though, in a unique way, losing my wallet may be the best thing to happen this morning. The search at least temporarily dislodged my mind from the wearying subject about which I’m going to write.

A few years ago, I made a commitment to never lie. Certainly no big lies, but not even any small, petty white lies. I sincerely thought that I had been doing a good job of maintaining this commitment. But, there has been at least one lie that I've been letting slip almost daily. And I was ignorant to it until just yesterday. There was no particular reason that this lie became apparent to me yesterday relative to any other day, but it did. And, it goes like this:

“Hey, how ya’ doing?”

“I’m good.”

Except I’m not good. And I haven’t been for some time now.

But I think I’ve lied about this over and over because no one really wants to hear about struggles, especially not coming from the guy driving the new Mercedes, with a cush job, and steady income.

I imagine that no one really wants to read about struggles either. Though, it is a bit liberating knowing that my writing today will be mostly free of criticism as many of you quickly navigate from my commiseration back to Barstool, reddit, facebook or wherever the internet has you next.

I’m about to admit something that I had never before, at least not explicitly. I've never admitted this only because the one person who will, in fact, read this is also the one person who will interpret it more severely than I intend. So, to the few straggling readers, I’ll say that I am worse off than you think. But, to Mom specifically, it’s not as bad as you probably think. There’s no potential for harm to anyone or anything. Well, besides, perhaps to my career.

So, let’s just put it out there: I’m depressed. Or I have depression; however you choose to term it, you get the idea. And, this has been the case for some time now. I’ve labeled my depression different things at different times, and so have doctors. Most of the time, I call it “normal”. At others, “PTSD”. But these were just less jarring ways of describing what really is depression.

“Depression” seems weak.

I’ve masked my depression from myself for good reason. You see, my entire existence is built on the foundation of my own self-confidence. I’ve been convinced sincerely that I can accomplish nearly anything that I set my mind to. The self-honesty required to admit that I’m struggling with an emotion that I can’t overcome could potentially shatter the paradigm upon which all of this rests. You can probably see why, logically, admitting to my depression is personally perceived as an acceptance of weakness.

I know I’m not alone. Others struggle more severely. And, frankly, others have “better”, or at least more practical reasons, for their depression. By almost any measurement of life’s fortunes, I have it good. So, please realize that I’m seeking advice not sympathy.

And it isn’t like I haven’t tried to help myself. It’s been so long since I last drank alcohol that I no longer even count the days I’ve been sober. I’ve been diagnosed by the VA and recently visited a behavior health specialist. I workout every day and go to work every day, and otherwise manage my few responsibilities. I think I’m pretty well regarded as a disciplined, accountable person, grounded, with a good head on my shoulders. So, I’m no basket case.

I’m writing today because I seek guidance to help make sense of it all.

My problem, primarily, is work. I don’t dislike my job. It’s just that when I consider the totality of my life, work sticks out to me like a big roadblock to my happiness. Work is nothing more than a means to acquire money and health benefits. It doesn’t make me happy. It doesn’t sharpen skills that I may apply at a future job that I may actually enjoy. In other words, I don't go to the office because I want to. And by the mere sake of time spent there, it prevents me from doing all the cheap, fun, easy things that I moved to California to do.

Monday through Friday, I anticipate my days with unhappiness. Not dread or despair, just general malaise. At this point, I live for the weekends. Is that really living at all?

I get that work is a necessary evil in life, so I’m not trying to be the unique little snowflake who’s given the luxury of avoiding it. I just wish that the work that I do was rewarding in any sense additional to its financial incentive. And here is where this gets really painful for me. It sometimes seems idiosyncratic to think that I’m a valuable person when, literally, the only thing I can apparently do of any significant financial value is my job. Like, I have no particular skill or aptitude that could generate income equal to that made at my current position. If I leave this job, there’s nothing. And that’s my fault.

It’s frustrating.

Perhaps my mind wanders toward the greener grass because I have so little to lose in a relative sense. I certainly never aspired to be an office manager. I have no immediate family depending on me. I really do love my car, but the old Honda Fit was sufficient. My condo is an investment but, in the end, it’s just shelter. So, even if I lost it all, what would I really be losing??

Which is one way of looking at it. But, on the other hand, I'm haunted by the thought of the panhandler on the street corner, holding up the sign of a homeless vet, a downtrodden dog by his side. I’ve been down and out before and now that I am finally back on my feet, I’m petrified of losing the stability I’ve long sought. I thought financial stability would provide happiness. But the means necessary to acquire that stability sorta makes the equation an emotional wash in the end. It’s this natural conflict there that really has beaten me down.

So, what to do?

I’ve been giving real thought to quitting my job for some time now. It’s not feasible. If I did quit my job, my daily focus would be on music. I want to create a social media presence, a website, and develop an alter ego character where I create and share music. Ideally, I’d pick up some DJ’ing gigs, sell some mixes online, and maintain an income somewhat relative to what I have now. Given my lifelong dedication to fitness, I could probably acquire a certification and provide some personal training on the side. These are things I’m either currently not doing, or doing at a far slower pace than I’d like, because I spend most of my time in an office. Frustrated.

That's a plan. But, financially, not much of one.

I have a monthly pension for life. But it’s far less than what I need to maintain the lifestyle I’ve created for myself. I require about $3,500 a month, or about $2K more than I’d have coming in if I walked away from my current job, to merely cover my current expenses. I’ve been approved for a $35,000 loan at a totally reasonable interest rate that, theoretically, would provide breathing room until I establish myself in my next career.

But while these may be the blueprints to achieving my dreams, they are either that or a surefire way of becoming that homeless vet on the street corner.

So, my depression is a sense of helplessness. I’m stuck in this money trap. I’ve been going at this long enough that I’ve settled into the thought that “Well, this is life.” And if that's not depressing, than I don't know what is. I had expected so much more.

It’s like I’m swimming against the current in a stream of “blah.”

But, I did find my wallet. :)

Keep On Keepin' On

noreply@blogger.com (WhiskeyBoarder) — Wed, 02 Nov 2016 16:55:00 +0000

I want to help others.

Most posts here are from a totally selfish source. I tend to write to express feelings that I would otherwise keep pent up, to share experiences, and/or to otherwise promote the details and activities of my life.

Today’s post is also due to some of that, but mostly it is to help others; specifically anyone who has served in combat, whether suffering from post-traumatic stress or not. Perhaps this post is especially for those who are “not” knowingly suffering, because, as the text below will demonstrate, sometimes a soldier’s strength will cause him or her to tolerate torment, ignorant that a painful reality is not normal.

The exchange below is from the content of two emails. As they are posted below, the first email is from an executive within the organization I work. The email below it is from me, and was sent to the executive first, prompting his response. So, you will be reading these opposite of the order in which they were produced chronologically.

Some personally identifying information has been redacted.

However, both the executive and, to a lesser extent, I have achieved some professional and social success. So, to anyone out there discouraged by the obstacles that PTSD presents, I share these emails as proof via our experiences that these hurdles may be overcome

Though, those challenges never go away completely. I still struggle. Now, however, I am aware of the trials that I face and that, in and of itself, makes them easier to navigate.

Please keep all of the above in mind as you read the following email exchange. This brief conversation was monumental to me, and I hope it can be useful for others as well. Thank you!

So glad to hear from you….and your very kind words. I can truly say that I there are just a few people in my life that I think have had a positive influence on me or my career….and I consider you one of them!

What you stated about PTSD in not an easy thing to share….but you are not alone. Back during the Viet Nam “police” action….they didn’t have that term to describe why people coming back to the states “seemed” different. But you don’t go into a combat situation…then come back home…without it changing who you once were. When I got back (I was discharged at [redacted]…then one-way ticket home)…everyone at home moved on with their lives…they had jobs at the car plants….bought new cars….and I couldn’t even find a job! I was a flight engineer and gunner….responsible for a $ million+ aircraft….and now I couldn’t even get a job in a supermarket (times were tough around Detroit and the auto industry in 74…and it impacted [redacted]…, too). I also could not be around groups of people….I felt very nervous…so I ducked weddings, parties, etc…..it even cost me my childhood sweetheart. It took about 10 years…and the help of my wife to bring me out of that shell….and now I’m the loveable person you call friend!

So…I know what you were going through…..

You are a good friend…thank you for sharing….and thank you for your service to this great country!

I never thanked you for the mentorship and friendship that you offered while I worked in [redacted]. Since moving to California, I’ve done a lot of growing. One of the first things I did upon moving out here was quit drinking completely. Having done so, I look back at some of my behavior in the past and I’m not super proud. You may/may not have noticed it (I didn’t at the time), but I was really struggling with some PTSD-related issues while I was in [redacted]. I was especially socially challenged in ways that are kind of embarrassing for me to think about now, and totally different from the Steve I’ve become. This only became obvious to me when I resolved those since moving out here.

I’m sharing this with you, because I felt that you went so tremendously out of your way to provide me the opportunity to come under your wing, and I don’t know if I took full advantage of that. There was a period there that I didn’t always return phone calls and missed opportunities to spend time with good people. So, it’s important to me that you know that you didn’t go unnoticed. When I talk about [redacted] to folks out here, I obviously first mention the indelible impact that [redacted] had on me, but soon after, I always mention how much I enjoyed working with you, [redacted]…

In any case, I just wanted to say, “Hi.” And, again, thank you for all that you offered while I worked in [redacted] You’re a pretty swell dude, [redacted] Haha

War is a tremendous waste of youth.

Cramps

noreply@blogger.com (WhiskeyBoarder) — Thu, 29 Sep 2016 18:49:00 +0000

I’m not sure if the content of any blog I’ve written has made me feel quite as much like a loser as today’s does. Which is saying something, because I once wrote about my Anthony Weiner not working. And that’s a pretty humbling thing to share.

But, man, I cannot settle into a relationship to save my life.

Now, here’s the thing: For all my life until recently, I wanted to be single. Like, I REALLY wanted to be single. I’m the guy who used to sleep on my floor (and I’m not talking long ago, but while working in DC), bought no furniture, and refused to stake roots because I was convinced that I’d live an exotic life as a spy, part time Special Forces soldier, or something.

Long before that, I told my parents that I would never get married. I knew this as a child. Not because I thought girls had kooties; I’ve just always been so self-aware of my own selfishness that I knew that I wanted to live my one life on my own terms and not have it encroached upon by someone else.

And then things changed. I moved to the west coast and shed my hawkish leaning. I no longer want to fight or promulgate a national agenda through deceptive means, nor do any other crazy stuff. My favorite couple in the whole wide world (outside of my parents) had their first child and, meeting that little kid showed me for the first time that, wow, a family of like-minded folks, truly in love, can increase one’s enjoyment of life. Not get in the way of it.

This woulda be cool, though, right?

So, one night, I’m at home, having a deep conversation with Roux (that’s a dog, for those not following (AND YOU SHOULD BE!)), when it really occurred to me that maybe I need someone joining me in this fight. It’s not even the explicit pleasures of a relationship that I desire the most (though they’re certainly WAY WAY WAY up there). I want the life fulfillment that (I imagine) a strong, loving relationship brings.

I’ve written this before and have certainly said it a few times: It’s occasionally difficult to be motivated for the daily grind when I’m doing it all solely for myself. Is it really worth going to work every day when the condo, fancy car, and good living are enjoyed by me, alone? The answer is “Yes.” For about 152 hours of the work-month. But, there’s always that one 8-hour day when questions creep in my mind and drop a debilitating grenade on my motivation. Today must be that day.

So, I’ve been actively “on the market.” Which, translated into reality, means that I have some dating site profiles. Because I certainly don’t live the sort of life that really exposes me to single women of my age. I think the problem may be that I’m only interested in really smoking-hot, ridiculously intelligent dark-skinned women. You know who else is into these types of women?? Everyone.

My Instagram crush, Chef Emira. Rawwwrrr

And, to add to my stubborn selectivity, I’m not exactly the Maserati of bachelors, so the pool of candidates is pretty thin. Or, well, at the moment, completely dry. Which, you know, is part of the reason I’ve feeling the way I do today.

Plus, it simply hurts to fail at something. Since I quit drinking and really adopted a more caring attitude in general, life has come very easily. For the most part, anything that I’ve wanted, I’ve achieved. So, to genuinely want a real relationship and not be able to attain one is a defeat that I’m simply not used to encountering. I used to be equipped with the tools to overcome failure, but they’ve been so long unneeded that I think I set them in the corner of the shed and lost them forever.

It’s not the end of the world; just the occasional doldrums. Which I assume almost everyone experiences. I just happen to share when they occur to me.

Maybe I just need to drink some cranberry juice.

Free and Clear

noreply@blogger.com (WhiskeyBoarder) — Wed, 07 Sep 2016 00:32:00 +0000

Today's blog isn't about addiction, PTSD, drugs, or alcohol, though they are supporting themes. Today, I want to write about overcoming those things and my own potential.

I do have to be deceptive about the specific thing that I'm about to overcome because that "thing" has quasi-legality and admitting my struggles with it, no matter how noble, medicinal, and therapeutic its use, may have negative repercussions on my career. So, I apologize for being less direct than I would like to be.

I originally picked up this habit to replace drinking. Alcohol was having a deleterious effect on my life many magnitudes more severe than does the current habit. The amount of alcohol I was consuming on a daily basis was not just clouding my thoughts, though it certainly was, it totally altered my perception of myself. During my darkest days, while living and working in D.C., the damage was so intense that I felt inferior in every single social setting, causing debilitating anxiety. Sweating while speaking, avoiding interactions, keeping distance, and, the worst, having an internal conflict before every single spoken word had all become my new "normal." This new habit has no similar consequences, at least that I can personally discern. And the drinking, in turn, was taken to such staggering levels at the time, because it was the one thing that allowed me to escape the haunting and weirdly nostalgic thoughts I constantly harbored about Iraq, the Army, and combat. My problem with the new habit is that I've allowed it go from mildly accentuating my life to controlling it.

Though, that's the life of an addict. And addiction is a condition towards which I'm genetically inclined.

But, if you take nothing else from this entry, please know about me that my mind is stronger than my condition. I just haven't leveraged it for this purpose. Yet.

That said, I'm not sure why today's the appropriate day for these thoughts. Though, I did wake up this morning, curious as I often am, as to why I'm not exactly living the life I truly desire. It's a theoretical question with a tangible answer. But, to truly come to grips with that answer, I have to be honest with myself in a way that isn't totally comfortable. And I have to quit the things (or, in this case, the thing) holding me back.

So, why am I sharing this? I could just make a change and let the results speak for themselves. But, doing this builds in some accountability to the process. I will not let you down. And, plus, this is a warning to the world:

YOU HAVEN'T SEEN ANYTHING YET!

Think about it. This world has never seen Steve, free of his vices.

Free and Clear, that's the future me.

Despite struggling internally, I've Mr. Magoo`ed my way to some achievements. During college, I drank like a fish and behaved in ways that were nothing short of erratic. Yet, I graduated with honors. During the beginning of my professional career, I was in a super dark place, especially socially, and yet was trusted with quick promotions and a respectable amount of responsibility. And here in California, I've transitioned from a life dominated by alcohol to one dominated by something else, yet was promoted into management at work, became a homeowner, and bought a fancy little car.

All of this while swimming against the tide of my own self-sabotage!

Despite this relative success, it's been like engaging in football with only ten players. Imagine what I can accomplish with a clear-minded quarterback on the field! I'll be running up the score on the entire world!!

Though, to be sure, this blog today is a lot about something that isn't as unique to me as I make it out to be. Ultimately, this is what growing up and maturing are all about. And we all do it. This issues that I'm overcoming and growing out of are just different than those that some of you have dealt with during the course of your own lives (and the same for a few of you, I'm sure). But we all have issues, no doubt.

Along with the two described earlier, there's a third reason why I'm sharing this. And maybe this, more than the others, is the truly legitimate one:

I'm excited!!!

I have the key to unlocking all of my dreams. I always have. And, starting today, I'm going to use it.

Colin Kaepernick

noreply@blogger.com (WhiskeyBoarder) — Tue, 30 Aug 2016 19:17:00 +0000

It’s incredibly arrogant to post social commentary on a blog. This type of writing presumes (or, actually, pretends) that people care about my thoughts on (in this case) social injustice. Yet, in "real life," I can think of only a few people who’d have any real interest in my side of this dialogue. So, if anything in the following post seems proselytizing, please know that I’m fully aware of the limits of my influence.

I’m a member of one of those semi-ritzy boutique gyms, nestled in a pretty affluent community, populated by many retirees. So, every morning, I’ve the pleasure of talking politics with well-heeled folk, many of whom disagree with my liberal points of view. To their credit, I’ve always felt that my opinions have been provided special consideration by my gymmates due to my combat experiences, which they all seem to genuinely respect and I, in turn, appreciate.

This morning, the discussion regarded Colin Kaepernick, the 49ers’ one-time starting quarterback, who has been in the news recently for his protest during the National Anthem, which he’s conducted, he claims, to bring attention to the oppression of colored people in the United States.

Folks in the locker room this morning were initially surprised when I declared that I support Kaepernick 100 percent. I do. And here’s why:

There are two primary reasons; the first is obvious and wasn’t contentious this morning, but the second is definitely unique to my own peculiar attitude, which I recognize is not at all synchronized with mainstream American thought.

1. It’s Kaepernick’s right to exercise his freedom of expression in most any way he pleases. There are those who say, “If you don’t like our country, then leave.” Assuming that Kaepernick pays his taxes and is a citizen in otherwise good standing, his only response to that need be, “No.”

2. The target of Kaepernick’s protest, the National Anthem, is a vestige of nationalism. If nationalism and our odes to it were to go the way of the Dodo, I’d be thrilled.

Kaepernick’s intent, as I understand it, was (and, apparently, is, as Kaepernick plans to continue his protest) to bring attention to the plight of colored people in America.

Since I have no comparable experience, I can only imagine their struggle via hypotheticals. So, I imagine working really hard at something – let’s say a college application. Let’s pretend that I’ve sacrificed all my nights out and exerted all possible effort to get the application just right. I submit it and, based on all my credentials, anticipate a positive outcome. What if I’m rejected and then discover that the college was never really interested in taking on folks with last names that end in a vowel? I’d feel at the least deceived and probably something much worse. Now, take that same sentiment and apply it to all facets of daily life, and that’s what I imagine institutionalized racism feels like to those experiencing it; though this analogy represents that racism in its most innocuous form. And, again I can only imagine, but that rejection has got be more painful if it occurs in a country that has a history of oppressing and enslaving folks with last names like mine, amid a current reality where people with my last name are laying dead in the streets, and no justice being served.

So, I'm super empathetic to the situation that Kaepernick is trying to expose.

And, in fact, I laud him for bringing attention to it. There’s no way racism is dead in America. If I’m pulled over while driving home tonight and believe that I’ve done nothing substantially wrong, I’ll assume I was probably speeding and hadn’t noticed. If a young black male is pulled over, it’s likely that his concerns are totally different than what mine would be. To suggest “well, that’s life” is just tacit recognition of the ingrained racism entrenched in our reality. And that sucks.

Where I become a pariah is point number two:

2. The target of Kaepernick’s protest, the National Anthem, is a vestige of nationalism. If nationalism and our odes to it were to go the way of the Dodo, I’d be thrilled.

Opposing nationalism may belittle the legacies of all the people who have sacrificed to defend our flag, but having done the same myself (defend the flag, that is), I can’t shake the memories that have taught me that patriotism only begets death.

Nationalism isn't worth dying for. The only thing that I wish would die is nationalism itself. Grab your pitchforks and prepare to burn me on the stake. But it’s how I truly feel.

I’m no more special or valuable to this world simply because of the fortunate circumstances of the location of my birth. Until someone can convince me that “American Exceptionalism” is an empirical thing, I’ll hold firm to my belief that we (the royal “we”, not the American one) are all in this thing together.

Exalting American values as if they are beyond reproach is so myopic. When did respecting the flag stop being a choice and become an expectation? And how many degrees separate respect from subservience? Some of the same people who despise the federal government are ardent in their demand that we stand and dignify the iconography associated with it. If we're going to be made to pledge allegiance, then the President might as well wear a crown. Standing in support of a national anthem, the very act which Kaepernick is defying, is one that I feel should have been left in antiquity, right along with the bondage of monarchy.

Just over a decade ago, many of us were sent to Iraq to defend the United States from weapons of mass destruction. Whether those weapons existed is debatable but in almost any case, they were not then a threat to the U.S. Which means that I personally took human lives and witnessed those I cared about taken from them, to defend a country from a make-believe bogeyman. So, it seems to me that there is very real danger in being blinded by the flag and the values it represents; values that - by the way - aren't universally admired (though we may think they are) just because they're American. I personally choose not to pledge allegiance to the flag because I can’t divorce patriotism from death as the two are intrinsically tied in my own mind, based on unique experiences. This isn’t right. Nor wrong. Just an opinion. Mine.

But, back to Kaepernick: if the objective of his protest was and continues to be to generate a dialogue, I hope that the right one develops, and we move on from criticizing him to brainstorming solutions to the problems that he is identifying. If but one remedy to racial discrimination and death is unearthed because of this, then Kaepernick ought to be thanked, not chastised.

Thanks for reading.

Drinking Kills. Politicians Kill.

noreply@blogger.com (WhiskeyBoarder) — Sat, 23 Jul 2016 14:38:00 +0000

I just discovered that a colleague (friend?) has been diagnosed with cancer.

On a much more positive note, I'm visiting my parents. But, I'm many miles away from the excitement and optimism of California and feel homesickness creeping in.

So, for an evenly tempered person, I'm currently feeling a bit ... manic? Or, as much as I ever really have.

I want to tell you a story. It's deeply personal. And, likely, I've shared it before. If so, I'm sorry for the redundancy.

I've convinced myself again that sharing this story will relieve me of some personal remorse. It never does. If only because I always recall that my own remorse is awfully selfish for me to feel when the pain my actions caused for others is so many magnitudes more significant.

But I'll try again anyway.

So, the tale begins in a far off land (South Korea) in a time long ago (2004ish?). At the time, I was serving in the Army, a 19 or 20 year-old Buck Sergeant, the leader of a "reconnaissance" team of forward observers, and preparing for my second tour of Iraq.

During a night on the "town" ("TDC", or one of the other off-post communities of sin, for those familiar with the area near the Demilitarized Zone on the Korean Peninsula), I had, as I did often at the time, blacked-out from massive drinking. During that blackout, it was alleged that someone among a group of friends and I ripped the spoiler off a South Korea civilian's car. Though I legitimately do not remember fully who committed the vandalism, the fragments I do recall indicate that the culprit was me.

In any case, we were all detained by the South Korean police. This was almost an "incident." I mean, this wasn't an international affair or anything, but a headache for the American Command, no doubt. Thankfully (I guess), they negotiated on our behalf and saved us from South Korean jail where, frankly, we probably belonged.

Being that our deployment to Ar Ramadi, Iraq was so closely pending, my unit's leadership decided that regular means of punishment weren't in order. Instead of an "Article 15" as the Army calls its nonjudicial punishment, my penalty was to be relieved of my reconnaissance team and sent to the infantry.

Now, a little interlude: This punishment seemed awfully severe. At the time, I was one of very few people among the soldiers in South Korea who had fought in Iraq previously. It was a weird turn of events (and another story that was the result of drinking) that I spent two of my three years in the Army, in combat (though typical now, that was not at all during the initial stages of the Iraq war).

Anyway - based on my previous experience in Iraq, my perception was that the infantry assignment was in actuality a death sentence.

Interlude continued: My former reconnaissance team consisted of two junior forward observers and me, their team lead. I was replaced by a peer Sergeant who, in many now chill-provoking ways, reminded me of myself. Superficially, we both had a mouthful of crowded, crooked teeth (though he pulled it off better, in my opinion). His basic training picture and mine were so similar that those unfamiliar could confuse them. Further, we both came from Rust-Belt States; he from Ohio. I was born in Pennsylvania.

End interlude.

In time, our deployment began and my year with the infantry in Ar Ramadi was about as awful as I had anticipated (though, oddly, until very recently, I occasionally reflected upon it with misplaced nostalgia).

But, clearly, I survived.

During the deployment, on the other side of Ar Ramadi, my former reconnaissance team was pulling security from their Humvee. Those who have never performed such duty will never comprehend how boring a task this can be. In fact, it's so boring that the lethal tendency toward complacency can be forgiven.

Now, as far as complacency goes, there's nothing more to be said about that, other than: My reconnaissance platoon was awesome, and my former team was performing superbly in a city that the U.S. Command had forgotten (I'll save the expletives I like to use to describe who I perceive very negatively like Colonel Patton and Vice President Cheney. Wait, I take that back. Cheney's first name, "Dick", is perfectly appropriate for both).

My old team was pulling security outside the gates of their base, overlooking a strategically important bridge entering western Ar Ramadi. An enemy combatant tossed a hand grenade in what had been MY truck. The truck that I had been vanquished from because of my juvenile crime many months earlier on the opposite side of South Asia. My former soldier was immediately killed. My replacement who, if not for one night of long drinking would have been me, was also immediately KIA. The third soldier suffered physical injuries and, more severely, from what I could tell when I last spoke to him, emotional damage as well.

I'm sure it all occurred in less time than it took me to write these preceding three paragraphs, and has had impacts that will last a lifetime for me. And, worse, others. Including, sadly, the families of those lost. :(

Weird thing: Until about two years ago, I had repressed this entire story from my memory. I didn't mean to; it just wasn't there. Completely gone. A few years ago, it came rushing back. And, in moments when I feel any unrelated despair at all (like now, for example), it clouds all other thoughts.

So:

There are several reasons I no longer drink. The consequence of drinking, as described in the tale above, isn't the primary reason, but a very significant one. I will never allow myself to lose control of my own behavior, because one can never really know the potential devastating repercussions of doing so until it is terribly too late.

When I passionately oppose militant American chickenhawks like Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump (and the aforementioned despicable Vice President Cheney), it's because I'm tired of people, Americans and otherwise, dying when their sacrifices are for naught (that Iraq war sure was good for no one; Iraqis and Americans alike).

Rarely do events in my current life seem worth fretting over when I know that, if not for a stupid turn of fate, I shouldn't even be here. And I am only because of the sacrifice of someone else. Who had a family. And a commitment to duty that I couldn't match.

I don't know what purpose sharing this really solves. I don't feel a whole lot better. And, I shouldn't. Some words on the internet doesn't repentance make.

But thanks for reading. To the families of Sgt. Kuhns and Spc. Kinslow... well, my apology is always offered and is more sincere than I can even convey. But it doesn't come close to matching the awful consequences of my wayward actions.

Living That Life

noreply@blogger.com (WhiskeyBoarder) — Thu, 23 Jun 2016 17:15:00 +0000

There’s many exciting things going on in my life. But one particularly atypical, so I want to share.

I'm going to buy a new car. And not just any car, but a nice car.

There are some philosophically compelling reasons to make this “purchase” (quotes because it will actually be a lease) but, first, the practical:

I have only three outstanding debts to my name:

My mortgage,
My low-interest and totally nominal student loan,
A personal loan that was extended to me to support my move to California that has an interest rate that far exceeds what I should be paying given my positive credit-worthiness.

So, in refinancing that personal loan, I am freeing up some extra cash, and already had plenty of wiggle room regardless. Additionally, my current vehicle is totally paid off and, at this point, still retains fairly substantial trade-in value; but, not for much longer. After all is said and done, the factors above make a ~$300/month lease payment totally manageable.

Now, the fluff: I rarely splurge on myself. I’m remarkably disciplined. To the point that I just enjoyed a bachelor’s party wherein I didn’t drink a single drop of alcohol. I’ve made all sorts of sacrifices to commit to bettering myself and, recently, I’ve developed an appreciation for nice cars, and think this may be the proper way of rewarding myself.

Or, this is a mid-life crisis. Which hopefully it's not, because 64 years is less than the longevity of life that I am aiming to achieve!

So, tonight, I'm visiting Fletcher Jones Imports in Newport to test drive a 2016 Mercedes CLA 250. The CLA 250 is the somewhat controversial Mercedes. "Controversial" to "purists" because it is smaller in size and stature than the typical Mercedes, and is also substantially less in price. It’s the “Gateway” to the Mercedes lifestyle if you will. Or, it will be for me. Which is perfect for me, because my lifelong goal is to one day own a G-Wagon, the legacy of the world’s first internal combustion-powered vehicle. I’m also considering the more expensive C300 but, frankly, I'm a sucker for the CLA’s panoramic roof, so I am very likely to go that route.

It’s a far cry from the Honda Fit that I've been driving for the past five years or so. Here are some sample pics of a CLA. My model will have two upgrades that I refuse to lease without: the panoramic roof and Xenon headlights. I’ll keep you posted here on how my introduction to the Mercedes Benz family goes. Cheers!

Beautiful

noreply@blogger.com (WhiskeyBoarder) — Fri, 15 Apr 2016 20:35:00 +0000

Sharing publicly the issues that are on my mind goes a long way toward resolving them. But it also invites criticism. Which makes blogging perfect. Because this is really only a “public” forum in my own mind. In reality, ain’t nobody reading this. So I get to avoid the consequences. While reaping the benefits.

It’s beautiful.

With that in mind (and, speaking of “beautiful”)…

I’ve been hyper this week. Mostly because this week isn’t last. And last week, I was in the doldrums. Or… Well, as much as I ever am. Being “down”, when you’re me, is probably pretty close to the disappointment that a typical human feels when ordering Coke and receiving Pepsi. Last week wasn’t emotional Armageddon; I just wasn’t totally myself.

But, I’m back. And I’ve been thinking about what caused last week’s malaise. And, now that I’m being honest with myself again, it’s pretty obvious.

Play along here.

Let’s say you are a normal 8-5 laborer, right? You work hard every day, and make decent money. It’s satisfying enough. Toward the end of the year, you know that your effort may have earned you a bonus, but initially you certainly don’t count on it.

As the end of the year creeps closer, though, you begin spending a little more. You make plans that perhaps you normally wouldn’t have. Maybe you even fantasize a bit about what could be done with that extra cash.

You know better. But it’s natural, and the wanderlust makes you happy.

And then the year ends and the reality settles in that there was no bonus. There never was going to be a bonus. And no one ever promised you one. Truthfully, you knew this all along.

But that’s no solace. So, here you are, disappointed about losing something that you never had in the first place.

That’s what happened to me. Except it wasn’t a bonus. It was a woman.

And this is where “beautiful” comes in, because she was certainly that. And many other great things. But, I hardly knew her. And, though we were compatible and enjoyed the little time we had spent together, it becoming serious was as much promised to me as was the bonus in our little hypothetical above.

My reaction, though not severe, exceeded what was commensurate to the situation. But, at least now that it has been shared “publicly”, the last of my disappointment can be absolved.

Just Get On With It

noreply@blogger.com (WhiskeyBoarder) — Tue, 05 Apr 2016 20:00:00 +0000

Everyday while driving to work, I think for a moment, “This is a BS way to live a life.” And then I get on with it.

This morning, that reflection lingered a bit longer. And it led, unexpectedly, to thoughts of parenthood. Weird, huh? But here’s the connection:

Unless he participates in a paradigm shifting achievement, a single man’s life is pretty insignificant. Sounds bleak, though that’s a matter of perspective. The tangible measurement of a person’s impact, however, is a matter of fact. And the single man, dutifully clocking his eight-hour shifts, eating, sleeping, and repeating daily probably isn’t going to contribute much of a tangible impact on anyone.

Unless he becomes a parent.

This is going to take work...

It seems to me that having a child legitimizes and provides reason for engaging in the “rat race”. The parent’s influence may only be on a single person, his or her child. But, to that child, the level of influence is immeasurable.

Work’s cost to the parent’s time and freedom is immensely lower than the enormous benefit of being able to participate in a meaningful way in a child's life.

But is the work/cost analysis weighted favorably in a similar fashion for the childless?

Humans, so far as I know, are only provided one life to live. During the course of that life, work is going to cause most to spend a lot of that time at a place they would rather not be (though, personally, my job isn’t the worst place to be), while doing things they’d rather not do.

“Woe is me.” “There are wars in the Middle East.” Etc Etc Etc. I get it. This all reads like a complaint, but it’s really just an observation, I promise you.

But, consider: If we could wipe the slate of responsibilities clear, and I offered you, say, 1 million dollars in exchange for 35% (and up to 50% or more of every single day) of your adult life*, minus eight hours of sleep a night, would you take that offer? Personally, I’d like to think I’d tell you to shove it.

Yet, everyday, I get on with it.

* http://realsociology.edublogs.org/2012/03/31/what-percentage-of-your-life-will-you-spend-at-work/

Enjoy in Moderation

noreply@blogger.com (WhiskeyBoarder) — Mon, 28 Mar 2016 23:13:00 +0000

When I’m into something (or someone, apparently), I’m all in.

When I was a kid, I was so obsessed with dunking a basketball that I worked out constantly with JumpSole plyometric weights on my feet until, ultimately, I could stand still, take no steps, leap, and hang on a ten-foot rim with two hands. And dunk. (Incidentally, also a character trait, though one for another entry: quitting, which I did with basketball in high school)

When I became interested in the Ultimate Fighting Championship, it wasn’t enough to just watch the UFC, I had to join a gym and learn Brazilian Jiu Jitsu and Thai Boxing. The reason I study Russian is directly attributed to my man-crush on fighter, Fedor Emelianenko.

When I decided to make my diet no-carb, I literally ate chicken. And just chicken. Every single meal.

My Dad used to call me “Perdue”

It wasn’t sufficient to be a soldier in the Army, I had to be Special Forces. And I tried. (Though, I failed.)

Running? It’s consumed me. I do it at least twice a day. And I have to race. And, when racing, I have to win. (Which I do – win, that is. At least in 10Ks.)

When I drank, a frivolous activity, I had to do it better than my peers. Drink more, black out harder, and rage more belligerently. I was the champion pitcher chugger at USF’s Greek Olympics.

The list goes on and on.

Naturally, this same characteristic is influencing my dating behavior. Why can’t I just casually like someone?

I’m learning that I have to consciously stop myself from going head over heels for every cool, attractive woman I meet who conveys any sort of mutual interest.

It could be that I really am only meeting extremely compatible, totally incredible women. But, even if so, I really need to learn how to modulate the intensity of my attraction. Though it hasn’t happened yet, I know that it leaves me vulnerable to an emotional trampling.

Roller Coaster. Of Love.

noreply@blogger.com (WhiskeyBoarder) — Thu, 24 Mar 2016 19:11:00 +0000

Yesterday, we played football. Today, we’re at the amusement park. Both are fun. So, please know that I am, in fact, enjoying the ride. Even if my writing doesn’t always clearly convey it.

"Dating", the ride.

The minor heartache that dating sometimes causes is just the uphill climb on the roller coaster. Without it, the ride wouldn’t be near as thrilling.

Relationships have phases. All are stimulating in good or bad ways. Sometimes the appeal is obvious. The lust of the initial meeting is like the roller coaster’s downhill plunge. The sheer excitement of it blinds you to all that could and maybe should be scary.

But the most important phase may be the one that no one regards as fun at all. Eventually, in almost all cases, there’s going to be tribulations. But, overcoming these issues is like the safety check on the roller coaster. Adversity causes partners to reveal their true character. But, like the safety of the ride, a relationship is only as secure as its foundation is sound.

Eventually, you step off the roller coaster. Euphoria settles, and reality encroaches. The ride was so fun that you either jump back on, or begin to dream of building something bigger and more significant.

Or, of course, you can walk away and see what else the park has to offer. Some may find that they prefer the solemnity of the carousel over the excitement of the coaster.

The Quest for a Ring. Super Bowl Ring.

noreply@blogger.com (WhiskeyBoarder) — Wed, 23 Mar 2016 19:44:00 +0000

This entry is about relationships. Bear with me.

I’m a diehard fan of the professional football team, the Philadelphia Eagles. The Eagles’ ultimate goal is to win a Super Bowl. They have never won a Super Bowl.

Imagine (and trust me, this will take some real creative thinking) that the Eagles have an awesome regular season next year. Coach Doug Pederson turns out to be the man, QB Sam Bradford has a career year, Jim Schwartz is the defensive savant we all hope him to be, and the running back committee of Ryan Matthews and Darren Sproles takes the league by storm. The Eagles go 16-0 in the regular season, enjoy a bye during the first round of the playoffs, and then crush their opponents in the division and conference championship games.

"Follow me to the Promised Land!!"

Boom! The Eagles get to the Super Bowl.

As soon as the game starts, the Eagles’ talent evaporates, kinda like the movie, Space Jam. Just gone. Mostly inexplicable, but definitely gone. Not only do the Eagles lose the Super Bowl, they walk away wondering if it they would’ve been better off not showing up at all.

And that, my friends ... that is basically my recent relationship experience.

Excuse Me, Your Confidence is Showing...

noreply@blogger.com (WhiskeyBoarder) — Mon, 21 Mar 2016 00:38:00 +0000

I really enjoyed writing my most recent post.

It was fun for me. Like going to a movie or funneling cheap beer may be for you.

It reignited my desire to write. Who knew that relationships, sex (and the lack there of), my own deficiencies, and other adult topics would be so much fun to explore publicly? So, I suppose they'll be recurring themes here. Written, of course, in my own unique, extraordinarily open, and perhaps mildly unsettling way.

Also more meme and meme material. Definitely committing to that, too.

Plus, I imagine that the blog niche of straight men exploring their sexuality isn't overly exploited yet. I mean, I haven't searched. Seriously.

This is all new to me. And by "this", I mean, actively seeking a relationship.

Actually, that was an imprecise way of describing this. And you deserve better. Because, the full truth is that I have looked before, but never with the sense of confidence and, well, expectation that I have now.

My immediate discovery is that real dating is serious work. I'm not the fortunate Casanova who may sweep a girl off her feet at first glance. But the slow play is exhausting. Though, I guess the reward is a loving relationship in return.

I was promised a tinder-fueled fantasy world of convenient sex. And that world may even exist, but I'm restricted from it by stubborn human emotions. My own. My relationships, I'm learning, require time and effort.

I'm shocked by the resiliency of my new confidence. Not many years ago, if there was mutual attraction from a woman who I was totally in to, first: I would have thought it due to my good luck only, and second: I'd lose my mind if it ended, as if I'd never attract that sort of woman again.

Now, it's different. And I mean this. So long as the perfect woman isn't a unicorn, I'll probably find her again. When I do, I know she'll be happy that I did. That's sincere optimism. And, boy, does it make life so much more enjoyable.

As for my commitment to openness and honesty, I recognize that its a trap. The lure is the assumption that I'll receive the same in return. But I know better. No one has any obligation to me. I get it, and think I'm served well to keep that forthright in mind.

Another pitfall is the temptation to lose my humility. Though, to be fair, "humility" overstates a condition that is really ignorance and naivety at its core.

A woman's humility, to me, is casual, unassuming confidence. And nothing is sexier. I figure many women regard it of men in the same way. So, I hope to never lose my "humility"; in so much that I ever had it.

~~Humility~~

Anyway, there'll be plenty of discussion along those lines in future posts. I even have a joke about the Donald Trump phenomenon and how it's analogous to sexual frustration.

I guess that's called a "tease" for next time.

Degradation in Performance

noreply@blogger.com (WhiskeyBoarder) — Mon, 14 Mar 2016 18:32:00 +0000

This is going to be without a doubt the most emasculating subject that I have ever shared here. Though, not as difficult to write about as PTSD or alcoholism, the subject today is many magnitudes more embarrassing. And, frankly, it shouldn’t be.

Caveat. Why share? Simple. Writing is therapeutic. The source of the problem that I am about to describe is mental, so I figure that describing it openly and honestly may relieve my conscious of the burden.

Caveat two. As much frustration and disappointment as the issue to be described has caused, it’s a minor disturbance in the dream life that I otherwise enjoy. This specific post is melancholy. But, generally speaking, I am not. In fact, this issue aside, I am as fundamentally pleased with my life as I have ever been.

Caveat three. By putting this issue out there so publicly, I may be sabotaging the very thing I am trying to protect. I know it. But, I need this.

And, finally, a warning: If reading deeply personal, embarrassingly frank, emotionally raw, and somewhat awkward material is discomforting, you may wish to avoid reading further. (Seriously, though I have no shame, if you do and we are personal acquaintances, it may be best for the sake of your own ease to just not read this.)

Now that the audience is suitably prepared, let’s not dance around it: For not the first time in my life, I am going to lose someone precious to me because of sexual performance anxiety.

The first time this occurred was in college. But I was able to rationalize the occurrence because of the myriad of extraneous issues I was then dealing: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from combat, debilitating alcoholism, rock-bottom self-esteem and the vicious jealousy that manifested because of all that.

The second time was recently. But, truly, I wasn’t as physically into the girl as I had thought I was. Or, so I convinced myself in order to justify the recurrence of the issue.

Now, there’s been a third time. And that’s a pattern. Worse, I no longer drink, and I have achieved the success I’d always dreamed of. I genuinely have no sense at all of jealousy. So, none of my previous excuses are now applicable.

The issue is mine. And, it is very clearly me, because the issue is arising (or, well, “it’s not”, which is the problem; that’s humor in the face of adversity, by the way) while in the company of a woman who offers every single thing I had ever desired in this regard. We have an open, no obligations relationship. She is intellectual, driven, and shares with me a basic life philosophy. And, excuse the misogyny for a moment; she has the body and beauty that makes her sex appeal totally undeniable.

If there ever could be such a thing, this is the perfect no-pressure situation. So, there’s no reason for an issue. Yet, one persists. Logically, it must be me.

Not to get too specific, but this issue occurs in such a way that it is very obviously neurotic. To be somewhat discrete, let’s just say that there is absolutely no problem until the very moment that this specific problem ends early an otherwise magical night. Picture what I’m saying? Don’t. That’s gross. But, that’s the crux of it.

And, here’s the thing: I have no idea how to overcome this issue. And that, itself, is devastating. Via nothing more than the strength of my own willpower, I’ve overcome my addiction to alcohol. I’ve fought off the demons that plague my memories of war. I crushed my once paralyzing social anxiety to such a degree that my success speaking publicly has propelled my rapid career progress. I have such confidence in my cognitive power that I am absolutely certain that I can overcome any obstacle simply by virtue of being me. Past precedence, in almost every situation besides this one, has confirmed this assurance.

“Devastating” was perhaps an inaccurate adjective. To discover I’m ill-equipped to resolve a crack in the foundation of my happiness is mystifying, because I’ve been so singularly capable in all other aspects. It’s like Batman encountering an adversary Superman. At some point, even superheroes, after all they’ve accomplished, must face situations where they throw up their hands and just beg, “Now what!?” Superhero I am not, but that’s the question I find myself now asking in exasperation.

To wrap this up (yes, another stomach-turning pun), allow me to share a little bit of my current reality. Which, in turn, may hopefully foment a solution.

Since moving to California, I’ve earned money, success, and confidence. I’ve shed my baby fat, committed to my well-being and have solidified myself in every substantial regard; I’m a homeowner, happy, and a recognized workplace leader. Even my car is paid off. My social health is at its peak. I can and do dominate rooms with my wit and personality. For the first time ever, appealing women are chasing me. I certainly do not lack for confidence and it’s totally genuine. My sense of self-worth is through the roof.

The real significance of my new reality is not that women are interested in me; it’s that I know that they should be.

Yet, here I am writing about … this.

And what’s so unfamiliar, perplexing, and downright startling about this, is that I am simply at a loss as to how to overcome it.

Addendum:

The following was written a few days after the entry above, but attached here so that it could share the same general caveats and warnings that precede the original post.

Given the issue described in my most recent post HERE, I've decided to alter my approach.

Since quitting drinking (for the most part), I've maintained a pretty successful online dating profile. I've met nothing but remarkable, admirable women. Though, all of our relationships ended amicably but disappointingly (for me, at least). And twice due to the issue described yesterday, and linked above.

I updated that profile this morning to address the concerns described earlier and referenced in the bio below. I'd like to also share here. So, that profile follows.

The caveat today is that I would much rather just have no dating profile at all, and continue to develop my most recent relationship. In any case, like all things that I can't control, I refuse to be affected by my disappointment.

Anyway, here it is. Apply by email. Lol:

Very important: I value honesty, both yours and mine, over all other characteristics. I'm open, never ever lie, and keep zero secrets. Legitimately, I'm an open-book, much more so than most. I'm willing to throw my biggest (hopefully, only!) deficiency right out there. I prefer it, actually. So, here it is: If I dig you, I'll put so much pressure on myself to please you, that I'll sometimes underperform sexually. Boom. There it is. Who knows; could be a non-issue. I don't know.

Now, other than that, and the fact that I'm remarkably even tempered, I promise you that I'm a totally normal dude. Almost boringly so, I'd argue.

Listen, I'm not on here to meet women. I'm here to meet THE woman. I'm all about comfort. In my experience, two people know immediately if that mutual comfort is there. I'm looking for physical and intellectual stimulation. I'd like to think I offer the same in return.

I made a success of myself from nothing, fought a war, and became a pacifistic liberal. I own my own place and car, and have been the guest of the President at the White House. I’m raising an awesome little puppy, and am a successful competitive runner, and in exceptional physical shape. I live for music. Of all types, but currently mostly electronic house music. I'm politically active and very recently published in the Long Beach Press Telegram. I very rarely drink; my preferred mind-altering substance is plant-based (though, I guess, so is alcohol...). I make friends easily. I believe that I’m personable, warm, empathetic, a good-listener, and have a quick, biting wit and a quirky type of intellect. Food doesn’t do much for me, though I’m obsessed with salt-free all natural chunky peanut butter, Trader Joe’s brand preferably. Among the things that are important to me are the Philadelphia Flyers, Eagles, Sixers, and Phillies and, to a greater degree, my alma mater, the University of South Florida. I was born in Philly, raised in North Dakota, went to college in Florida, and began my career in D.C. I consider California home, though – no place has consistently made me happier. I study Russian for fun. I'm proud of being not only the youngest manager in my office, but the youngest employee in general. I'm a comic book-reading, reddit-browsing nerd at heart.

I honestly feel like I share behavior traits with Christian Bale’s character in “The Big Short”, Michael Burry, M.D.

An Iraq Veteran's Letter to the Vote Vets Organization

noreply@blogger.com (WhiskeyBoarder) — Thu, 19 Nov 2015 18:34:00 +0000

I just wrote this letter to the Vote Vets organization. Though, historically, I have found that I do not always receive response when blindly contacting organizations such as this. So, to increase the exposure of my request, I've decided to share here as well. If anyone knows of any opportunities that may be available to a combat veteran with the passion for the causes described below, please share.

And thanks for reading! Please share this letter with anyone who may be interested.

- Steve

PS: The "redacted" sentence contains a comment regarding my personal medical history that I was comfortable sharing with the letter's recipient, but not so here on the blog. If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to leave a comment or contact me. Thanks again.

Good morning,

I am writing to request information regarding Vote Vets and specifically to understand how I may be able to personally contribute to the organization.

First, I should tell you that I have been searching for a long time for an organization that supports veterans such as myself while maintaining a less divisive, more “big-picture” inclusive political perspective. So, it has been quite satisfying to recently discover Vote Vets.

I’d like to share a bit about myself because I think that I may be valuable in communicating the Vote Vets message, and I'd like to convince you of the same. I am 31 years old and a combat veteran of the United States Army with service in Iraq and South Korea, to include combat experience in Ar Ramadi, Iraq. In the Army, I was a forward observer, served on a Brigade Reconnaissance Team during the first phase of Operation Iraqi Freedom and subsequently with the 1/503rd Infantry (Air Assault) in 2005 during my year-long tour of Ar Ramadi. I finished my military career in the National Guard with the 3rd Bn., 20th Special Forces Group, though I was not Special Forces-qualified myself. After leaving the Service, I obtained my bachelor’s degree Magna Cum Laude from the University of South Florida with dual majors: international studies and religious studies. I have taken courses in Arabic and Hebrew, and currently study Russian recreationally. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXX Via surprisingly good care from the V.A. and others, I have taken hold of my life and currently work as a data analyst in a position where I have climbed the corporate ladder in ways that few others in my agency have before me. I pride myself especially on my natural aptitude for communication. I believe I am compelling as a writer and even more so as a public speaker. And I’d be thrilled to apply these skills such that they may benefit Vote Vets.

When I left the military, I was very politically conservative. In fact, another organization, Veterans For Freedom, financed my travel and lodging during an event where I was asked to (and did, in fact) lobby politicians in support of the military surge in Iraq. Since then, however, my own mentality has changed dramatically. Having lost a junior soldier in Iraq and having since endured guilt associated with some of my combat actions, I've developed an outlook that seems to me atypical of veterans. For a poignant and current example, I wholeheartedly welcome war refugees to our country. Not only do I believe that this is the morally correct thing to do, I also feel that it serves the best interest of the United States. I cannot fathom that influential American leaders (even governors!) do not understand cause and effect; that is, denying refuge to those seeking to avoid harm in countries that we disrupted will only have the consequence of radicalizing segments of those refugees. Restricting refugees' entry to the United States has only negative consequence for all parties! Perhaps it's more bothersome to me that our political leaders are aware of these consequences but are allowed to drive an agenda willfully ignorant of these realities while building support based solely on fear. That is not the America that I fought for, and I am passionate about doing my part to change that.

I would really like to help the Vote Vets cause. And I am willing to do so via any means that the organization deems most beneficial, either with actions or money. And, though I just purchased my first home, I am single and have no real practical obligations that would prevent me from devoting plenty of time and travel, if necessary, to the advancement of the Vote Vets organization. As mentioned above, I think that my ability to articulate persuasive arguments may be valuable to the organization. I am also a bit of a tech nerd and have some limited programming and database skills. I am a change management, data guru at my place of employ so, in this regard, I may be able to assist Vote Vets as well. I seek no compensation other than the platform to spread a message of security through diplomacy and other ideals that I think both Vote Vets and I share.

I appreciate your time and consideration. Please feel free to contact me via any of the methods below.

Respectfully,

My New Fear

noreply@blogger.com (WhiskeyBoarder) — Fri, 17 Jul 2015 16:25:00 +0000

I didn't intend to quit drinking. And I’m not certain that I have. Since December, though, it's become a pastime that I don't often partake.

Why? Because I now fear drinking.

I am writing this now because it was recently the July 4th weekend. Once the pinnacle of drunken debauchery for my year, this Independence Day weekend passed without much pomp from me. I got to thinking about how peculiar that would have seemed to the 23 year-old me (I am now 31) and, with that thought, I was compelled to write.

Before I continue, let’s get this straight. Today’s post is a positive one. But to get to the good stuff, we have to work through some of the negative.

So, Friday prior to the holiday weekend, I had a pleasant conversation with my boss's boss. No less than three times, he referred to me as "brilliant". A bit of hyperbole, no doubt. Nevertheless, given my respect for the compliment’s source, the adjective resounded deeply. I think I've always had the aptitude for brilliance. I just haven't always displayed and applied it. So, let’s talk about what has changed.

One change has been the acceptance of that newly developed fear. But, first, we must discuss another change that precipitated that one. That is, I gained self-confidence.

For a long time, I had claimed self-confidence. And maybe even deluded myself into believing that I had some. But it was a charade. I know that now because I've since discovered what it’s like to have real, legitimate confidence. And it’s not the same feeling as I had before.

Now, my presence can fill a room. I can rhetorically spar with the most intellectually sharp of my peers. I gain tremendous fulfillment from my contributions at work. The valuable ideas that had been for too long locked in my head are now delivered persuasively. And, at home, my neighbors turn to me as a natural arbiter of disputes. I consider that role a subtle token of respect.

I feel I'm the master of every situation. Obstacles that were once daunting now cause no concern. Even in the most complex of situations, I find myself thinking, “I'm Steve. I'll figure this out.” More often than not, I do.

These feelings probably don't seem atypical to many of you. Feeling as I do now, all of this just seems to be what "normal" is to everyone else.

But "normal" had been prohibited from me. Achieving it required confidence. And that, in turn, was brought on by, you can guess it...

...My new fear.

The fear of drinking. Well, mostly its consequences, to be exact.

And please don’t think I've chosen the word “fear” flippantly. No, I actually mean a legitimate fear of drinking. Alcohol has become scary. It’s like a gun aimed directly at my self-confidence. Not to mention the threat it poses to my success and general state of happiness.

Yet, I haven't forgotten drinking’s appeal. Imagine a skydiver who recognizes the thrill of jumping but is prevented from stepping out of the plane by overwhelming anxiety. That's the type of fear to which I am referring.

Also very real were the detrimental physical effects of my drinking. Not just sweaty nervousness, and random bouts of unease, but the bloated face that often stared back from the mirror most mornings. Though some mornings were even worse. Those were the ones when I had not drank the night prior and, subsequently, hardly slept. Try as I may, I could never disguise the aesthetic repercussions of poor rest.

But all that is behind me now.

Fear is often thought of as a "bad" thing. When I was growing up, "No Fear" was a popular slogan and a desired state to achieve. But, fear can also be healthy. As it is in this case. It's this new fear that had caused me to quit sabotaging my own happiness. And with that happiness has come confidence. And from confidence, many opportunities to attain greater states of happiness...

It's a satisfying self-perpetuating cycle. And one that was set in motion by this wonderful new fear.

What PTSD Feels Like (to me)

noreply@blogger.com (WhiskeyBoarder) — Wed, 10 Jun 2015 18:27:00 +0000

It took me a long time to put two and two together…

But to effectively convey this observation about combat-derived Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), I need to lay out a premise; one that makes no attempt at humility:

I've become relatively successful in my local work environment via the effective application of wit and, dare I say it, charm(?!).

So, the above being true, I was for a long time confused by the overwhelming social unease that had overtaken me from the time I left the active duty military. This condition became exacerbated after my subsequent failure at Special Forces Assessment and Selection (SFAS) while in the National Guard.

Here is what that social apprehension felt like: If you have ever worked out, or pushed yourself physically in any sort of way, you may know what it is like to desperately want to run one extra mile, to execute one more pushup, or to jump just a little higher. But, sometimes, no matter how hard you try, the body just will not respond. For many years, this is exactly how I felt in social situations. I would sit in meetings at work and have valuable comments to share, but I literally could not push my body to produce the words that I desired to convey.

It was incredibly frustrating. I mean, frustrating to the point that I would either literally run myself to exhaustion or drink such that I could completely wash away the pain. Every single day.

Reflecting, what is now equally as disturbing as the affliction itself is the realization that I had convinced myself that this inability was “normal”. Or normal in so much as it was as much a part of me as my ability (or inability) to run that extra mile, do that additional pushup, or attain that slightly higher vertical leap. I had settled on the sad conclusion that, just as much as I’d never be LeBron James, I’d also never be the keynote speaker, the life of the party, or, heck, even a successful dinner host.

So, to have social success now suggests that something has changed. And it has. And that change, I think, says something valuable about PTSD.

Bottom line up front: It’s all about trust. To elaborate:

During the formative years of my life, ages 17 – 25ish, I was singularly focused on military training. This was the type of training that was meant to hone a particular skill: the ability to kill the “enemy”. Sure, the actual activity at times may not have been directly lethal, say ruck-running. But, in that case, the ability to travel quickly with a large load just made me more acutely capable of placing myself in position to kill. And, of course, for a few years, I applied those skills. And, worse, had them applied against me (fortunately ineffectively, for the most part).

It should be no surprise then that I escaped those years with some personal baggage.

Think about it. When in a country where any local national may be trying to kill you, trust is hard to come by. But I could always rely on myself. So when I inexplicably quit at SFAS, I discovered that I could not even trust myself.

Personal “baggage” to me was living in a world where no interaction could be trusted. You want to know how it feels to be completely absent of trust?

Imagine sitting at a bar when an attractive woman approaches. In your head, you may momentarily conjure the words that may win this woman’s affection. Well, when you lack trust, those words are quickly washed away in a sea of questions: What does this woman want from me? And, why me? I’m not as handsome as that other guy. I have nothing to offer. Is she talking to me to make him jealous? And what if she does like me? How will I fail her expectations?

Now, take those questions, that self-doubt, and apply it to every social interaction. This was my life. When I talk about trust in this sense, I mean that natural tendency toward warmth between people. In my world, relationships were built almost solely on the desire to promote self-interest. What can this person do for me? How can I use them? That’s a world without trust. And it was mine.

PTSD had robbed me of my ability to trust people. My coping mechanism was avoidance. I became aloof and socially awkward. And neither of these traits were ones that I had exhibited prior to combat. Well, at least not this severely.

But, I’m starting to overcome all of this. It’s required tremendous effort. Real effort. For example, I've become an effective public speaker, but every such occasion requires incredible exertion. Not the same effort as is required to run, jump, or do pushups. But effort that exhausts the body and mind in the same way. I have to literally tell myself to trust people, to interact with them, and to see that there are friendly conversations not driven by masked selfish agendas. Even though outwardly successful, I’m still constantly overcoming obstacles that others not similarly suffering wouldn't even think exist.

But if I can find success, I imagine others can as well. Maybe that’s why I've written this. Or, maybe I just want to share my own achievement. Or perhaps I’d just like people to know why I acted so darn weird for a while there.

I’m not quite sure yet my motivation, but I felt compelled to write. That said, I can close with a final, positive anecdotal note which, in turn, can hopefully be used by others when in the presence of those quietly suffering:

I’m incredibly fortunate. When my struggle was its most desperate, I was surrounded by friends first and later co-workers who I’m convinced were aware of my condition even when I was not. No one ever chastised me for those many times when my voice cracked, I sweated nervously, or I otherwise exhibited signs of agitation. So many people have shared with me their compassion, patience, and understanding. And without them and the environment that they fostered for my personal growth, I’d never experience the great satisfaction that life is now delivering to me.

I'm Back.

noreply@blogger.com (WhiskeyBoarder) — Tue, 14 Apr 2015 17:10:00 +0000

Yesterday, I took a personal day off from work. The cause was due to lack of sleep during the preceding night.

So, here we go again, you think.

In this case, however, the lack of sleep was consequence of positive developments. Everything is going so well that my enthusiasm for life prevented me from reaching the relaxed state one requires to enjoy restful sleep. So, that’s a good thing.

I’m finally comfortable in my own skin. For a long time, I failed to recognize the degree to which my normal functioning was robbed by my military experience. Quitting Special Forces Assessment and Selection and subsequently leaving the Army devastated me in some ways explicitly but to a greater extent implicitly.

I was drinking heavily. My drinking was clouding my thoughts, and I felt unease in the most typical of social situations. I had no self-confidence. Because of this, while in college, I knew not how to make friends like a “regular person” and sought the structure of fraternity life. This was like placing a band-aid on a sucking chest wound. The structure was conducive to fostering relationships. And, so, I was never really forced to regain the social skills that the Army had taken from me.

I didn't want to admit then what is now undeniable but, while in D.C. after school, the stress of writing policy for an industry that I did not fully understand was responsibility that exceeded my capability. I was in over my head. But, at the time, I had lingering military aspirations to rely on. By dedicating myself to my military goals, I was able to conceal my head in the sand, and absolve myself of confronting my shortcomings.

Soon, I found myself in California. All of the character flaws I was masking from myself crashed head-on with a plethora of temptation that I was more than willing to accept.

But now, finally, this has all been overcome. I've embraced my passions, specifically running and music, and, in doing so, everything else has just sort of “clicked.” Let me explain to you how that feels:

Before I was moved to North Dakota around the fourth grade, I was enrolled in accelerated educational classes in my Pennsylvania elementary school. I was learning algebra, Spanish, and programming logic. At that young age, I recall truly feeling capable of anything. In high school, I felt similar. And, while in the Army, at the beginning, I had the same sense; that feeling that I was as smart and dedicated as anybody. Then, suddenly, one day, that confidence began to diminish. Then, after dedicating years to achieving my Special Forces dream, quitting during Selection shattered what was left of my self-esteem.

But, it’s back. And I feel better than ever. My mind is clear. I have enthusiasm for the things to come. I look forward to upcoming events. I am anxious in a good way, every day, about meeting new people.

Sunday night was symbolic of my return to the real me. When I was a little kid, before assuming all the baggage described above, my parents were convinced that I chose not to sleep because I was afraid of missing something. That’s exuberance for life in its purest form. And, Sunday night and forever more (I hope!), I was and continue to be that kid again.

Run. Rave. Repeat.

noreply@blogger.com (WhiskeyBoarder) — Tue, 14 Apr 2015 01:36:00 +0000

Lounging in the sun.

Assessing what's required

For happiness in my life.

It may not take

Any more than this.

If so,

Then what else am I working for?

Being a combat veteran, I spent perhaps the most emotionally vulnerable period of my life "fighting for freedom". I occasionally wonder if the daily American grind that my life knows now is the sort of freedom for which I would have chosen to defend.

I live in the best of the 48 continental United States. A fact facilitated by my career. And, for that, I recognize my good fortune. I sometimes wonder, however, if I am not wasting it.

I have this dream. In it, I turn the things I love, in to the things that make my living. I'm convinced that this dream can become reality. Admittedly, the dream overlooks the hustle required. Dreams don't account for the hard work. In most cases, that would make them nightmares.

But what if the "work" is doing the things I love? Just more often. With more passion. In other words:

Run. Rave. Repeat.

Then the work isn't hard at all.

If one can do so such that the happiness it brings is undeniable, others will naturally seek its source so as to share the satisfaction.

The dream is about more than earning a living. It's about that but, also, during the course of doing so, turning a life in to a lifestyle, friends in to a community, and an attitude in to a culture.

#RunRaveRepeat

Happiness is Self-Perpetuating

noreply@blogger.com (WhiskeyBoarder) — Mon, 09 Mar 2015 22:05:00 +0000

I am genuinely satisfied by most things in my life right now. Which is a more precise way of expressing that I am happy.

Being satisfied with all the extemporaneous details, my focus has become consumed with sharpening the fundamentals: namely, my mind and body.

Exercising these provides me near limitless pleasure. This exercise provides, in another word, "happiness".

And so, happily, the cycle spins on.

Why We Fight

noreply@blogger.com (WhiskeyBoarder) — Tue, 27 Jan 2015 02:49:00 +0000

The cliché that the American military fights for freedom may be true, but also begs a question to be asked: What compels an individual to serve?

Surely, the desire to promote freedom plays a part. And, as a collective, the military may fight for its nation. But a single person joins the military for that, maybe, and for many more varied reasons:

Thirst for adventure
Need for discipline and structure in one’s life
An opportunity to travel
The influence of propaganda and encouragement from friends and family
To eliminate financial concerns
Naivety
Yearning for camaraderie

Consider my own situation.

My mentality has changed dramatically since the time I originally enlisted in the Army. While I am no longer motivated much by an explicit sense of patriotism, I would still return to active duty now if able. In my case, the decision would be influenced mostly by extreme physical competitiveness, nostalgia, and to achieve the adrenaline spike that is unique to combat.

In their historical contexts, wars are fought between good and evil. In actuality, the combatants are driven by a much more complex series of factors. And this applies to both sides, not just ours.

This socio-psychological dynamic is one that always comes to mind when I hear that someone died “for freedom” (or for their country, or religion, or what-have-you). When applied to the “bad guys”, such a simplification is really a misguided generalization of the motivations of one’s enemies. Which, in the end – in my observation – perpetuates shared animosity. Unfortunately.

A Matter of Perspective?

noreply@blogger.com (WhiskeyBoarder) — Mon, 19 Jan 2015 06:59:00 +0000

Let's say YOU are about thirteen years old today.

YOU have a loving, patriotic family, and though haggard, a roof over your head.

YOU have been nurtured such that YOU allow God to shape your life, but your nascent, even pre-adulthood isn't dominated by it.

YOU have grown comfortable with yours being the first generation born post-Nine Eleven, an event hardly visceral to YOU.

Meanwhile, YOU are beginning to recognize to what your parents are referring when they discuss the cruel political discourse in the country. It's unlike any that they can recall.

And the economy surely isn't what it used to be, either. Certainly, conditions allowed the future of their youths to be brighter than your own.

The worst thing about YOU being a thirteen year-old right now, though, is the constant and random fear of over-zealous foreigners murdering YOU or those of your country in defense of their extreme values.

YOU can hardly wait to defend the values that YOU and your community share.

Friends, family, propaganda, and boyhood enthusiasm convince YOU to answer the call of service when that time comes.

Now, imagine:

YOU are a 13 year-old Muslim in the Middle East.

Do your feelings about the conditions described above now change?

"Never Too Late to Reinvent Yourself, Bro"

noreply@blogger.com (WhiskeyBoarder) — Wed, 12 Nov 2014 00:34:00 +0000

True story: I admire Chip Kelly. His ingenuity, wit, and cultured nature. These are all characteristics that I aspire to.

But does Coach Kelly have any intrinsic aptitude toward success greater than my own? Or yours? In my case, I can say for certain, "No". And hopefully you can too.

It's a wonderfully liberating feeling to discover that who you are and who you wish to be are remarkably close.

Consider the thought you put into the words you blast publicly over the internet relative to those you say deliberately among peers you respect. We freely express ourselves on twitter, but often not in the office space.

This makes us typical in a world where the atypical, like Chip Kelly, rise.

Only, that had been our case. And now, it no longer has to be true.

You and Chip and me are more alike than not.

Become as comfortably "you" away from the internet as you are while on it. Remember that our time is finite. And have the wisdom now to know that it passes most disappointingly to those who spend it succumbing to their insecurities.

But have no regret because making up for lost time is the wonderful opportunity before us now.

Be certain - as Chip Kelly surely is - that good "luck" comes to those who make the most of it.

Some Words Inspired by the Getty Villa

noreply@blogger.com (WhiskeyBoarder) — Sun, 21 Sep 2014 21:07:00 +0000

Enjoyed a pleasurable visit to the Getty Villa in Malibu this weekend. While there, reclined peacefully on a Tuscan-like, sun-baked second-level balcony, I was inspired to jot some words to help capture the moment.

It was a plentiful California sun that gently warmed a resting body.

Limbs stretched and relaxed, the mind settled to a nurturing state of calm. The wonderful process of revitalization invigorated sore muscles.

Transported in time and location, the many lascivious traps of Los Angeles became instantly distant.

The perfect location was found to secure sacred balance. The mind was intrigued by the fascinating relics of antiquity. Yet, the body was able to embrace tranquility. At once, the moment reminded of the bountiful satisfaction life offers us all.

And, here are some pictures from the visit:

(My Mom, Artemis, Greek god of childbirth!)

(Herakles, my second favorite character from antiquity. The first being Alexander of Macedonia. Remarkable statue.)

This first visit to the Getty Villa was certainly memorable. I look forward to returning!

(PS: I'll be working to update/fix the template and background issues on the site in the coming weeks. I hope!)

Life's a Beach

noreply@blogger.com (WhiskeyBoarder) — Wed, 17 Sep 2014 01:16:00 +0000

Having just returned from a near perfect break spent entirely with family, it's easy to discover a fringe benefit of such a great vacation: the refreshing opportunity to adjust one's perspective.

Relaxing on this sunny beach, writing, gentle waves crashing in the background, it naturally becomes evident that vacation is not just a segment of life. No, all of life is a vacation.

At least, it can be.

That, however, is a matter of perspective. And, given the wonderful balance I currently find in mine, all of life seems a big holiday to me.