Howdy,
I’m currently going through my VA disability claims process. The interviews are extensive and time-consuming. They’re asking me to go back and try and pinpoint when I hurt myself. This is, of course, impossible, considering I spent nearly 1500 days in Iraq and Afghanistan. They ask about my symptoms, how often I ache, etc.
Here’s one question they never ask: how are you doing with your addiction to purpose?
The military can screw you up, especially if you’re a moron like myself and ask to be placed in dangerous places. However, the worst thing the military does to people is get them hooked on purpose.
Now, I’m a purpose peddler, too. When I was a commander —- zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz—I constantly tied everything my troops did to big-ticket items.
“Yeah, bro, I get that you just press these buttons, but your information helps senior decision-makers kill bad guys.”
Or
“The information you provide helps the 4-star position his forces.”
You get the gist. Leaders have to do this because part of the allure of military service is that you get to serve your country and protect your fellow countrymen. This can prove exceedingly difficult stateside. It is one of a hundred reasons I lasted less than two years after our humiliating defeat in Afghanistan — we became a peacetime force.
That is why I always encourage young officers to deploy. Not only do they get a little street cred, but they also get to taste what we do for a living: fight and win our nation’s wars.
I was raised by grinders, the men and women who deployed repeatedly to Iraq and Afghanistan. My first unit was filled with people like this. They weren’t destined to be the next great thing; they just wanted to fight. By 2006, my first SNCO mentor had deployed six times. Bruh, this guy was as crusty as they come—and I loved it.
Point of Privilege: There’s nothing like a crusty, competent SNCO. Give me one of them with a cig dangling out of his mouth. One who curses constantly and tells it like it is. It doesn’t get much better, homey.
Once I started deploying, I never wanted to come back home. Back home, it was lame. Back home was full of boring civilians who had no idea what the hell we were doing. There was no rush back home. The rush from combat. The sweet elixir of violence. Oh, yes, violence is addictive.
But violence is nowhere near as addictive as purpose. Downrange, I ran a district government, or at least I tried to. Downrange, I met with senior government officials, and they wanted to know what I thought. Downrange, I was part of history. Oh, brother, that was a sweet, tasty drug.
When I came home, it was PowerPoint slides, filling out stupid performance evaluations, and networking (which I sucked at). While most of my peers were angling to be an executive officer, I did everything to go back downrange. Sure, combat and slaying Talibs was fan-f*cking-tastic, but being part of something bigger than yourself. Woooooo, baby that is something else.
It’s been two and a half years since I returned from Afghanistan, and I’m not ashamed to admit I miss it every day. I miss being part of the action. I miss moving history, even if it eventually snapped back in my face.
I have a purpose now: taking care of my family, getting to know my daughter, and trying my hand at writing. But nothing, nothing at all, will ever come close to being over there.
And that’s probably just as well. There must be more to life than war. But I’d be a damn fool not to admit that I don’t miss it.
Hell, I will miss it every day of my life.
Until next time.
My dad told me he loved Vietnam and I found that disturbing. Thanks for helping me understand better (still not sure i understand…but i am no doubt not wired this way. I would die of panic attacks in combat)
I am absolutely addicted to purpose too. But I'm enlisted in a permanent army that will never go off deployment.
I am a card carrying Christian. But I'm the kind of Christian who was a lot more excited about MLK Jr and CS Lewis, and JRR Tolkien, and absolutely allergic to Donald Trump.
We Christians have a concept of vocation—over a period of years God gives us a mission, a purpose, and every breath becomes meaningful.
I hope you will get your sense of lifelong purpose back, bro. Your need for purpose is not a bug— God installed it in your software.