Day 229

To post this thought or not? That is the question. 'Tis it nobler to keep ones mouth shut and be safe, or to post a comment which may burn any last bridges which may have existed? To hell with it; post away. Back in 1997, some time around April, I took a week's vacation from work at the North Dakota Military Academy. By day three of the break I had a vivid dream. Upon waking I said to myself, "Cool dream. I haven't dreamed like that since,..since,..well, since the last time I took a week's break from work." I wiped the tears from my eyes and shortly thereafter began looking for employment elsewhere. The primary reason I left the Military Academy for other work; they stole my dreams. About a year ago I spoke with a mentor of mine who, after listening to me complain about not being able to make a difference in my job, made the suggestion that I quit. Honestly, until he said it, the thought had not entered my mind. One thing lead to another and I find myself here, and upon my return, if UND will allow, I shall re-enroll into school, get a degree, followed by a real job. Fast forward to 2009. In the past few days it has seemed to me that my mojo is returning. The funny thing is, I didn't know I'd lost it. And maybe I didn't lose it. Perhaps it was only buried, deep, deep, deep within what was left of my trodden-upon psyche. That's the problem with having your mojo chipped away, one small piece at a time; you don't notice it until it is all gone, or so buried you can't find it. Seven years of working in a dead-end job, being told by one supervisor and then another that I was performing my job incorrectly. I would open the Army regulation and show them I was following the regs to the letter, only to be dismissed as a trouble maker. It seemed as though everybody else knew I was doing my job incorrectly, but had no input on how to do it correctly. On and on this went, for seven years, slowly erroding my will to be an independent thinker and have the ability to make decisions for myself. Woe betide the employee who will not roll over and play nice. Which, of course, is what was wanted from them. There was no conspiracy between them. All they want, or any supervisor wants, is a nice, quiet day. They don't want people rocking the boat. (All boats rock; show me a smooth running operation and I'll show you an operation that's hiding something) They want peace and quiet and a paycheck. (And coffee) So, bit by bit, over seven years, I was slowly beat down and gradually dismissed. The job I had; loved it. I enjoyed being 'the guy' people came to, to get their food. I enjoyed being 'the guy' who fixed their problems. I derived satisfaction from knowing I helped somebody through their crisis. More than once since this deployment began I have told several somebody's that I had my fire, or oomph, beat out of me. But now, I think I'm getting my fire, and my mojo, back. I feel spunky. I feel like I'm making a difference. I am a squad leader of soldiers on a combat zone. (That wakes you up in a hurry.) I am the NCOIC of the PAR Team. (19 of us) I am the assistant supply sergeant for a unit, as of this morning, of 374 soldiers. (No pressure there at all) I am making a difference for the first time in a whole lot of years. I no longer feel beaten down. Come on world, bring me your problems. I will no longer stumble into the world with my head lowered. I shall face them, head held high, open wide open, ready to embrace all of the issues. No longer will I allow the will of the oppressor (supervisor) be turn me against mysef, if only to make their life easier. Will I stumble? Yes. Will I trip? Yes. Will I screw up? Yes. But I'll do it with my eyes open wide, driving forward. On the worse days there will be a Hughie shaped hole in the door. Bring it on! I'm over here! If anybody thinks I will ever return to my goverment job, they are sorely mistaken. That job may not have stolen my actual dreams, but just as bad, or not even worse, it stole my life's dreams. Stumbling from a do-nothing life to a can't-to-anything job and back again is no way to live. Not that I was living; I was existing. Piss poor way to get through life. By the way, over here, I dream almost every night.