On veteran's day

“Honor to the soldier and sailor everywhere, who bravely bears his country's cause. Honor, also, to the citizen who cares for his brother in the field and serves, as he best can, the same cause.” 

 - Abraham Lincoln.

For some time I carried this weight.  Despite my six years in the US Department of Defense, working three months in Iraq in 2007, being one of the few women who wore civilian clothing - although we were given the option of wearing desert cammos that read "DoD Civilian" and then another couple years actually considered a US Army Civilian, and in both instances, carrying around an official identity card declaring me as accompanying the Armed Forces and subject to Geneva Conventions - I don't feel worthy of the title or honor of being called a veteran. 

 International Zone, Baghdad 2007

Sure I went to the same training as many of uniformed colleagues before I was shipped on the same military aircraft to the same desert destinations. Sure I cried when I thought about my uniformed friends who I could not save ... who died for this country, or those who had to leave their families behind (just as I was leaving mine behind), for service. When my unit went to a sponsored day of gratitude to the Armed Forces at Busch Gardens, I felt like a freeloader. 

Yes after six years of service I walked away, not sure what those six years had given me, and not sure what they would contribute to my future. 

In any case, I always feel immense pride at having served alongside my brave, self-less, uniformed brethren. Even for the short-term I did, usually behind multiple lines of defense if and when I was overseas with them. Every time Veterans Day comes around - I struggle with this mix of pride, shame, and egoism. I recognize all my friends who wore the uniform - and certainly I could have taken up the uniform; I also wonder how many other civilians like me, who served in the rear to support our troops or worked alongside them, feel the same way I do. 

I honor all our country's veterans, those in uniform, in the past, present, and future, and those who served alongside those in uniform to support our country's cause.

This dance...

I'm this restless energy, that wants to dance in the mountains, on ropes and my partner never begrudges me this dance. This partner faithfully belays me, cleans the gear, and sets the ropes for us to return to earth. And I realize how grateful I am, to this partner who never says no when I ask to dance on ropes, on mountains, even when my partner is in pain.

This partner who asks me about dancing down mountains, what shoes shall I wear?

This partner who asks me to dance the biggest mountain we ever encounter, so big we must sleep three nights in her cool arms and not feel thirst until we start the descent down her flanks in the beating southern sun.

And this partner who asks me to dance in these mountains, I have seen distantly, dreamt of, or heard terrifying tales of. These mountains this dance with ropes and wax slicken-ed sticks. This dance to connect, to feel how little I am, how big I am, how big we are, how infinite, expansive, and how limitless we can be.