Another Decade Bites The Dust

I waffled on whether or not to post this blog because after I finished it, as I felt like it had served its purpose as the only form of journaling that I’ve enjoyed. Plus, it’s like therapy for me. Then, as I was perusing YouTube, I came across a video.

That got me all nostalgic again and made the decision for me. Here we go at 0330 in the frickin’ morning because I guess getting 4 solid hours of sleep is more than my body can handle anymore and I’m still too awkward and shy to dive into the chat rooms of all the Discord servers of whom I am a member. So I’m doing this instead. This might feel a little disjointed because it was written in pieces over the course of about a month and a half, but right now I’m looking at a clock that says it’s Dec 30, 2019, and another year is almost over. 2019 is just about to become another record in the history books, and I still don't have that flying car I was promised by magazines when I was young. Maybe I'll have one the same year Star Citizen 1.0 gets released.

To offer a little perspective, I wrote most of this over four weeks while underway during late-night moments when I probably should have been sleeping, and the rest in bits and pieces later on. But what's the purpose of 3-4 cups of coffee the next morning if not to make up for sleep deprivation, both willing and unwilling? Though sometimes it was because I learned that a combination of valerian root, passionflower, and/or chamomile extract with 20+mg of melatonin gives you crazy nightmares. Like, “I need a GoPro for my mind because no one’s going to believe the events that my brain is coming up with” sort of nightmares.

I debated with myself for a week or so on whether or not to actually post this once it was almost finished. Most of it is rather upbeat and positive, but then it took a downward turn after I hit the third week of my last period of time at sea. Obviously, I made my decision. So here it is, another blog post that almost no one will read, but is nevertheless necessary because it's the equivalent of free therapy for me.

Here we go.

(Yes, it’s an old photo but I miss the Tomcats)

"Day 7. I'd like to think that the water pipe that cuts through the overhead of my room doesn't keep me awake anymore during the hours I've allotted for sleep. I say that to myself as I look at the clock that reads 0230 and shove the pillow more firmly over my head to drown out what I can only assume is an inevitable explosion of metal and chilled desalinated water. I'm also trying to convince myself that the 90+dB level of a fighter jet taking off a couple dozen feet above my head is perfectly ignorable. I'm not fooling anyone." I took a video in my bunk one night so I could let people experience what all this actually sounds like, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out if you can embed a video from an iPhone into a GDocs file and then paste it in elsewhere.

I used to keep a logbook every time I went to sea for a month or more that I'd give to my wife when I returned. Usually, they're full of the things that I've been doing and stuff I'm feeling. Things like the above paragraph. I've tried keeping a real journal many times in the past, but it wasn't until a couple of years ago that it actually made sense because now I have someone other than myself for which to write. But, as this is an open blog entry, my journaling is going to be somewhat different. This whole year has been different. Maybe I'll call this my "2019 Retrospective" because, as I've mentioned several times, it's because of a retrospective that I'm where I am today. In many ways, this year has been unspectacular, controversial, tedious, hectic, uplifting, cumbersome, and altogether...different. *insert obligatory comment about how the year has flown by so quickly*

In the world outside of the windows of my study back home (let's be honest, it's a file drawer and computer room), in which I'll eventually post this entry, much has happened. 

(I’m actually finishing this up on my couch downstairs with my iPad by candlelight because I woke up at 0230 and can’t fall back asleep)

I won't mention any of the politics and drama that has gripped my home for years. Nor will I comment on anything socially or financially pertinent because the news is hardly worth watching anymore. Instead, I want to focus on some profound developments, personal triumphs, and social epiphanies that have taken place in the last short ten or eleven months.

Number one on the last for awesomeness this year? EFNW 2019. Oh. My. Luna. That was the most significant part of this year, hooves down. I need more. Many more. I already covered the major points of the convention in a previous blog, but I can't overstate how much fun that was for me, and how much I needed that opportunity to meet folks in-person for the first time. I've used my ENFW coffee mug so much that it's already starting to fade. I need a couple more for eventual replacements. The Grand Galloping Gala was wonderful, and a perfect event to take one’s spouse who loves to dress up all fancy and stuff.

Speaking of socializing, albeit on a once a month basis via Discord or email, I've finally gotten back into one of my favorite hobbies from my college days: tabletop RPGs. In those olden days, I ran a Star Wars campaign on Friday nights and a D&D 3.5 campaign Saturday afternoons. Great times. And after 14 years of missing out (because who knew that Wizards of the Coast ran sponsored D&D adventures in most major cities?! Not me.), my dragonkin Mechanic, Dres' varik, is traipsing around Starfinder with a giant adjustable wrench named "Attitude" and a squox companion named Mr. Fluffers. Such fun! And I'm totally not trying to create a Starfinder version of the Borg with a dragonkin. Nope. Definitely not going to eventually assimilate my entire party into the Lair or turn Mr. Fluffers into an adorable bio-cybernetic killing machine. I really want to get back into some D&D soon, but first comes the next career milestone.

What about my most significant time sink? The career. For those who saw my multi-blog Bootcamp series, you might recall that I have an unusual passion for a particular area of naval warfare: sea mines and mine countermeasures. I picked up this fascination while serving aboard a minesweeper in Japan. After that tour, I had the privilege of teaching other officers about mine warfare for several years. To this day, I have former students who recognize me because of those lessons, and I receive the occasional email asking mine-related questions. But after I left instructor duty, I had no opportunity to continue to pursue this passion because, in my line of work, specialization runs counter to the jack-of-all-trades career expectation. This supposedly makes you a better candidate to become the captain of a ship, and I agree, but it doesn't make the situation any less personally undesirable.

Thus, it was past time for me to do something for myself instead of allowing the powers behind the scenes to craft my fate for me. At the beginning of this past October, I put together a fairly robust package of information, personal records, and recommendations to be considered for selection to a special program. If chosen, it would mean six months of specialized training with the end state being qualification as a Warfare Tactics Instructor specializing in Mine Warfare. In other words, my dream Navy job. Not a bad way to round out the last five years of my career before I consider a 20-year retirement into a new civilian career. A few months in Belgium at a NATO school as part of the training doesn't hurt, either.

As I'm typing this during a month-long underway aboard an aircraft carrier, my first experience being at sea on one of these beasts, I'm waiting to hear the results of the selection board. I don't expect to hear anything until after my return to port. I am optimistic. After all, there aren't many folks with my level of crazy love for this underappreciated area. Especially those willing to sideline the remainder of their career for the sake of making a unique contribution to the service. Plus, getting accepted might mean an alteration to my orders that would give me a chance at attending EFNW next year. Hooves crossed!

((Mid-writing update in November: the results are in already. I MADE IT!!! WOOOO!!! I have no idea where this will send me for a follow-on tour, but I MADE IT!!!!!!))

Work stuff aside, let's take a quick peek at some numbers that will be hardly worth noticing for other writers, but spoke volumes to me. Wait...I think that's the first time I've called myself a writer. Oh, that felt good. No, not just good. That felt right. I got really discouraged after my first story when my second story was met with almost no reaction at all. I actually removed that one from FimFiction and shoved the unfinished remains in a dark corner somewhere. There was also a near-simultaneous falling out with two friends over co-authoring a story. After that, I gave up. 

Six years later, I took up my pen in earnest, and over this past year, I've posted 7 one-shot stories for a total of almost 59,000 words. This year has seen the resurrection a pair of extensive projects and a new, ambitious story which, all told, have seen a combined 83,000 words of progress. That’s 142k words! Not to mention the 17 blog entries. Paltry numbers to some, but when I look at this screen, I feel...fulfillment. I feel happy. I also feel an immense amount of regret at the years of storytelling that I've lost because I didn't have the emotional fortitude to push myself when I failed. I'm obviously trying to make up for the lost time, and the backlog is only growing.
I have a short, but serious piece that I’m putting through its first editing pass, and the research required to better understand the topic of mental health has been eye-opening. It’s still a long way from beginning truly accurate, but I’m hoping to enlist the assistance of a couple of folks to help me better understand the struggles people go through when dealing with traumatic events. promised myself that this story would be my last one-shot before huddling up to focus solely on the big projects. I’ve already failed in that resolution, and it’s all because I had an idea about a follow-up story involving #1 small horse:

And then, an idea for another tale after that new idea.

And another one after the new-new idea.

I mean, just look at her. I can’t say no to writing a story about such a cute widdle--

..........Yes, ma’am. I’ll stop. 

At this rate, I'm going to need to retire and find just a part-time job to keep up with what I want to accomplish. It's a problem I never imagined that I'd have, and it's all because of you folks out there. Even if you don't read my words, or know who I am, there are stories that I want and need to tell. If I happen to entertain some folks along the way, then every word was worth the aching fingers and insomnia-inducing worries that I should just let "the pros" handle the storytelling. If no one reads them...it was fun anyway. And I haven't given up on the big stuff either.

I just got to keep on trucking, even if it feels like this thing will never reach a satisfactory conclusion.

You know, fanfiction has been my primary source of pony consumption for about two years now. Sure, I play my fandom artist playlists and tune into BronyTunes during my commute to base, and I lurk on EQD for news and art, but I read stories almost every day during my lunch break. When I'm winding down at night before bed, I log into FimFic to continue the latest chapter updates or pull one of my precious hardcopy fanfic off the shelf for yet another read-through. I load epubs onto my phone, so I read while underway. In fact, "Crystal's Wishes" and "The Enchanted Library" kept me company for about three months at sea this year. And oh boy, go read them both if you haven't already. It really is such a gift that people like Novel Idea/Amber Spark, Heartshine, Monochromatic, Crystal Wishes, The Albinocorn, Pen Stroke, Somber, Greenback, and so many more have to craft their worlds, characters, and tales. And the ties that I've witnessed between authors are some of the most fascinating that I've seen in the fandom. I must admit that I am incredibly envious and more than a little jealous of people with friendship circles that run as deep as I've witnessed. Which brings me to the main impetus for this retrospective/open letter. There's a secondary one too, but I'll get to that later.

Right now, I'm writing this particular paragraph by the light of a single bulb over a metal desk listening to some of Forest Rain's music before I scurry off to my next obligation of the day. I won't finish this whole thought in the next 15 minutes (so this stream will pick up later). For context, I'm in a gray metal cube right beneath the steam catapult of an aircraft carrier that is currently flinging tons of fighter jets with afterburners screaming mere yards above my head. And right this moment, I realize just how much I've been spoiled this past year by the fanfic community. I've reconnected with old friends. Made new ones. Been inspired and uplifted by people's blogs and stories. I've learned new tricks and tried new experiences. I'm on this site every day that can so I can read a new chapter, catch up on a discussion, gain a new piece of storytelling insight, or see how someone is doing. I've taken that constant access for granted. Now that it's gone (now that y'all are gone), there is a noticeable emptiness.

I'm terrible with the whole notion of bittersweet emotions. You're happy, but not really. You're sad, but not really. You're happy that you're sad? Grrr! It's a frustrating concept. The recent series finale was a great example. I was sad. Very sad. It might have taken two or three days for it to fully hit me, but a few tears did fall. A considerable part of my life was (partially) over. Yet, I couldn't imagine the last eight years without having gone on this journey, and that made me happy. But I still wanted more of G4. So confusing! That's a little bit how I am now. This past year, the FimFiction community has become my go-to place. It used to be EQD. Before that...before that, I didn't have a "home base." At least, not one that survived for this long. I've come to rely on this community. In doing so, I've opened myself up to this bittersweet sensation. I wouldn't trade this place for a guaranteed best-selling novel deal, but now I have a new sadness to deal with when my interactions are cut off.

These are not words that I would have imagined myself ever saying or typing years ago. Too many emotions. Too open for others to see what's inside. Too soft. Too compromising in my chosen career and field of expertise. All the above is a wordy means to this end: darn you all for being meaningful and relevant to me and making me miss you even though I've only met maybe half of dozen of you at a con one time! And darn the bandwidth limitations of working at sea. 

Anyway, have a Pinkie on a Segway while I roll into the next point I want to bring up. Something very recent, and yet not so recent. The more serious stuff. 

(There was going to be something clever about Segways and transitions, but...yeah.)

Years ago, about seven actually, a tiny trio of friends shared a hope: that our fandom at large had the potential to be more. To be better. One of those individuals lost that faith, and who could blame him with the state of the world in general. Another kept that hope alive. The third felt the fire of his conviction dwindling for many years. Recently, this topic has resurfaced, and I find myself feeling that old belief returning to life. I find myself back where the conversation started years ago. But I hesitate to place a label on this feeling, this...belief. 

Having a belief technically makes me a "believer," but I'm cautious when considering applying that name to what this feeling represents. As I'm sure many have experienced, labels have an unfortunate tendency to create rifts between those who claim a label and those who do not, or who are deemed unfit for said label. Just take our own, for instance. The pendulum of inclusion versus exclusion surrounding that title has swung from one extreme to the other. As for the community's perceived potential, a label may widen any rifts between those who share this hope, those who are content with the status quo, and those who simply don't have an opinion. Each stance is perfectly fine and valid. Some just have...loftier aspirations and hopes in a world where simple respect, common courtesy, and honesty are diminishing qualities. Where have the legions gone who once championed the improvement of our own lives? Or the lives of those around us and the world in general, to the extent that we can exert our influence?

Maybe my problem is thinking too grandiose. Rarity has never occupied my #1 pony pedestal (though she did share 2nd place for a time), but perhaps I share more with her personality when I drop my guard and let my heart and brain collaborate for a time. Please don't misunderstand me. Good has been done and is still being done. I remember early years when it seemed the wave of positivity, generosity, and inspiration would reach a critical mass that would catalyze further progress. A movement of sorts, even. Sadly, inevitably, that future never coalesced. The fickleness of social media, modern attention spans, the growth of ironic culture, and the lure of actions without consequences on the internet were too great to overcome. Plus, a lot of people are just jerks. On purpose. And on the flip side, a lot of people are generally nice. On purpose. It just seems there are more of the former than the latter at times. 

Okay. Here's what I'm getting at: belief. I'm not talking about religious or spiritual beliefs, either. Do I have to do the high school speech definition thing? Yeah, let's do that, shall we?

Definition of Belief (from Merriam-Webster's)
1 : a state or habit of mind in which trust or confidence is placed in some person or thing.
2 : something that is accepted, considered to be true, or held as an opinion; something believed an individual's religious or political beliefs, especially a tenet or body of tenets held by a group. 
3 : conviction of the truth of some statement or the reality of some being or phenomenon, especially when based on examination of evidence.

There you go. I went there. Not proud of it, but moving on. Let's zero in on the first and third examples. "... trust or confidence is placed in some person or thing" and "conviction of the truth of some statement." Truth. Trust. Confidence. Three simple words that took me the first two decades of my life to understand, the third decade to appreciate, and the last seven years to actually accept. I've already laid out the truth. There are people in this world who are bad, they know they are bad, and they like it that way. But there are good people too. They know it, yet they strive to be even better because they believe there is more that they can do. I trust that there are people who want to do better, to be better. To reach out and take hold of the flailing hand of someone in need. It could be financially, emotionally, spiritually, or physically. Verbally, written, Morse code, I don't care. And I'm confident some people are going to make an effort. Maybe not every day because, let's face it, some days you need help yourself, and you're in no position to render assistance without first getting yourself on solid ground.

That is what I believe. I'm a believer in this community. I'm a believer in you people. I wish I was more of a believer in myself, but I'm getting there in small steps. I know there are other believers out there. I know they're struggling with those feelings and, perhaps, what to do about them. The part of me more akin to Rarity and Twilight wants to plan and create, but my track record in that department is sorely lacking. The other part of me that's more of a fusion of everything else that I am is more like:

I have to be like this because if I don't charge in like Leeroy Jenkins, I'm going to talk myself out of believing that I can actually handle whatever situation I've goaded myself into undertaking. Plus, you know, the label thing. So, I guess the answer is...I dunno. What I define as progress is not the same measurement used by anyone else (as my wife is quick to point out when I ask "how are you coming along on X"). What even qualifies as doing better is up for interpretation. And who am I to say that more should be done? *sigh* Maybe it's not answerable. Maybe I need to think on it some more before I rush off and screw something up as I did to a guild group when I first caught wind that people were talking about the inevitability of the group falling apart. Short answer: I tried to help enforce order and civility in a group that wanted all the benefits of leadership, but also demanded a Laissez-faire policy when it came to actually doing anything. It cracked the group in half, and it all fell apart.

And there it is, in amongst all the positives of this year: the smoking caldera. The shadow that lurks. Time for the plunge. 

When I was young, I was often called a robot. This was not a term of endearment. It was meant as a dig at my seeming lack of emotion. Though I often felt happy or sad or excited, as any average person does, I rarely showed any of those emotions on the outside. I didn't feel the need to express them. There was no logical reason to be expressive except when it was expected of me, and even then, it all came out relatively wooden and rehearsed. Because it was. You see, I learned about the concept of popularity when I was in the third grade. My parents went all out, putting together a birthday party in the theme of a safari in our backyard. They even made invitations for me to hand out to all the kids in my grade. I thought it was a great idea and happily handed out every one of them to anyone that would take one. The total population of that party, not counting my parents, my brother, and I? Two. I found most of the flyers in the trash, and several went so far as to crumble them up in front of me and throw them in my face. After that, I concluded that people just weren't naturally good or friendly. So I stopped up the outflow of emotions. Why bother letting others know how I feel if they were only going to throw it back in my face and laugh?

(I used to like rocks, too.)

This trend continued until college, where I finally started to open up to a group of great people. But, me being me, I squandered many opportunities to actually be a friend to many and participate. Instead, I chose to shutter myself away in video games, books, and an increasing online presence in message board RPGs. There was progress, but very minimal. Then, 2 years into my Navy enlistment, I found myself in a relationship that was so toxic, so manipulative and destructive that by the time I wound up in Japan, I was drinking almost every other evening and started walling myself off from almost everyone I knew. I knew I was being manipulated and lied to, but there’s a history with my biological mother that tends to nudge me into accepting that kind of behavior as being “normal.” Besides, I wanted to play to part of the white knight and rescue the damsel from her own self-destructive tendencies. I was in over my head and by the time I realized that truth, I was done with the world. I hoped and prayed (very literally) for another world war or some kind of globe-spanning disaster because I wanted the whole damn planet to go up in flames or drown. I wanted everything to start over. I picked fights because outer pain gave me a reprieve from the inner pain. I was angry with myself for being so angry about everything and towards everyone. No one else was having problems, so what was wrong with me that I couldn't handle it?

Then ponies, but this isn't about them. Moving on.

After all that had happened overseas, I came home different. I was motivated, emotionally stable, focused on improvement, and filled with such patience as I'd never experienced before. Fast-forward to the last couple of months in 2019, and things are starting to creep back inside. After these last three weeks at sea, my fuse for dealing with people is razor-short. My wife says I have a "resting murder face" when I'm just sitting at home or walking around town. I don't feel angry, but I guess I look like I am. And it’s not just a side effect of being stuck on a ship. This has been creeping into daily life little by little.

I am angry again. Not entirely like how I used to be, but I scowl when I walk down the hallways of the ship almost as a reflex. I will return greetings, but I don't give them. The smallest inconvenience, infraction, or inconsistency will elicit a curse from me. I can feel my neck and back muscles tightening every day with the stress, enough that I often have to stretch out after an encounter. I sound like a bowl of Rice Krispies. On one occasion, I had to excuse myself to my stateroom and just sit in the dark for an hour. A couple of pony episodes, a cup of tea laced with chamomile extract, and some music helped to get me into a state where I didn't want to bury an axe in someone's head to get them to shut up. I'm told it's not healthy to cling to dim places when I feel like that; that sunlight and bright lights with a high lumen number work to counter depressive emotions. Yeah, I know that's true, but when you feel like brooding, the last thing you want is to be exposed where others can see you glower and wallow in your own selfish emotions. At least in the darkness, you can conceal yourself, and you're not as vulnerable. Besides, I'm sure there's some evil villain with a doctorate that would prescribe a healthy dose of caving-dwelling time to relieve one of any ailment.

I don't know why it's happening again. Am I just becoming that cantankerous old man already? Are the stress and tension finally breaking down what barriers I have left after the nightmare that was my 2017 deployment? Up until then, never before in my career had I thrown a chair into a passageway or punched a dent in a locker. I'd never cracked a cup by squeezing too hard to keep myself from verbally lashing out or going kinetic on someone. Or maybe it's because I can't often voice a dissenting opinion at work. Because then I'm not tough enough to do the job. And it's not reasonable to burden family or friends with the specifics of my complaints. So what else is there to do except push it aside and keep moving? It'll all work out eventually, I’m sure, because who doesn't like impersonating a piece of frickin' jawbreaker candy when really what you feel like is...a Zero bar. It has to work out. The alternatives are simply not acceptable.

(Nutty on the inside and covered in the least appealing version of chocolate)

That...took a turn I didn't expect when I started typing this out. I don't mean to detract from the numerous high points and triumphs that this year has brought. Life is progressing, and unless something drastically changes for the worse, I may be nearing a point when I can say that my dream of settling down in the hill country could actually come true. Someplace quiet, away from most people in general, with my gardens, open-flame cooking hearth, woodworking shop, and secret nerd lair. Think...technically-inclined Hobbit, and you'll be close to the life I want post-career.

One thing I have learned the value of is getting your emotions and insecurities out into the open. I walled myself off from my own emotions for so long that I’m still learning how to cope with them at 37, and that’s not a great place to find oneself. These blogs help because I’ve deleted a lot of material soon after typing it up. Just the act was enough to help get stuff out of my system and bleed off the pressure for a while. Talking things out has helped immensely. My wife has been a wonderful sounding board for just letting me pour out all the things that I used to hold inside. If this year has taught me anything, and if I had to pass on one thing I learned in a letter to Celestia, it would be the importance of finding positive avenues of emotional release. See? Years after the last friendship letter was whisked away on sparkling motes of dragonfire, and there are still students learning new things every year.

(I wish we could all look this happy all the time)

This year has been a rollercoaster, and I know many would agree. I sincerely hope those of you who have experienced trials and setbacks this year find this coming year to be one of healing and triumphs. For those who have made great strides in 2019, may you continue forth to greater heights and joys. To everyone, whether you believe in the potential of each other and the true magic of friendship or not, I'll toast a cup of mulled cider to your health, happiness, and good fortune in the days and years to come.

(And this happy, too)

In closing, as I prepare my bags to head back to the ship and cast off for a spring almost entirely consumed by training exercises and planning conferences, I have only left what I wish my new morning mantra to become this new year.

“I’m steady, calm. I slept well. No bad dreams. I am active and engaged. I’m aware of my surroundings and those in my immediate sphere. I’m attentive. I’m focused on the essentials, to the exclusion of all else. I’m unsure of the future, but I’m not concerned. I will rely on those closest to me, and I will share their burdens, as they share mine. I will live and love.”

To all a good day, a good year (this and next), and good morning. I'm going to get coffee and breakfast because it's now 0530 and there's no way I'm getting any more sleep today.