This Monday marked my first day as a civil servant working for the Department of the Navy. I can't help but think of my 20-year old self and what she would have thought of this turn of events. I was so idealistic (and annoying!) then, swearing off meat and dairy, spending hours on street corners urging people to "Boycott GE!" and railing against the establishment. As most people do, I grew up, mellowed in my convictions, and realized that life is complicated enough without constantly screaming my head off at people about god-knows-what. Life is about the choices you make every day, in how you treat other people, the way you spend your money, and yes -- the work you do.
I started this blog writing about my work and I continue to find that I want to share with people what it feels like to work for the military. To me, it is a very unique experience. When I'm at work, on the Naval base, I feel like I'm in this very specific world that doesn't really include me. I feel very much like an outsider, as most people I walk by are in some kind of military uniform and I know they are living a much different life than me. The more I learn about their lives, the more I realize the huge sacrifices they are making for their jobs. They move around constantly, they leave their families behind at the drop of a hat, they are constantly being told what to do 24 hours a day. In a very real way, they sacrifice their own freedom to uphold the very idea of freedom itself. It is humbling to work around these people, yet they would probably laugh at me if I told them this. They don't necessarily see themselves as all that special. But if were asked to do the things they do every day, I would not rise to the challenge. No way, no how.
I just hope that, in the work I do each day, I can help make their jobs a little easier somewhere down the road. I've always been okay with being a "behind-the-scenes" kind of person. I don't need glory or kudos or a big spotlight. I just want to know that what I do makes a positive difference in the world. And I have to keep my focus on the people who sacrifice the freedoms we all take for granted as "civilians," for it is their lives that deserve to be made better, however possible.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Saturday, April 3, 2010
The mischievous lagomorph
Happy Easter, everyone! I have to admit, I wasn't raised as a Christian and I really don't understand the whole passion of the Christ and resurrection thing. But I have a lot of great memories of Easter. To me, Easter is a time of bunnies, candy, baskets of gifts, and searching for colorful eggs. It's a time to get dressed up and go to restaurants that serve overpriced buffet meals that cater to groups of 40 or more. I miss seeing grandma and cousins and aunts and uncles, all dressed in the Sunday finest, chowing down on ham and turkey and fruit salad.
One Easter, I think I was about seven years old, my siblings and I woke up to our overstuffed Easter baskets and commenced the search for our Easter eggs throughout the house. I, being the youngest, was still under the impression that a giant rabbit came to our house, delivered serious candy booty, and hid all of these eggs. My older sister and brothers kept up the ruse for my entertainment.
We had searched and searched and found all but one egg. We had the eggs memorized from having dyed them the night before. The deal was, the game wasn't over until you found all of the eggs. (I'm sure Mom didn't want some hard-boiled egg rotting in her house for weeks on end.) We finally became desperate and Mom suggested that we wake up Dad to ask him where that last egg might be. Turns out Dad had, you know, I-spyed the Easter bunny doing his thing. (This may have been the point in time when I was made aware of the fact that there was no Easter bunny. Thankfully, I've repressed that memory sufficiently and still like to believe there are Easter bunnies hopping around all night leaving gifts and making mischief.)
It turns out that the last egg required a stepladder to get to -- Dad had hid it inside the light fixture in the foyer at the front of the house. I'm not quite sure what he was thinking with that move -- none of us were tall enough to reach it, and who the hell looks in the light fixtures for hard-boiled eggs? But I'm sure he had fun hiding those eggs.
And to me, that is what Easter is all about. Hiding eggs in impossible places so children could never find or reach them. Days later, when everyone is choking on the smell of rotting eggs, we can all have a good laugh.
One Easter, I think I was about seven years old, my siblings and I woke up to our overstuffed Easter baskets and commenced the search for our Easter eggs throughout the house. I, being the youngest, was still under the impression that a giant rabbit came to our house, delivered serious candy booty, and hid all of these eggs. My older sister and brothers kept up the ruse for my entertainment.
We had searched and searched and found all but one egg. We had the eggs memorized from having dyed them the night before. The deal was, the game wasn't over until you found all of the eggs. (I'm sure Mom didn't want some hard-boiled egg rotting in her house for weeks on end.) We finally became desperate and Mom suggested that we wake up Dad to ask him where that last egg might be. Turns out Dad had, you know, I-spyed the Easter bunny doing his thing. (This may have been the point in time when I was made aware of the fact that there was no Easter bunny. Thankfully, I've repressed that memory sufficiently and still like to believe there are Easter bunnies hopping around all night leaving gifts and making mischief.)
It turns out that the last egg required a stepladder to get to -- Dad had hid it inside the light fixture in the foyer at the front of the house. I'm not quite sure what he was thinking with that move -- none of us were tall enough to reach it, and who the hell looks in the light fixtures for hard-boiled eggs? But I'm sure he had fun hiding those eggs.
And to me, that is what Easter is all about. Hiding eggs in impossible places so children could never find or reach them. Days later, when everyone is choking on the smell of rotting eggs, we can all have a good laugh.
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