0027: Upon entering a room teeming with CrossFit enthusiasts, I was initially greeted by a sea of men, but soon a subtle transformation occurred as ladies began to populate the space. I, lost in my own world, looked up just as the atmosphere seemed to shift. The corner of my eye, catching the room's center, triggered a synchronized turn of heads, leaving me feeling as though every gaze was upon me. Muttering an apology, I had not intended to mirror the attention that seemed directed at me. It was an enigmatic blend of admiration and scrutiny, yet I could not quite decipher it. I reached for my hat, buried beneath my weighted vest and the TRX bars, while a young woman on a rope watched me intently, her gaze unwavering. This blend of comfort and discomfort was peculiar, as I performed leg raises and flag pulls. I inquired of Em about the nature of this scrutiny, to which she ambiguously replied, "you can tell," hinting at an awareness I lacked. Throughout my life, I had been oblivious to others' interest, be it glances or lingering stares, feeling instead as though I were a sensor, promiscuous in the cyber sense—open to an unfiltered flood of data. This sensory overload was familiar from my search-and-rescue days. Recently, a compulsion led me to leave a gift for Page and her mother, only to encounter an old friend in distress. This intuition, akin to sensing the environment and nearby life, was something Em assured me was neither manic nor irrational. She had adjusted her understanding of my mind’s unique translation of words and signals. Thus, I remain a man untethered by time, a re'c(tr)iever of the unspoken and the lost.
0110: I recall a time when Marina, amid my earnest scribblings on a paper, would engage me with her questions, interjecting while I spoke, her curiosity unrelenting. She wondered how I managed such a feat, for she had once been prescribed Adderall, only to abandon it after it wrought peculiar physical and mental effects, impeding her pursuit of life’s aspirations. I explained to her that I tuned into her wavelength of activity, just as I had mine, creating a continuous flow between us—much like a dance of action. This flow enabled me to appear attentive, even when it seemed otherwise. I envisioned these gaps as bridges, connecting distances over rugged terrain, akin to the rope bridges she dreamed of visiting, linking towns nestled within a mountainous expanse. Her delight in this imagery was palpable, despite the underlying truth of my nature then. This perpetual motion, synchronized with a partner, fostered growth and ingenuity, akin to unlocking the enigma of a life’s frequency through recovery studies. My recent bloodwork reveals that traces of past metabolization have departed, yet the damage remains unclear—an answer to be discerned over time by a team of patient experts, much like the diligent care once afforded by the medical profession. And though I never sought such aid, I now find myself the recipient of a favor unforeseen, a return of support from a network that mirrors and uplifts, a kindness repaid in kind.
0258: This past weekend, my home became an unwelcome sanctuary for a hundred flies—indeed, I lost count after the hundredth. It was as though I had been transported back to the Poconos, reminiscent of a camping trip spent amidst the serenity of nature. I recall vividly the latter part of the week, spent with my immediate family, and later with my ex, our child, and her friends. It felt like a day with the girls, as I was the sole male amongst them. My meticulous planning had ensured we had extra tents, encircling our Jeep, as I navigated the off-road terrain with ease, balancing tires over uneven crevices. Marina was but a child then, nestled in the hatchback with my ex, the space akin to a twin mattress. While I found comfort in being among loved ones, my vigilance never waned—I awoke each hour, a sentinel in the night, ensuring our safety. Fast forward to the present, the flies are now ensconced within a vacuum canister, buzzing persistently. My intention is to release them far from my abode, drawn to the windowsill but never entering, save for one ceiling light reminiscent of a tent from my past deployments. Page has invited me to her land, yet the GPS fails, and she will collect me with her stepmother. Em reassures me, though Madison’s past concerns over Labor Day weekends linger in my thoughts. With no ex, no daughter, no familiar comfort, only these flies remain—drawn to, yet wanting to escape from my too-clean home, which they, unaccustomed to life, find foreign. I awaken to their persistent hum, a discordant echo of my solitude.
0348: Em has suggested the possibility of seeking a second opinion regarding my medical evaluation, a course of action that may stir a bit of commotion and potentially impact the futures of those nearing retirement or recently renewed in their service. I have always been one to make sacrifices, guided by a steadfast commitment to the greater good. The question I ponder is whether these colleagues are those with whom I work or whom I know, a question Em assures me I already have an answer to, as my mind has subconsciously gathered a list of names. My overactive mind now operates as a subprocess during rest, akin to the ceaseless buzzing of flies within a vacuum canister. Em, anticipating my reluctance, has proactively built a case with the help of a law student working on her doctorate, whom I met at a GNC. She had aspired to serve and saw this as an opportunity to assist. While I would support this endeavor if feasible without my direct involvement, I understand the potential ramifications. My upbringing and principles resist the notion of concluding my service with a decision that could end others’ careers, especially those who may have been miscommunicated or misinformed. Though undertaken honestly and within the bounds of justice, the outcome should be one of positive resolution. I am willing to forgo my own comfort to preserve the well-being of others, aligning with the path I have chosen, much like the path I took so that my daughter’s memory might endure. I trust Em and others will approach this with logic, and whatever emerges from this endeavor will close a chapter marked by both challenge and potential positive outcome.
0905: It was a time when the days seemed to blend with the whispers of fate, a moment etched in the fog of memory like the soft patter of rain on cobblestones. Valentine's Day in 2002 fell on a Thursday, and as I traced the days back, I found myself in May of 2001—a month marked by the gentle embrace of spring showers and the rigors of my Nursing Program in Manhattan. I recall a friend, more than just a companion in studies, who led me to my ex, a woman whose brilliance seemed to outshine the very lights of the city. She was swift in thought, graceful in every movement, and in her company, I felt the subtle shift of worlds colliding. Our bond was forged in the quiet corners of classrooms, the rhythmic flow of tai chi, and the silent understanding that passed between us in the gym. One rainy day, beneath the heavy clouds, she invited me to a movie, followed by dinner at her favorite spot. She spoke of a breakup, the silence of her phone a backdrop to her unspoken pain. There was an odd sense of correction in the air, a feeling that something had been set right, though I couldn’t quite place it. The days that followed were a blur of small gestures, tokens of my care, and then the signs of morning sickness appeared—a quiet revelation that shifted the course of our lives, leading me down a path I could sense but not fully grasp, a direction that felt both inevitable and uncertain, as though the universe itself was guiding me towards an unseen destiny.
0414: With the fiber mesh interwoven into my uniform, it’s made for a rather warm wear, but the design holds promise. I’ve been entrusted with a prototype to evaluate, reporting bi-monthly while logging its daily care. It seems to harbor potential energy within me, though the specifics of its workings remain a mystery. The new Chief of Space Operations, however, has devised an ingenious method for venting the heat—something I’d be glad to demonstrate if you happen to be among the select few testing this new attire. Mine, custom-tailored after a delay in the supply chain, fits like a glove, and with it, a packet of questions and answers that demand my strict adherence to official responses. My journey back to the Air Force recruiter's program often found me alongside other services, whether doing pull-ups in service dress at a Marine recruiting station or running with a Combat Controller trainee in a Queens park. For the coming months, three days a week, you might glimpse the more robotic side of me, but I’ll strive to keep things light. My smiles are genuine, and my wit, having made a recent return, is ready to unleash a barrage of Dad jokes. These jokes, the cornerstone of every bright civilization, remind us to cherish the little things and anticipate what lies ahead, decoding the meaning of life through a sequence of jest, keeping light, and marking our steps into the future with humor and grace.
1459: Upon discovering that I could finally leave the confines of the Airman dormitories, I embraced the opportunity to seek my own space, a sanctuary of independence. With all my belongings in tow, I uprooted myself, venturing beyond the familiar vicinity, eager to carve out a place where I could breathe freely, away from the gaze of those who, despite my youthful appearance, saw in me a deceptive wisdom. For a year, I navigated without a car, relying on my bike to ferry me across various facilities, hauling what seemed like an endless accumulation of electronics. "There goes the Dozer," they would quip, only to rename me "standby for the Pope mobile" once I acquired a vehicle. For a brief period, I had a female suite mate, who vanished without a word, returning engaged—an all too common tale among the young enlisted. Yet, in that fleeting time, I found comfort in cooking daily and being myself, a man raised by women, taught the ways of a gentleman in an age when chivalry was a revered virtue. Today, as I reflect on those days, I wonder if the values I was raised with still hold in a world that seems to have moved on. Yet, I remind myself that courtesy and thoughtfulness are timeless, and if ever needed, I can still be that man.
