I think often about being a soldier. I didn't always though.
The idea of hiding out in a dugout, being shot at for hours at a time, sleepless weeks due to extreme environments sounded like hell on earth.
And the camo, oh how I hate camo.
I loved the life of comfort and simplicity. Cars with air conditioning, Storms coupled with heated seats. I was a city kid stuck in the valley.
Then I let everything go. I thought it was what I wanted.
I walked out on comfort and ease to find that roads are hot on bare feet.
Especially when it's your first step.
Investing in smothering discomfort with short term relaxants. Like Linda in Huxley's imagination, sacrificing everything for a holiday.
Not realizing the debt.
Finally I grew up. Grew some calluses.
Hunger for adventure could be sedated by menial tasks overshadowed by rhythmic monotony.
And it was comfortable.
Old dependable vices came back like friends. Anxious to catch up and shoot the breeze.
I didn't have a reason to say no.
Comfort again. Inebriated in warmth.
Slowly memories of asphalt and it's sears drifted away as calluses softened.
I didn't even realize it.
The point came where old luxuries became needs again, now I could justify it.
But I could also damn it.
I think often about being a soldier. Consistently actually.
The more comfort and domestication the more I convince myself that no one could live in conditions other than these.
But I know it's a lie.
Majority of mankind in this generation will never own a cell phone, a car, or a house.
And we have google glasses.
What would a soldier do? How would he respond?
Would he indulge every inclination only to fight the urges nurtured when the soil gets hot beneath him?
Sounds ridiculous.
What if he lived barefoot on concrete while surrounded by luxury and stability?
Would home become the new deployment?