I went away. Checked out. Got the hell out of Dodge for a while. We all do it, or at least we all need to. It was heaven: warm and quiet, a Hawaiian womb.
But now I'm back. And what I want to know is: why do things always seem to change while you're gone? The air grows cooler, damper. The list of to do's grow longer. Frazzled relationships are even more frayed when you return. Re-entry is impossibly hard.
I saw The Hurt Locker while I was gone and (spoiler alert) the protagonist found that he was drawn back to battle because it had become the only truth in his life. I wouldn't begin to suggest that my life compares with what our soldiers see, in reality, but as an analogy it's applicable. The battlefield at home has become my truth.
Like the moth drawn to the proverbial flame, and like some soldiers, I am drawn back to battle because it's what I know. The difference for me is that, unlike my winged or uniformed counterparts, I know I'll have the privilege of returning to my flames over and over again.
No comments:
Post a Comment