Moving Up in the World, Maybe

So today I met the wife of the Commandant of the Marine Corps. Never mind the unfortunate circumstances. Basically, I'm still reeling.

But let me back up.

About a month and a half ago, my dear friend Bethany West asked me to write a piece on what it was like being a military kid. She had been asked to speak at a symposium with around 400 people about being a military kid, but her dad retired when she was younger, so she asked someone she knew had a few more years in The Lifestyle... and who could string a few sentences together. :D

So I wrote a piece. I typed a ton of stuff, emailed it to her, and said she could use whatever chunk she wanted- it was pretty long. She said she ended up using practically all of it, that it took up a good portion of her speech, and that people were saying amazing things about the whole thing. Naturally, I was immensely proud of her and glad I could help.

Fast forward. When I met the Commandant's wife today, I mentioned that she had probably met my friend Bethany, that she had spoken at a-

At once, she grabbed my hand and said, "Were you the one who wrote that-"

I nodded and smiled.

She immediately grabbed my mother and said, "You didn't tell me this was your daughter!"

Then, after overflowing the most gracious compliments I have ever heard about something I did, she asked if I could send my piece to her so she could publish it on her official blog.

I. Was. Floored.

So as of five minutes ago, I sent the aforementioned email, complete with document attached, to Mike Tollinson, the official aide to the Commandant, and now I'm sitting here thinking I should actually publish the thing I wrote on here so people will believe I wrote it. And I'm also starting to be really grateful that I've kept this thing going for almost a year and a half, because look where it just got me. I'm so grateful to Bethany for asking me to write something, to Mrs. Amos for complimenting me on it, and truly, sincerely, thankful to God for giving me the ability and the love to do this.

So. This is what I wrote.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When I was little, the military and moving every 2 years was just as much a part of my life as swimming lessons every summer or snow every winter. Predictable. Normal. When I'd learned what I needed to learn and made all the friends I would make, that part of my life would come to a satisfying close, and I would get in a car or a plane and start it over again somewhere different. But by the time I was in middle school, it started to change. I developed deeper friendships, and grew attached to places, and with each move, goodbyes were a little harder.

Finally, I was almost 16 and I was moving away from, of all places, Okinawa, Japan. I had been there for three years. It was the longest I'd ever stayed in one place. Without realizing it, I'd put down roots and developed my closest friendships and begun to treat Okinawa as a real home. The concept of "home" was something that had always eluded me because I had memories from everywhere, and who was to say which ones were more special or valued? And so I assigned the term to where my extended family lived, because they never moved. But as I finished out my sophomore year, I realized that for the first time, I didn't feel like I was finished with that part of my life. I wasn't ready to go, and it was scary because I knew that I didn't have a choice.

There are few things in this world stranger than driving on an ordinary American highway and gasping in awe because you forgot how big they are. Or being grossed out because American french fries are a shade darker than Japanese... because of all the extra oil. Or going into a public restroom and realizing that the toilet seats aren't heated. Remembering how to live in the Western Hemisphere was strange, and one of the hardest things I've ever had to do, because the whole time, it felt like someone in my family had died... because I knew I might not ever see any of my fellow military-kid friends from Japan again.

None of this is to say that living in the military has been anything less than exhilarating. I have always loved those times during the first week of school when kids are asked to talk about what they did over the summer. As kids stand up and say they went to the beach and slept in a lot, I stand up and casually say (like it's no big deal) that I went diving with whale sharks and hiked the temples of Angkor Wat in Cambodia. I love that I've seen more of the world than most, and can speak a sentence or two in more than 3 other languages. I love that I can navigate an international airport in Hong Kong with the speed and efficiency of Jason Bourne. I love that I can understand ridiculous sentences full of military jargon and acronyms, and that one time at a gas station an elderly man came up to my dad and personally thanked him for serving our country. I love how Army/Navy football games are twice as awesome every year because my dad went to the Naval Academy. I loved, when I was younger, the amazing moment of running into my dad's arms when he came home from a deployment. (I love that one time it was so perfect that a reporter actually took a picture of me hugging my dad in his uniform and put it in the newspaper.) I love that I can strike at least a little fear into the hearts of teenage boys when I mention that my dad is a Marine. I love that my family are the only ones that know what every place was like for me. And I love that friendships mean so much more when I've learned to cherish them for only a few years at a time.