It's funny. When I get the urge to write something, I'm usually in a place or position where I can't really do so. Inspiration hits at the funniest places, and it's almost never in tandem with motivation. The idea for this post struck me today while at work, and fortunately it was significant enough for me to scribble the concept down and write it when I got home. So here we are.
I've been seeing a therapist for my PTSD for nearly 10 years. When I was wounded in Baghdad, Iraq on December 10th, 2003, a lot of things changed. Since that day, I can't sit in a stationary car with the windows down comfortably for fear of something being thrown in. I still jump when there is a loud, unexpected noise or crash around me, and if I smell burning exhaust, my heart rate leaps. Many other things, however, have been improved with a combination of medication, therapy, and various coping mechanisms.
Something I still have trouble with, however, is emotional investment. I'm at the point now where I can say I lost friends without breaking down. I've processed the guilt and grief, but subconsciously I go into any relationship with an exit strategy. Something I place there to allow me to disavow any emotion should the relationship go sour or should something tragic occur. Thankfully, I have certain relationships that seem immune to that effect: my wonderful wife, whom I love unconditionally, my closest friend, and most everyone I was and still am close to prior to the incident. That said, building new, meaningful relationships is hard for me. It takes effort, it takes time, and it takes trust; none of which I expend or give lightly.
This is where World of Warcraft comes in. A few months ago I made a post about how I was unsubscribing. I did, in fact, for a few weeks. My reasons for unsubscribing felt petty, annoyed that I had to sit on the sidelines and watch everyone I knew going on and on about Hearthstone while I just watched in envy. Upon closer introspection, I realized the problem was stemming from the same source. I had spent so many years wary of relationships, that I'd just accepted myself as an observer; involved when it was safe, detached when it was not. I was doing it again, pushing myself out of a community I felt I started to no longer be a part of, as some exclusive element had been introduced that I was not included in. Rational? Not at all.
(I have since received a Hearthstone key, I'm not so proud that I'd avoid saying that I now understand what everyone was going crazy about. It IS pretty awesome.)
I then realized that Hearthstone didn't matter. I wasn't being beat over the head with praise of a game I couldn't play, I was perceiving myself as having been excluded from a community I had felt I'd grown a part of, and I panicked. I ran from it. But, in doing so, I made a far graver error.
You see, World of Warcraft has become FAR more than a game to me. While the truly awe-inspiring environments and story, the ability to associate myself with a heroic avatar performing epic and daring deeds, and the relaxing and calming activities and diversions abound within the game have been extremely beneficial, there's more to it than that. It's become more than a past-time, more than a distraction from stresses or simply a means of escapism. It's become a vessel. It's become a way for me to make friends, build relationships, allow myself to get close to people again without the crippling fear of failure or loss. The relationships I have built have been meaningful. The friends I've made have become important to me. Warcraft is something that allows me to maintain those relationships, keep them strong. With the advent of things like Real ID and cross-server grouping, I've been able to hold on to friends like I never had before.
Being in the military, I move around a lot. Friends that I make, I will eventually leave. This did not help in terms of my reluctance to allow attachment, but Warcraft has gone to great lengths to alleviate this. I'm not afraid to make friends in the community now, because I can stay in touch and continue playing with them with increasing ease. I'm not afraid of losing them, because of the tools and options Blizzard has implemented. This has even extended to my life outside of WoW; Twitter, Facebook, Skype, I'm finding that by allowing this technology to do what it was intended, I can maintain friendships far better than ever. Warcraft was simply a catalyst.
So now, 9 years after first receiving the game and making my account, I'm still playing. I'm still speaking to friends I made as I leveled my Priest to 60. I'm still speaking to friends I made in the line waiting for The Burning Crusade. I'm still speaking to the guildie that helped me learn how to DPS when I switched my main to Mage in Wrath of the Lich King. I still have a great relationship with the wonderful sister-in-law I've only met once, but regularly played with on my Paladin in Cataclysm, and I'm still making the most spectacular friends in my current guild in Mists of Pandaria. The beauty of it, is that many of these friends don't even play Warcraft anymore, at least not with the same schedule or regularity. I've taken what I started in WoW, and built on it. Made it stronger, and learned how to open up and care about people again.
With Warlords of Draenor on the horizon, and the improvements they're projecting in terms of social atmosphere and playability with friends, I'm excited. I'm excited to continue enjoying this game. I'm excited to explore the next chapter of this breathtaking world and story with the relationships I've made and cultivated. I'm excited to make new friends, build new relationships, experience new things.
I shudder to think of the man I'd be if Warcraft hadn't been there. My wife deserves a boatload of credit, but Warcraft was a factor in the building of that relationship as well. PTSD is a long, uphill battle. It doesn't just heal, it doesn't just go away, at least not for me. But thanks to what I've learned from therapy, what I've been able to execute and experience in World of Warcraft, and how that's helped carry over into my day to day life, I can say with confidence that I'm happy I'm the man I am.
So thanks, Blizzard. Thanks, Warcraft. Thanks to the Knights of Ni on Fenris. Thanks to every friend on my Real ID, to the podcasters and tweeters that listen to me, talk to me, accept me. Thanks to my peerless wife and her never-ending support and love.
Thanks for cracking that shell.
The only downside is now I take 200% extra damage.
Friday, November 22, 2013
Monday, May 27, 2013
Heroes
Webster's Dictionary defines the word 'hero' as: "a person who, in the opinion of others, has heroic qualities or has performed a heroic act and is regarded as a model or ideal."
Many disputes have been waged over the definition of a modern hero. Many have denied that the common service member is worthy of this title, while many have praised these very same individuals as the standard by which the title is set.
With today being Memorial Day, I thought I'd take a personal look at this debate and weigh in on how I feel about it.
I do not see myself as a hero. I did nothing specifically valorous or heroic on either of my deployments. Situations in which I was tested, required to act, and engage in any sort of battle or pursuit, did not strike me as extraordinary or exemplary. I did my job, I did it as well as I could, and I came home. I was not directly responsible for any great acts of heroism, no lives were saved because of my direct actions, and I was not, fortunately, responsible for directly ending the lives of any adversaries. Why, then, do so many people consider me, and the many like me who have enlisted, a hero?
I have made the claims that I do not feel heroic. I have said plainly that I am not a man of valor. I have a great desire to hold that status, a great love for those who have held it before me, and a great reverence for the stalwart, unwavering devotion to duty and country that these men and women who I feel have earned the title embody. I have said this clearly, and have been told I am wrong. I have been told that simply by enlisting, I've earned the title. But how? Signing a piece of paper? That was heroic? Making a commitment, was that valorous? I didn't see it.
Not until I looked more deeply at that definition; at the final few words. "...is regarded as a model or idea." I was blown away when I actually allowed myself to see and understand these words.
Regarded as a model or ideal.
I immediately understood that heroism isn't wading into a firefight. Heroism isn't always pulling people out of a burning building. Heroism isn't always single-handedly taking down Alan Rickman and his skyscraper full of hostage-taking, thieving terrorists barefoot. Heroism is being an embodiment of an ideal. Heroism is standing for something, having the courage to stand for something, that others may shy or balk from.
Every service member, Army, Air Force, Marines, Navy, Coast Guard, etc., has made that decision. Every policeman, every firefighter, every medical professional, everyone that has decided to dedicate their life to the betterment of society, for the protection of their way of life, and to the service of their fellow man, THIS is the embodiment of an ideal. This ideal is selfless service. This ideal is courage. This ideal is loyalty and duty.
So how do I finally accept the title of hero, how may I finally believe that in some small part, a decision I made has allowed me to obtain a status I have revered since childhood. Am I a special forces operator risking my life to keep terrorism at bay, across the world, away from my loved ones? No. They are the heroes that have earned that title for their courageous and valorous deeds. Am I a firefighter who bravely kicks in the door to a burning building, races into the flames, unaware of how structurally sound the building is, or whether it could collapse at any moment, simply to rescue the terrified children inside? No. Those are heroes who have earned the title for bravery and selflessness in deeds.
But I stood for an ideal. I stood up, I signed a line. I made a commitment. I have lived that commitment for almost 11 years. I will continue to live that commitment as long as I am able. I stand as a model for those ideals. I do what many people will not.
Maybe I might just be a hero.
On a day where we honor those before us, it's easy to focus so much on the past, and the groundwork they've laid for us, that we forget those that continue that tradition. What would their sacrifice be worth if we didn't honor it with service? With continuing the dedication and honor they gave their lives to preserve?
Do not forget the fallen. Do not fail to understand the sacrifice they've made, but also do not go forward without honoring it. Thank a soldier. Thank an airman. Thank a sailor and a marine. Thank them for being models of an ideal. Thank them for carrying the banner their fallen predecessors have passed on. Honor the memory of those who have passed by honoring the service of those who continue to.
And then, we can all rightly feel like heroes.
Many disputes have been waged over the definition of a modern hero. Many have denied that the common service member is worthy of this title, while many have praised these very same individuals as the standard by which the title is set.
With today being Memorial Day, I thought I'd take a personal look at this debate and weigh in on how I feel about it.
I do not see myself as a hero. I did nothing specifically valorous or heroic on either of my deployments. Situations in which I was tested, required to act, and engage in any sort of battle or pursuit, did not strike me as extraordinary or exemplary. I did my job, I did it as well as I could, and I came home. I was not directly responsible for any great acts of heroism, no lives were saved because of my direct actions, and I was not, fortunately, responsible for directly ending the lives of any adversaries. Why, then, do so many people consider me, and the many like me who have enlisted, a hero?
I have made the claims that I do not feel heroic. I have said plainly that I am not a man of valor. I have a great desire to hold that status, a great love for those who have held it before me, and a great reverence for the stalwart, unwavering devotion to duty and country that these men and women who I feel have earned the title embody. I have said this clearly, and have been told I am wrong. I have been told that simply by enlisting, I've earned the title. But how? Signing a piece of paper? That was heroic? Making a commitment, was that valorous? I didn't see it.
Not until I looked more deeply at that definition; at the final few words. "...is regarded as a model or idea." I was blown away when I actually allowed myself to see and understand these words.
Regarded as a model or ideal.
I immediately understood that heroism isn't wading into a firefight. Heroism isn't always pulling people out of a burning building. Heroism isn't always single-handedly taking down Alan Rickman and his skyscraper full of hostage-taking, thieving terrorists barefoot. Heroism is being an embodiment of an ideal. Heroism is standing for something, having the courage to stand for something, that others may shy or balk from.
Every service member, Army, Air Force, Marines, Navy, Coast Guard, etc., has made that decision. Every policeman, every firefighter, every medical professional, everyone that has decided to dedicate their life to the betterment of society, for the protection of their way of life, and to the service of their fellow man, THIS is the embodiment of an ideal. This ideal is selfless service. This ideal is courage. This ideal is loyalty and duty.
So how do I finally accept the title of hero, how may I finally believe that in some small part, a decision I made has allowed me to obtain a status I have revered since childhood. Am I a special forces operator risking my life to keep terrorism at bay, across the world, away from my loved ones? No. They are the heroes that have earned that title for their courageous and valorous deeds. Am I a firefighter who bravely kicks in the door to a burning building, races into the flames, unaware of how structurally sound the building is, or whether it could collapse at any moment, simply to rescue the terrified children inside? No. Those are heroes who have earned the title for bravery and selflessness in deeds.
But I stood for an ideal. I stood up, I signed a line. I made a commitment. I have lived that commitment for almost 11 years. I will continue to live that commitment as long as I am able. I stand as a model for those ideals. I do what many people will not.
Maybe I might just be a hero.
On a day where we honor those before us, it's easy to focus so much on the past, and the groundwork they've laid for us, that we forget those that continue that tradition. What would their sacrifice be worth if we didn't honor it with service? With continuing the dedication and honor they gave their lives to preserve?
Do not forget the fallen. Do not fail to understand the sacrifice they've made, but also do not go forward without honoring it. Thank a soldier. Thank an airman. Thank a sailor and a marine. Thank them for being models of an ideal. Thank them for carrying the banner their fallen predecessors have passed on. Honor the memory of those who have passed by honoring the service of those who continue to.
And then, we can all rightly feel like heroes.
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