Today I woke up knowing that I will never again go to work as an active duty Marine. It's a day that has been looming out there like some elusive carrot for several months. It is the culmination of some thing I have not yet processed. The very process of getting out of the Marine Corps has occupied so much of my time that I have not had time to inventory my career, or what it means to make the next step. I know that this is a transition. And it is yet another chance to show that despite constantly jumping (or getting thrown off) metaphysical buildings, I am very good at landing on my feet.
With my 20/20 hindsight, I know that I will be able to objectively look and see that I have done some very amazing things in the 30 something years I've been on this earth. (No, I will not divulge exact age. Even my boss knew better than to do that to a lady :) )
I have had more uphill battles than smooth sailing in the past decade. I trudged through the Quigly in Quantico, puked my brains from airsickness learning aerobatics in Pensacola, flew 6 days a week and studied close to 20 hours a day to get through the FRS quickly and make it to the fleet in Oceanside, kept my head down and prepared for deployments and forged the path as the first female cobra pilot in my squadron in Jacksonville, worked nights prepping for legislative mark-ups in Washington, DC, and toted congressmen around through multiple timezones, warzones and foreign legislators that may as well have been. I battled sickness, heartbreak, a crashed housing market and America's enemies simultaneously. I taught myself to trad climb and ice climb, won triathlons and bike races, moved myself around the country, perfected an orange olive oil cake and got into arguments with people I probably had no business talking to.
I may be quirky for a Marine Officer. I love to race my bike, bake cookies, wear sundresses and fold origami cranes. I'm blunt. I crash out of "my lane" like a bull in a china shop who's just gone 3 rounds with a rodeo clown. But I made it work. My unique brand of independent bluntness and intelligent charm has won over 4 star generals, congressmen, foreign heads of state, ambassadors and various cats and dogs along the way. Leaving the Hill, two congressmen entered statements for the record on my service. I received a plethora of hand written notes thanking me for my service. And I'd like to think that all of this means that the shock of impact from all those times landing on my feet meant something.
Many days I wake up feeling alone. And like life would be better if it had been easier. If I hadn't constantly scaled skyscrapers only to try and fly off them I'd have a few less bruised, bumps and broke parts. And that there has to be a state other than pure exhaustion fueled by adrenaline to live in. But, to paraphrase Tennyson, Mine is not to make reply, Mine is not to questions why, Mine is but to do and die.
So this morning I leaped off the pinnacle I have spent the past three years climbing. I'm exhausted. Everything hurt from the climb. And I know that there will be a jarring impact when I put my feet down, and it will be time to start climbing again. But that's the only way I know how to live. And, besides, I have a little while to enjoy the wind in my hair during this fall before I start bracing for impact.
I have had more uphill battles than smooth sailing in the past decade. I trudged through the Quigly in Quantico, puked my brains from airsickness learning aerobatics in Pensacola, flew 6 days a week and studied close to 20 hours a day to get through the FRS quickly and make it to the fleet in Oceanside, kept my head down and prepared for deployments and forged the path as the first female cobra pilot in my squadron in Jacksonville, worked nights prepping for legislative mark-ups in Washington, DC, and toted congressmen around through multiple timezones, warzones and foreign legislators that may as well have been. I battled sickness, heartbreak, a crashed housing market and America's enemies simultaneously. I taught myself to trad climb and ice climb, won triathlons and bike races, moved myself around the country, perfected an orange olive oil cake and got into arguments with people I probably had no business talking to. 
Many days I wake up feeling alone. And like life would be better if it had been easier. If I hadn't constantly scaled skyscrapers only to try and fly off them I'd have a few less bruised, bumps and broke parts. And that there has to be a state other than pure exhaustion fueled by adrenaline to live in. But, to paraphrase Tennyson, Mine is not to make reply, Mine is not to questions why, Mine is but to do and die.
So this morning I leaped off the pinnacle I have spent the past three years climbing. I'm exhausted. Everything hurt from the climb. And I know that there will be a jarring impact when I put my feet down, and it will be time to start climbing again. But that's the only way I know how to live. And, besides, I have a little while to enjoy the wind in my hair during this fall before I start bracing for impact.
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