Left Behind

The other day, I went to a birthday party for one of the friends I grew to appreciate during college. I heard their stories about finding their way in life, but through the structure and demands of one of the most difficult things they could possibly do: military service,

I am so ridiculously proud of this person. They fought through not just the hardest years of their life, but active military service on top of it all. They did it through finding companions on foreign shore. By finding comfort in letting someone else control whether they lived or died, and, through that, the value of the life they were not sure they wanted.

I really… I really can’t imagine what that would be like.

Now, another one of those friends is going on a quest of his own. No internet. No home. Over four months of wandering, free. A constant expectation of the unexpected and a bravery to face every possible unknown. An open sky and open road and a feeling that nothing will ever be the same.

And, suddenly, I feel small.

I feel safe.

How did I manage to find such brave friends? How did I stumble on the sole group I could possibly imagine who would tackle every obstacle like the heroes of yore? They held swords when I met them, flung battle axes into old wood. They challenged the sky for dominance and held mead to the light of the moon.

They shouted for the world to come fight them, for they would endure against the most difficult of storms. They chose the coldest night to bide their fires and hold vigil against frostbite in winter. They dug the roots of the sassafras to make something pure and sweet. They hunted venison from all the wrong acres. They gave me an AK-47, once, to see how I’d endure. A dagger made of iron. Then, a bow.

They did all this, and more.

I fight dragons in old houses with tilted tables, a dice-roll choosing the strength of my strike. I spend my weeks in dreams, fighting battles as basic as waking up and moving, the hardest part of my day.

I cry when I watch people falter on a television screen. I hold my breath against annoyance and offer a smile instead. I change my language to match the tenor of easy diplomacy. I do not struggle, one person standing alone against the weight of opposition. I bend. I lower. I break, just enough to let the moment pass.

And in this, I feel left behind. I hold my ground even as I sway with the current. I do not move as the world moves around me. I let each moment tumble into the next, an event I do not influence or change.

I have no voice to scream at the world. When I open my mouth, there is only breathing because, most days, breathing is success.

So maybe I’m not brave. Maybe I am weak.

Or, maybe, I have not yet chosen to be otherwise.