What life was for you when you were 34?

Posted 14 Aug 2017.

To put it into a more general context, I will specify the timeframe from October 2007 through October 2008.

Professional

I turned 34 shortly after my second, and longest, deployment to Iraq (15 months). I was the Standardization Instructor for C Co 3-25 stationed at Wheeler AAF, training and evaluating the crewchiefs and medics assigned to the unit. It was a slow year in terms of flying – only 177.7 hours logged – but in comparison to the previous two deployments (512 and 541 hours, respectively) it was a welcome break. The first few months were spent getting everyone’s night-vision goggle (NVG) currency back up to normal, but shortly thereafter, I spent much of my working time trying to reel in the Commander from the Battalion-driven “good idea fairy” and all of her insidiously stupid inspirations. Sometimes, I lost, but those defeats were important in the development of my patience and “Jedi-mind skills” that have been so vital lately. I learned a lot, back then:

…valleys on Oahu – especially with highways in them – have wires strewn from ridgeline to ridgeline,
…assertive statements of “This ain’t the Pali – do NOT descend” will keep a crew from wirestrikes in aforementioned valleys,

…the tail rotor paddles of a folded UH-60 will contact the upper door of a C-17 if the loadmaster is not a master of his load,

…and that maintenance test pilots can be inflicted with moments of extreme stupidity and overconfidence which will make for a very long day in the heat of Victorville, California.

Also, I learned that getting punched in the face is an interesting sensation and that sometimes… just sometimes… physical violence is the result of gross miscommunication. Along with that event, I also learned that subordinates can be extremely self-correcting… but that is for a later question.

My days at work were chaotic, rewarding, frustrating, and often filled with a level of hilarity and acceptance that most who have never worn a uniform would never appreciate. Good times.

(Yes, I have a log of every flight since 3 December 2004… with notes. One of the best things I ever accidentally started.)

Personal

My first (and so far, only) child was transitioning from one to two, and I was extremely grateful that my wife at the time was adamant in making sure that he recognized me when I first returned from that deployment. Our relationship was challenged by the time and distance of the previous deployment; and, along with the metric butt-ton of additional stressors and external influences, our relationship began to spiral downwards. At the time, I was not clear in seeing how my own emotional detachment was growing and complicating matters, but hindsight is always 20/20 and sometimes it is more difficult to understand the problem when the problems are popping up with the frequency of a meth-addict designed “Whack-a-mole” game.

Towards the end of my 34th year, I returned to the Tidewater area of Southeastern Virginia for three months’ worth of quality Army Professional Military Education, and was able to reconnect with old high-school friends and former bosses as I spent every possible moment in Virginia Beach. I closed out 34 having my favorite meal in one of my favorite restaurants – a Reuben on marbled rye (is there any other type of bread for Reuben’s?) and matzo-ball soup at the only Jewish Mother that I cared to visit – the one on Atlantic Avenue and 31st Street.

Overall, 34 was a good year – like every other year, it had its ups and downs, but I was in one piece, my son was developing nicely, and the future was somewhat tarnished, but bright.