“Aren’t you afraid?”
Simple answer—hell yes I’m afraid, that’s part of the appeal. Conquering fear, putting everything into its place, measured, reasonable response battling it out with the urge to go full tilt—self-mastery, self-discipline.
I need a club, or more like a 12-step program, hello, my name’s Ben, and I’m an action junkie.
From the overwhelming desires to throw on the body armor and head back to Iraq or Afghanistan to the hairs that stand up on the back of my neck every time the tones sound on my pager—give it to me and give it to me now.
“You’re intense,” one of my Soldiers said to me the other day, mud and water dripping from my uniform, fresh from crawling some distance through a flooded pasture.
Cow-dung, wet grass, sweat, they all soaked me as I made my way to the objective.
I didn’t have an immediate answer for my Soldiers, just a puzzled look on my face as I pondered the statement.
What other way is there to be, I thought to myself much later as I reflected on my Soldier's words.
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