I don't read fiction anymore.
My life has changed a lot over the last 15
years or so, and fiction books are one of those things.
I still read a lot, but it is all
non-fiction.
It was probably sometime
late in college that I quit reading fiction.
The last piece of fiction I read was
William Gibson's "Spook Country".
It was a good book.
I liked the story.
It wasn't the Gibson I'd grown to love with
Neuromancer and
Pattern Recognition, but it was Gibson nonetheless.
I used to spend a lot of time delved into the worlds of
other people, vicariously experiencing what they did.
I watched as Paul from Dune grew up and
conquered the known universe.
I listened
to stories from
Piers Anthony about Death driving a sports car (or at least I
think it was a sports car).
Neal Stephenson presented the internet as swashbuckling world where making faces
move was more important than anything, and a crazy guy finally got his wish of
nuking the U.S.
But I don't read those
books anymore.
The old me loved them for what they represented. They provided an escape to go when things
weren't looking so rosy in my own life.
They were the escape I needed when I didn't like what I saw in my own
life. Most of the heroes in the stories
were all the unlikely kind. They stepped
in from normal shoes and landed on a mountain, one crazy step at a time. Many of them claimed they were "pawns of
fate" and other strange statements, basically taking little responsibility
for their lives.
But that wasn't true.
These people stepped into situations that they didn't create, but they
turned those situations upside down and on their head. It wasn't always the prettiest sight, and
things didn't always turn out as planned, but they took control of their own
destiny. And it was never easy fighting
against the system. But in the end, it
was worth it.
And I looked at my own life, tumbling through nowhere and
ending up in places I didn't want to go and I wished I was that person who
would just step out on a limb, without knowing the full extent of the limb or
whether the branch would hold my weight.
I couldn't see through the fog (to make this paragraph so thick in
metaphor that it hurts) and was afraid to step around, finding my way.
But the Marines got rid of the fear of stepping into the unknown. I remember sitting in some forest trail at
Camp Pendleton, California during infantry school, acting as the squad leader
for a life fire night assault. It was
pitch black, no moon. We would sneak
through those woods in darkness, setting up to destroy a fake enemy. Claymores had been planted ahead of us, and
they signaled the attack. Rounds fired
away. Magazines emptied. Sounds of buh-buh-buh-budget cut and
butta-butta-jam came through the night as Marines ran out of ammo and continued
their attempt at the assault. It was
beauty in precision and craziness, completely overwhelming to the senses and
surreal in ways I can't even begin to describe.
I didn't even understand what happened then. I just did things. Mechanical actions, much like a marionette
pulled along by strings. No happiness,
no joy... just a surreal sensation of being wherever I happened to be at the
moment. No joy, no fear, no
anticipation, no desire, no care. It was
a very empty feeling and I didn't like it and hadn't for years.
FYI, we didn't do so hot on our night ambush. The people who were supposed to set the thing
up didn't follow orders and screwed up royally.
No one died, but it was still annoying.
At the night assault course, we set the hill on fire as we went through
fire and movement with live ammunition.
It was beautiful. MOUT town was another surreal
experience. Two months before, I could
barely climb the hill I ran up twice. We
practiced live fire room clearing, and slept on buses as we moved out of there,
on to the next thing. Always the next
thing.
After my third tour in Iraq (as motor transport for all
three, not infantry), I read the last piece of fiction. At some point in my life, I realized
everything I had experienced was enough to fill those books I'd read, and they
had all passed me by. I'd done what I
had to do, but in the end I never really took charge of my life and stepped out
on a limb. It was always safe actions
and safe moves. Except for that time I
went hunting a guy in the middle of the night during a security halt. Not sure what to think about that
anymore.
After a while, I realized I had lived the crazy life. My story book was there. I just had to take charge of my own
life. I had spent enough time living my life through others. It was time to take
charge of my own life.