In my backpack there is a slim yellow folder bearing a simple sheet full of boxes with initials, dates, my own name in reverse order and one big grey stamp that reads DEPLOYABLE. I haven’t moved it yet, filed it away as I ought to, or even sorted its documents, though I have inspected the two metal devices in the small envelope stapled to it, verified all correct. In my bedroom stands a green duffel bag stuffed full of things issued but likely not needed, with patterns I doubt I’ll be wearing, as I eschew complexity for simplicity in clothing.
In exactly three weeks I depart for no more than 179 days for a 6 day work week. Of course I’m excited, and of course I have some trepidation and of course some things and people I will miss. DC is home, without a doubt, and I view my absence as temporary, that the plan is always to return.
I haven’t really had a plan for my life since college, and things have worked out reasonably well. I never did know what I wanted to do when I grew up. My dad only had to say once, and to that I clung, that it will work out. Some people have grand plans on the order of Five Year Plans, inspiring thoughts of peasants and workers leading the way to some glorious future, marching in step. For someone (as I do) who usually plans things out in great detail, the lack of any sort of plan must seem unbelievable, but that is what I do now.
There will be moments of frustration, boredom, even fear and apprehension, but they should be balanced with what always comes with something new and my curiosity is at my side, along with memories of the past, and something completely new and unknown ahead.
