Resiliency. This word bounces off my tongue lately like a
beach ball at a rock concert. Hands in the air, we all take a turn shooting it
up and out into the crowd to see who might get it next.
In the United States Air Force, presently, this has come to
the fore, along with the term “Preservation of the Force and Family” (POTFF),
utilized as a noun and pronounced POE-TIFF.
After more than 10 years of constant deployment, nerves are
shred; families are torn; and the divorce-rate escalates like the United States
deficit.
We are in deficit — collectively and one-by-one. Many of us
feel we’ve paid out more than we’ve brought in; spiritually, in our minds, our relationships, and physically in our worn-out and broken bodies.
Command Seargent Major Chris Faris (Senior Enlisted Leader,
US Special Operations Command) and his wife Lisa paid us (RAF Mildenhall, 352
Special Operation Group) a visit last week. They, like many, are searching for
their own answer to the question, “What is resiliency?”
They share their story in hopes they may make a difference
—maybe save other marriages, while they work on their own. Theirs is a
heart-wrenching tale; one that reaches most of us on some level or another.
Some whisper, “I am lucky.”
Others fret, “I am fucked.”
Collectively, we share the same outlines, but the lines in
between are made of individual words formed into unique sentences. For we all come to the table bringing vocabulary from our personal language.
So we talk about this word, resiliency. We wonder what it
means for ourselves, for our family; for the United States Air Force; for the
United States.
I asked this through a Facebook
post last week. In our present-day version of spouses network, this is where I meet and sometimes help people most; our FB group page. I am learning to adapt.
In my role here now, I
feel responsible in part to help the active-duty military spouses in my husband's squadron to find their
own definition; to remain strong; steadfast in their choices.
“What does resiliency mean to you?” I posted.
Those who responded, came forward with their own trail of
words to define what it means to them.
I worry about that; about finding lasting meaning in this term that
gets used more and more. I worry it will get worn out; overlooked; forgotten.
One fire-cracker speaker, a clinical child pshychologist who
came last week to help us find the answer, calls it “failing forward.”
I like that term. As a person; a wife; a mother; a United
States citizen. I may screw up often and again, but somehow I am rich in my
ability to do this — fail, and yet
still move forward; hopefully with more patience, if not wisdom.
Is this cultural — an Americanism? Is it our own take on
the British bent — “Keep Calm, Carry on?”
As a nation, we were reminded again of our vulnerability, and our will to bounce back, a few weeks ago in Boston. We
watched in horror as we bore witness to another act of terrorism.
Some of us missed the explosion by minutes. Some of us didn’t.
But we all felt the aftershock. No matter how close or far away we were from
Boston’s finish line.
I asked myself as I sat on the counter absolutely fixed on
the events as they unfolded, “Where have we gotten in 12 years?” And at what
cost? Hurt and anger screamed, “Exactly nowhere.”
But I have to believe the sacrifices we continue to make
mean more than the sum of their parts. I thought of those people in Boston as I sat in
on a session yesterday focusing on individual resiliency.
“In order to find the answer (to the question of
resiliency), you must know how to define yourself. Know who you are, and where
you want to go,” suggested the visiting spitfire psychologist.
And then I’m thrown back into a conversation I had nearly 15
years ago. I was a different person then, only the question was roughly the same,
“Who do you want to be?” “Where do you want to go?”
I was in the midst of leaving my chosen career field to
explore new things; to start a family, and little did I know at that moment, to
enter a life of service as a United States Air Force spouse.
I had enjoyed a certain measure of success. I feared leaving, yet felt I had to — to move forward. I couldn’t answer then. And I was around 31 years old. I
filled the void with sarcasm. “I don’t know, a rock star?!”
I can answer that question better now, all these years
later. I am not a rock star.
I am a runner; a swimmer; a cyclist. I have a passion for words; and movement; and music. I show love
through service — to my family; to friends, and to my country.
I am a fiercely devoted mother. Sometimes I try too hard.
I am a proud wife. Sometimes I don’t try hard enough.
I find God easily when I’m in the woods. I find him less so in
man-made structures. But I show up anyway.
I am an American. I’ve come to learn that this distinguishes
me no matter where I am in the world. I am a United States Air Force spouse. I
find this to be more or less of a distinction depending on where on home soil I am standing.
And with all this, I am adept at failing forward.
I am resilient.
