When I was in boot camp we weren’t allowed to drink things while walking. You could drink your water, sure. You could walk around (albeit at right angles), but you couldn’t do the two things together. I seem to remember someone asking why to a muttered response about preventing accidents. Whether it had a reason or not, it was one of the parts of our culture there.

I bring it up because a few minutes ago I was filling up my water bottle by the office sink. I screwed the cap back on top and went to take a drink when it hit me: I was walking. There I was, deep in thought about some project or another, when I experienced “Navius-Interruptus”. I was standing again in the mess during service week, wearing my utilities and feeling less than clean. How strange.

We had a million of these little rules. How many more will creep up on me over the years? It took half a decade to stop walking in step with everyone around me. I imagine it will always feel weird to take a drink while walking now. Old habits die hard, even the silly ones.

Yes, I served. I enlisted in the Navy when things weren’t going so well for me. It was a bit of a whim decision, but one I don’t regret at all. They fixed me up in more ways than one.

My time was pretty uninteresting. I never went to sea. I served in Goose Creek, SC for a little over a year. My biggest highlight was getting injured during training and spending about 7 months on medical hold waiting for the results of a physical evaluation board. Eventually I was discharged honorably to my great relief.

Boot camp was absolutely horrible for me. For some of the guys who were in better shape, I think it seemed a bit of a joke. Not for me, though. I dropped from about 230lbs to 170lbs in those three months. It’s also where I broke both tibias, torn my ACL and meniscus. The docs gave me motrin and told me to drink more water. Take that as a lesson, NFL players.

Anyway, my service was pretty unremarkable, but I was there. The time I spent in South Carolina after basic training was pretty great. My short time in A-School introduced me to some wonderful new friends, and studying to be a Nuclear Engineer was pretty awesome. Wearing my uniform to my sister’s wedding was incredible, too. It was all the joys and none of the danger, I suppose.

These days, I still collect my disability from the VA and I’m a member of the American Legion. Would I have died for my country? I never had the opportunity to find out for real, but the pride I felt at basic training graduation still lingers with me. I like to think I’d have kept with my oath in times of trouble, but we really never know until the moment happens. Anyway…

To all those out there who served quietly like I did, and to those who really carry the burden of military service, and especially to those who didn’t make it back, have a happy Veteran’s Day, and thank you all.

When Burke began writing about the sublime, he offered a wonderful new delineation. It was his observation that while beauty comes from the appreciate of aesthetics, the sublime comes from our abject fears, especially our fears of things that can kill us. Terror, he said, is akin to pain in our minds. It anticipates it and so experiences a shadow of what pain is. I suppose one could say that in anticipation of death we experience a little bit of that death. Oh wait… someone did say that!

One day when I was in boot camp, our division went down to the pool area for swim training. There were a number of different things we were going to practice once we got wet, not the least of which was the invaluable skill of not drowning; but before we could press on to the details, we had to get in the water. The pool had a diving platform over the deep end. I couldn’t say exactly how high it was, though I’m certain that memory over time has increased the height by no small margin. Still, I clearly remember being intimidated at the first sight. It was big, no fooling around.

The instructors explained what was about to happen to us as we stripped into our bathing suits. The divisions were lined up heel to toe in that familiar Navy fashion, each recruits back pressing uncomfortably close to the chest behind him. We formed a long sinuous line around the pool and up to the long ladder of the platform. Someone had thought to turn out most of the lights in the building, turning the water into a strange black unknown. A spot light shined down on the tip of the platform, though, bathing it in a yellowish light that called out the dust more than illuminating anything interesting. We stood there, carefully focusing our eyes on nothing in particular. As one of the lucky guys with glasses, I found myself even more blind than usual, having had to leave them back on the pile of clothes to my side. My entire world was reduced to a sweat stained white t-shirt in front of me, and the hazy, bright heat of the lamp far overhead.

My nervousness started climbing up into my throat as I took each step on the ladder. Step, choke, step, choke. As I reached the top, things took on a whole new reality. The ground was different here. It was roughly textured, like grated asphalt or maybe one of those rocks people use to exfoliate. The platform felt solid enough, even though we were so high. There were more instructors up here too. They split our thin line into several, each as tightly grouped as before. I thought we looked like the heads of a hydra, reaching out over the water like gaping jaws.

Up ahead of me, four recruits stood in my line leading up to the illuminated edge. The one in front took a step forward until his feet were as far as they could go. To his sides, another five were in step with him. The line reminded me strikingly of gallows. A sharp command sounded out from an instructor too near to be anywhere but the platform, but seemingly invisible as he stood just outside of the light. “Go!” he shouted, and the men stepped forward into oblivion.

The giant hall was not made for normal acoustics. Sounds ricocheted off the metal walls again and again while each splash and command stretched on forever. The line pressed forward. My heart was thundering so loud that I thought it must be echoing off the walls too. We stepped forward. Another vague splash and the air was empty. The little group of men in front of me shortened dangerously while I tried to come to grips with what was about to happen.

I was instructed on what to do. I knew how to cross my arms, how to position my feet, and where my hands should rest. I knew that once I hit the water I would need to swim forward and find my group, buddy up and distribute the PFDs so we could all stay afloat. I knew somewhere in my mind that Navy Seals were lurking down below in the water, waiting for poorly conditioned recruits to kick when they shouldn’t, or splash too much. They were waiting like sharks in the water, there to teach us a lesson. Somewhere in all my thinking, a few more splashes were heard.

The last body in front of me disappeared into the darkness and left behind that bright spot light glaring into my eyes. I could see the edge of the platform. I could feel the rough stone on my feet, gripping. A command was uttered and I stepped up to the edge, my toes hanging off into the darkness. I didn’t look down; there was no point. I knew already that it would just be darkness and sounds.

In my head, my mind raced with thoughts, trying to catch up with what was happening. Things were moving too quickly. I wasn’t ready to go yet. My throat was solid and my chest weighed down with a heavy feeling I couldn’t understand. I could feel the breathing of the recruit behind me, and I wanted to step to the side, look around, catch my breath, ask for a minute, do anything.

“Go!”

My hands crossed, gripping my shirt and my nose. My feet stepped. I was falling. But no, that wasn’t right, I was still protesting, trying to find my place, to center my fear and deal with it. I needed to get it in check before I could…

Splash!

The water was cold and it hit like the shock from an old wool blanket. I shot back up into the air and took a gasping breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding. It was over.

It took me a while to understand how my body could act on one set of signals from my brain while the rest was so overly concerned with meaningless things like fear. My arms and legs did what they were told to do. They did it without a pause, without doubt, and without error. They did it without the fear that was all pervasive in my mind.

When Burke talks about the sublime sense of terror, of feeling ones own mortality, I think he only halfway addresses the origins of that psychology. There is obviously a great meaning in the way our animal fears can plague us. We can be shaken to the core, go pale as a ghost, or just let our jaws drop. I don’t think that’s enough of the story, though. It doesn’t address that other part of us.

That night on the platform, I was told what to do, but I hadn’t been trained at it. It was no mere reflex of action. It was not a conditioning to follow orders when they came from that self-confident voice. It was a spark of control over the uncontrollable that had come to me through pain, practice, and the knowledge that fear was no longer useful. I find something of the sublime in that and wonder at its meaning and place in my future life. Will I have cause for it one day?

When I was in the Navy I had problems waking up at 0400 to study before class like I needed. So, I went out to the NEX (Naval Exchange) and picked up the loudest, most obnoxious piece of machinery I could get my hands on.

The Westclox Model #22651 is a powerhouse in a tiny box. I’m fairly certain the alarm can banish demons. It certainly did the trick of waking me up in the morning.

I kept that alarm clock by my side for the next nine years. Very slowly over that time I have found myself becoming a little less startled in the morning and more willing to risk the snooze button. Still, it has remained an incredibly effective device, that is, until I dropped it eight feet onto my hardwood floors.

The alarm still sounded, but the clock itself was only visible from one small angle when you tilt the clock back 80 degrees. It made a nice audible crunchy sound when you click the buttons, too. It was pretty obvious. I needed a new clock.

So after all these years I found myself searching around for a new alarm clock online. I figured, if my last one lasted almost a decade, I should spend the time and pick one that is worth having around for a while. I researched different alarm types, clock radios, water proof ones, traditional bells, clocks that work with your computer, and a few crazy ones that wake you up with bright lights instead of sound. Then I found Zeo.

The Zeo is a different class of alarm clock altogether. With a sporty fabric headband, this device monitors you brain activity while you sleep and gives you detailed readouts about your night of rest. It distinguishes between REM, light, and deep sleep, and even tells you how many times you woke up in the night, and for how long. It gives you extra information too, like how long it took you to fall asleep, the total time you spent sawing logs, and tracks trends over time. Most importantly is has an amazing feature called Smart-Wake that wakes you up at the optimal time in your sleep cycle so that you feel the most rested in the morning. You give the clock a range of times in the morning and if it detects you entering a lighter sleep phase, the alarm will go off quietly and slowly increase volume to ease you awake. It’s amazing.

In the morning, you can pop the SD card out of the clock and sync it up to their website and track all of your sleep data online. They’ve got a sleep coach e-mail program that I haven’t tried yet and a really cool interactive sleep journal so you can make notes of environmental distractions (I’m looking at you, Sniffles), reasons for waking up during the night, or other sleep information.

The website and device are wonderfully designed and relatively simple to use. Their sleep tracker website uses an Adobe Flex site with wonderful, pretty charting tools. And the alarm sounds are soothing, but unique enough to wake you up rather than put you to sleep.

The downside is the price. It’s a $399 alarm clock, when you get right down to it, but if you’re like me and you love unique tech gadgets, or you’re like me and have a horrible sleep schedule and can use a little more information, it might be worth the investment. If I can make this clock last for the next ten years, I won’t be complaining. In the meantime, I’ve only used it the one night so far, so there isn’t much data to review yet. I’ll tell you one thing, though. The chart above is my actual sleep results from last night. That little bit of "wake" time on the right was when my cat jumped on my head. This Zeo thing definitely does its job. Oh, and click the image for a screenshot of the full web application.

Sleep well!

I spoke with the vocation director of the New York Province of the Society of Jesus tonight. We planned the call a couple weeks ago because we’d been too busy to talk at length and I had some questions for him. After the hour on the phone I felt filled with excitement and energy. I couldn’t wait for this next year to fly by and to be jumping into the novitiate. Everything we talked about seemed so imminent and real, and every clarification or advice spoke so clearly to the place I am in my discernment. It was as if all these events in recent past had been forming up toward this goal and I was finally getting a glimpse of how it could play out.

In our talk, though, we also discussed things I felt were a hindrance to my discernment. Specifically, we talked about canon that would preclude me from religious life. Of course, my mind immediately went to the one sin I keep asking forgiveness for at every confession. It took some faith in that moment, but I told him about it, worried about what he might say. I tried my best to explain it in our brief talk and put things into perspective. I also tried to be as honest as I could be. In the end he made it clear that it wasn’t one of those situations I’d feared. It wouldn’t stop me from serving.

At first I couldn’t help but smile. It was, after all, the very event that brought me back to faith. If not directly or immediately, eventually by the way my life changed because of it. It seems an odd path that God would have me walk if it brought me to this faith and accepting this calling only to turn me away at the end. Luckily my fears were unnecessary. Things can still move forward despite my past.

But it didn’t end there. After the fleeting moment of joy, I felt like I had opened up an old wound. The guilt and shame and depression were still there beneath the surface with their familiar taint. Everything they touch turns cold and bitter. It took a vast life-changing decision to join the Navy to calm them down and put me back in control of myself. It took the physical pain and suffering to take me away from the emotional pain I felt.

I asked for it, you know. I wanted that pain and suffering. I prayed for it without knowing it. I asked Christ to give me the suffering I deserved, and it came. It came and it changed me. When I found myself in a position where all I knew was pain and there was no hope of anything else, I found the strength to push forward.

I remember that last run in Battle Stations, on the final night of training in boot camp. My broken legs were in searing pain. My feet covered in blisters. My lungs burned with a fire that said I had nothing left to give. My body was in shock from suffocating a few hours earlier in “mass casualties”. Still, with a sea-bag on my back and a mile between me and the end, I knew that there was absolutely nothing this world could bring against me that I couldn’t face and conquer. Not my body, not my mind, certainly not a few extra pounds on my back. In that moment when everything in my life was pulled down around me, there was nothing left but to finish. I was able to put it behind me then, just far enough to move forward. That’s what I still do today.

Still, no matter what I have done or what I will do, I will live with a mistake that scars across my past. I will never forget it, I will never feel release from the sadness it brings. But, as the Brother said to me tonight, I have to move on and do what I am called to do and not let the past rule my life.

I don’t talk about what happened. I feel the pain and live with it well enough on my own. Still, I will continue to confess it and continue to ask for the grace to move on, and when I feel that familiar pain in my knees, I thank the Lord.