Hindsight Is 20/20

Timmy Lyons
Nov 6 · 6 min read

We’ve been back stateside for about six months. Our first tour to Afghanistan was in the rearview but it seemingly was the only thing anyone wanted to talk about. At the time we didn’t think we’d be getting the chance for another. I struggled with the realization that my remaining two years and change were going to be strictly stateside.

Then word came down. Our battalion was tasked to give up bodies to other battalions that were slated for deployments. They have already begun their pre-deployment work ups and those lucky enough to have their numbers picked would be able to join them. To all of us that second chance now seemed obtainable.

The “senior” junior enlisted, and NCOs who already served their two tours either reenlisted and received orders to other units or took their DD-214s and back into the 1st Civ. Div. they went. For the remaining junior enlisted, with just one combat pump to Helmand Province under our belts we were either staying put or going elsewhere. However, no one really got to pick. Some guys wanted to leave and implied they did. I was torn between staying and going. Rumors can sometimes govern an infantry company and another combat deployment for the unit was among them.

Some of my best friends who I was with since my first day hitting the fleet left in just a few weeks time. Roughly half of the company disappeared within a month. For those that stayed we were stuck in what felt like limbo. No 5 AM PT runs. No field ops. Just a text in the morning asking, “You good?” only needing a response of “Y” or “N”. The hopes of seeing combat again felt like a mere pipe dream.

I kept in touch with my friends that left and they’d go on to say how great their new units were or talk about how different the culture was to ours (for better and for worse). Overall they were excited and cheerful. I remember feeling happy for them but low key battling an internal pity party. I was missing out. The “FOMO” was real.

Fast forward a few months and the build up we all wanted soon came. Boot drop after boot drop ours numbers grew. New NCOs soon followed, whether from promotions, different units or just neighboring companies. The staff and brass changed hands and faces. Going into the winter of the new year we had our mission. Back to Helmand Province we would go.

Those who joined a new battalion with hopes to catch another combat deployment before their four years were up and Operation OEF was still kinetic, unfortunately didn’t get that chance. Some did. Majority didn’t. They either went on a cruise, chilled in Oki, or simply didn’t step off anywhere. Orders change more than you’d think.

After returning home from tour number two, which was far more kinetic for my company in comparison to the first, I met up with those friends who left. We drank and smoked and gave each other shit just like old times. A few were getting out and others were re-upping. One particular reunion stuck with me.

Majority of the battalion was on post deployment leave. We were rolling up our colors at the end of the summer meaning they were retiring the battalion once again. We were considered a “War Time Unit” and with OEF essentially over it was time to pack it up. Now a NCO, my four year contract was all but two months complete. I decided to save my leave days and use those to discharge even earlier.

My buddy dropped by the nearly empty barracks one Saturday morning. Naturally I was already enjoying Crown and playing the new video games that came out while I was downrange. We picked up right where we left off. Shooting the shit, joking and smoking. I haven’t seen him in almost two years. Reaching a lull in the conversation he asked, “How was it?” to which I replied while holding in the drag from my cigarette, “Bit different from the first one”.

I pulled out my laptop and plugged in my hard drive. I showed him the photos and videos from that tour, stopping periodically to tell the stories behind them. His eyes were glued to the computer screen. I stopped talking. I could see his feelings written on his face. The hard drive represented the painful truth he didn’t want to see. His “FOMO” was confirmed. I shut the laptop, we migrated back onto the catwalk, and did my best to change the topic.

A voice yelled from behind me, “Sup bro!”. I turned around to see a face I haven’t seen since it was being loaded onto a medivac chopper from a farm field in Afghanistan several months earlier. His leg was new and artificial but that smile was the same and pure. It was so fucking good to see him I nearly forgot my other buddy was there.

For whatever reason I thought both of them with me on that catwalk knew each other. I was expecting them to hug and rejoice the same way I just did. But that wasn’t the case. One left my unit before the other joined it. Awkward small talk ensued followed by an even more awkward goodbye. “I’m gonna head out man, I gotta go meet up with my girlfriend.” We said our “good to see yous” and “stay in touches”. We never met up again.

Begin rant.

I can’t 100% say why he left the way he did but I have a general idea.To this day I feel bummed out when reflecting on our goodbye. Our friendship essentially came to a close because of an insecurity he may or may not have had due to how his path differed from mine.

Joining the Marines and then choosing to be a Grunt means one main thing (there are other reasons of course). You want combat. That’s what you train for in the infantry. All of the grueling hikes, shitty field ops, ranges, schools and classes, and the Marine Corps bullshit you deal with everyday is endured, so you can go downrange with your boys and kill the people that want to kill you.

He got a small taste of it on our first deployment and of course wanted more. Leaving the unit he envisioned the hunger could be fulfilled. Life comes down to the choices you make but in the military, sometimes it’s all about chance. Choices don’t always pan out the way you hope and as a junior marine you don’t have much of a choice to start with. He didn’t ask to leave the unit but certainly was happy too. Hindsight is 20/20.

Regret is a powerful emotion, only conquered by perspective. A pity party can be never ending. It’s on the individual to not play the comparison game and be proud of their service. Veterans have done more than MOST ever will in their lifetime. On the same token, civilians have done more than veterans ever will in their lifetime. In the end there is always going to be someone who is more fucking badass, accomplished, combat hardened, or successful than you. However your contributions and sacrifices do not lose value because you didn’t do everything you wanted to do. Before the GWOT kicked off think about how many dudes who served this country 20 years proudly without a war even going on. That’s five times more than I did. I’d say they have me beat.

I guess what I’m getting at in a roundabout way is don’t let your years of service be the sole contributor to your life’s definition. Use it as fuel to power future endeavors, whatever they may be. Most importantly never downgrade it. We, the GWOT generation volunteered knowing, naively or not, what the outcomes could be. We walked amongst GIANTS and as a community represent them. It’s time to make them proud. We owe them that.

End rant.

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