This seemed to be the theme over the next couple of years. My vague awkwardness at spouse events turned into a deep revulsion. I recall sitting on the dining room floor, just after making our second move, and sobbing because I couldn’t stand the idea of going through that sad cycle of small talk and smug smiles all over again.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want friends, or that I disliked anyone, it was just that the process of making connections was SO draining.
So, I opted out.
I hung around with my husband and his fellow Marine friends. I lived in hope that, when my husband’s time came for a more permanent duty station came, it would be some cosmopolitan place where I could work in an office and make civilian friends and try to keep my head out of the “military lifestyle” as much as possible.
It was nothing personal; I just saw the whole thing as a charade. I didn’t want to compare my husband’s achievements to anyone, or trade tips on ironing uniforms, or feel obliged to bake cookies for yet another bake sale.
And then the orders came… right out in the boondocks for three more years.
All of my husband’s friends left — ergo, so did mine.
My dreams of moving to a “civilized” place, where I could get my feet on a solid career ladder, were almost laughable. I felt happy for my husband, and his own job prospects, but mine were shattered, along with the notion that we’d be able to worm our way out of the military bubble and back into the *real world* where I could pick and choose when to be a “military spouse.”
It was time to branch out and I knew it.
We moved on base. I continued working my three small jobs. And, miraculously, my world didn’t cave in — it got better.
I started to unfurl; I met people hither and thither, and gradually came to understand that making friends organically was, in fact, a real joy.
Life hadn’t gone the way I’d planned– My first lesson in Military Life 101 was over. Now it was time to make the best of it.
