Once again, we find ourselves preparing for another move.  A normal occurrence, to be sure, given my now twenty-seven years in the Army.  Still, each move encourages a sifting of the household goods as we continually strive to pare down what we will carry with us to our next Army destination.  Each move, then, brings with it a reevaluation of those material things we’ve accumulated, and which naturally follow us from home-to-home.  I’ve written about it before, but this is always an interesting process.

More so for us, this time, as our long service overseas has meant that we had furniture and goods in government storage since 2007.  Like opening a time capsule, the things we found were fascinating, and so have added an extra layer of intrigue to the current winnowing process.  Still, as the living room filled with “keep” and “discard” piles, me on one side of the room, and my wife on the other, what we found provided endless opportunities for show-and-tell.

For instance, I didn’t realize I still owned my elementary school report cards from fourth through sixth grade.  Track ribbons from Sectional Finals at several high schools in (West) Germany and upstate New York tumbled from an old yellow envelope.  College and ROTC acceptance letters, and military academy nomination letters were there too, alongside the letters of recommendation from school and military officials penned in 1989 that helped get me into West Point a year later.

Reading those documents—physical things, not the electronic coin of the realm that dominates today—provides pause, causing one to reevaluate not only the material things of life, but to a certain degree, life itself.  I can’t help but wonder what the writers of those letters and report card comments would say if they met me today.  My sixth-grade teacher noted a propensity to turn in assignments late.  Would my recent and current subordinates be shocked to hear that scandalous charge?  A fourth grade teacher noted an especially infectious smile.  Given all that’s happened over the past couple years, do I still genuinely smile?  Or is it always a ruse now, a show to achieve some end such as putting another at ease?

Did the writers of those recommendation letters actually expect great things of me or were they—like so many of us in similar circumstances—simply going through the motions?  I can’t help but wonder what my old football coach, high school principal, or band director really thought back then … and what they would think about where I’ve come today.  Would they be surprised?  Shocked, even?  Disappointed, maybe?  And what does this mean for me today, especially now that I’m of a rank and position that I’m occasionally asked to write similar correspondence on behalf of a young officer or NCO.  How do I keep myself—with all the distractors and general busyness of our COVID world—from just going through the motions on their behalf?

All-in-all, it seems a fitting end to a long and stressful year, a process that forces us to look objectively at three hundred sixty-five days of gains and losses, and contrast both to where I began and what was expected of me thirty-plus years ago.  It’s therapeutic, in a way, and I hope it provides both objectivity and strength for facing the new year. 

In the meantime, we’ve more sorting to do, more things to discard or pack away in a more orderly manner.  At the same time, my mind goes to what will be left behind when we’ve departed this place.  Not the material things, of course, those discarded elements will be quickly burned along with far less meaningful trash gathered from across the community.  Rather, the impacts on other lives that we leave behind after living nearly twelve years in Japan, half of it on this very installation.  How do we keep from going through the motions in those areas that matter most to those around us?  How do we ensure that the impacts we have on them is positive, or at least constructive?  How do we write the letters and leave the notes that someone else might find thirty years from now, at the bottom of some forgotten cardboard box . . . and with a twinge of a smile place in the “keep” pile, ensuring another review three years hence?

These are important questions, I think, and occupy my thoughts this holiday season.  Regardless of the answers, however, I want to take this opportunity to thank you all for reading my humble blog.  I wish you all a very Merry Christmas!

M. G. Haynes