Virginia Swamp, Matthew Brady photograph courtesy of the US National Archives |
Back home in Arkansas, things weren't so good. The economy was in the toilet, so jobs were scarce. Even the electronics training I had received in the Marines didn't help, because I had learned to repair equipment that was thirty years behind the state of the art. I eventually ended up living in a ratty trailer at the back edge of a swamp, one that looked a lot like the photograph above, scraping by on odd jobs and foraged food.
Still, scrounging acorns and hickory nuts was better than scrounging out of trash cans at a rest area. Trust me on this...
One cold, drizzly November afternoon, I was having some kind of identity crisis. Who exactly was I? I knew myself as the kid I had been a few years before. I knew myself as the Marine I had become. But I wasn't sure who I was that particular afternoon, and I had no clue who I wanted to be. The more I thought about it, the more important it became for me to answer the question until finally I couldn't take it any more.