You know that feeling when, after you’ve done something challenging, you look back and think, Wow, I can’t believe I actually made that happen! Or maybe it was the kind of thing you weren’t sure you could muster up the courage to go through with but then you did… Get your nose pierced as a full-on adult after deliberating for quite some time (hi, there!)?
I'd have to say making it through four and a half years in the army as a very short woman very much surprised me and my family.
It was a fight to get in, and a fight to get out to have a baby, then they made me go back to Korea to finish out my term. However, it was the best thing I could have ever done. It taught me so many things and gave me my independence. Had I stayed home, my overprotective parents never would have let me grow up.
After I had my third child, when my infant was a couple of months old, I saw a commercial for the L.A. Marathon, complete with inspirational music. I'd never run a race in my life; no 5K, 10K, nothing. I thought, 'I'm great at running from myself, so this should be easy.'
I went to the local bookstore and bought a book on how to train for a marathon. I trained alone and ran the San Diego full marathon by myself six months later.
I have relocated to other countries five times in my life. That whole "adventure of a lifetime" narrative only explains the first move. After that, I left my own country when it became clear that my own country didn't want me, didn't see me as a person of value or even as a person of dignity.
Every time I did it, I did it alone. I can't help but roll my eyes at those people who expect plaudits for bravery because they took a two week trip to Seoul by themselves when I lived there all by myself. I have, in my time, negotiated housing when I was kicked out of my apartment in the winter; found my way from the airport to a distant city when my employer gave me an invalid ticket; survived alone on an abandoned campus an hour out from the nearest city when a pandemic left me with no other options. I've had relationships with local women that left me with two broken engagements and two stalkers.
People ask how, when I'm living in some of the least diverse countries on the planet, I can deal with isolation and the constant stares. To which I can only reply: What's the difference? People saw me as a freak back home, at least here I'm a freak of value instead of something disgusting.
But it hardly matters. People swear that they want "authentic" travel stories, but it's a lie. They want wonder and whimsy, not the realities of life in a distant land. And no matter how many times I try to relay the facts - the differences in the cultures that run deeper than colorful clothes and dances, the thinking people who are far from the brainwashed peasants that the Western media casts them as - I am rebuffed. They want simple narratives of heroes and villains with a garnish of the exotic.
And so I sit, strugging to understand how my experiences are widely seen - including by the people who run this site - as irrelevant.
Years ago, when I mentioned going into the Air Force, my mother asked if I was sure. As she said I didn't like following rules (hers) didnt like being told what to do, etc. Basic training was like nothing I'd ever known before. Cleaning bathroom grout with a tooth brush, the drill sergeant constantly screaming at me and others. Still I survived. Failure was not an option for me. Didnt want to hear my mother's I Told You So. I served the first four years, then another almost 4 before being honorably discharged to go to college, to do something different. Going on to serve another 14 in the Reserves for a total of over 21 years. Carol Gee. Author, Atlanta
I'd have to say making it through four and a half years in the army as a very short woman very much surprised me and my family.
It was a fight to get in, and a fight to get out to have a baby, then they made me go back to Korea to finish out my term. However, it was the best thing I could have ever done. It taught me so many things and gave me my independence. Had I stayed home, my overprotective parents never would have let me grow up.
❤️❤️❤️
After I had my third child, when my infant was a couple of months old, I saw a commercial for the L.A. Marathon, complete with inspirational music. I'd never run a race in my life; no 5K, 10K, nothing. I thought, 'I'm great at running from myself, so this should be easy.'
I went to the local bookstore and bought a book on how to train for a marathon. I trained alone and ran the San Diego full marathon by myself six months later.
Love this!
I have relocated to other countries five times in my life. That whole "adventure of a lifetime" narrative only explains the first move. After that, I left my own country when it became clear that my own country didn't want me, didn't see me as a person of value or even as a person of dignity.
Every time I did it, I did it alone. I can't help but roll my eyes at those people who expect plaudits for bravery because they took a two week trip to Seoul by themselves when I lived there all by myself. I have, in my time, negotiated housing when I was kicked out of my apartment in the winter; found my way from the airport to a distant city when my employer gave me an invalid ticket; survived alone on an abandoned campus an hour out from the nearest city when a pandemic left me with no other options. I've had relationships with local women that left me with two broken engagements and two stalkers.
People ask how, when I'm living in some of the least diverse countries on the planet, I can deal with isolation and the constant stares. To which I can only reply: What's the difference? People saw me as a freak back home, at least here I'm a freak of value instead of something disgusting.
But it hardly matters. People swear that they want "authentic" travel stories, but it's a lie. They want wonder and whimsy, not the realities of life in a distant land. And no matter how many times I try to relay the facts - the differences in the cultures that run deeper than colorful clothes and dances, the thinking people who are far from the brainwashed peasants that the Western media casts them as - I am rebuffed. They want simple narratives of heroes and villains with a garnish of the exotic.
And so I sit, strugging to understand how my experiences are widely seen - including by the people who run this site - as irrelevant.
Years ago, when I mentioned going into the Air Force, my mother asked if I was sure. As she said I didn't like following rules (hers) didnt like being told what to do, etc. Basic training was like nothing I'd ever known before. Cleaning bathroom grout with a tooth brush, the drill sergeant constantly screaming at me and others. Still I survived. Failure was not an option for me. Didnt want to hear my mother's I Told You So. I served the first four years, then another almost 4 before being honorably discharged to go to college, to do something different. Going on to serve another 14 in the Reserves for a total of over 21 years. Carol Gee. Author, Atlanta
Amazing, Carol!